Love is precious, but it's also difficult, and it has it moments of insanity. |
Writer’s Cramp Prompt (1,000 words or less in 24 hours): I keep finding items around the house that are not where they're supposed to be: beaters from the mixer, pens, pieces of paper, crochet hooks. Write a story or poem about how the house got this way. (You may write any reason, but mine is a one year old on the rampage.) The Parade of Wildness Two beaters from my mixer sleep soundly beneath a bed. The puppy’s rawhide bone has jumped in with the fish. Pens of red, blue, and black are lined up like little soldiers, eager to fight a dragon yet each now silently waits. Watch out for that paper tossed up into the air; not by a storm or twister but by a whirling dervish. A small orange chunk of cheese hides inside a drawer of socks. You’re probably guessing it’s gremlins, elves, or brownies. But it’s only a toddler rearranging his world; like any good general he’s ordering his forces With a wobbly, flat-footed walk and a slightly drooling smile, I pick him up and tickle him, pretending that I’m stern, but what I’m really thinking is just how lucky I am to experience the Parade of Wildness, with this two-year old, my son. (28 lines) |