To Squish or Not To Squish


I went for a walk with my children yesterday.
The sun was shining for a bit, and while it was windy, I figured it could blow away the cabin fever.
As we walked, I struck up conversational topics about the different things we encountered.  I like to do that from time to time, I feel like it gives my kids something tangible to connect life lessons to-so they can actually see the lessons in action.  On this particular day, the topic was bugs.
Why do bugs crawl? And where are they going?
Do they live in houses or in the trees?
Which bugs bite?
Do they like ice cream?  Did I mention my kids were 4 and 18m?  So that was a valid and important question for their judgement on the topic.
The concept of the value of Life also came into question.  I can’t remember, now-sitting here, the exact way it fell into our discussion’s lap, but there it was:  Are bugs’ lives important?  And at first you say yes-all Life is important.  It is one of the first lessons people teach you to teach them.  I went through my Parenting 101 speech outlining the preciousness of each life-lacing it with the connection each bug has to another; larger bugs eat smaller bugs and bugs help plants grow and so on.  Next came the Mecca of all parenting lessons for teaching children about bugs; if you leave them alone, they will leave you alone.  That was about the time I noticed that my oldest child strolled right passed a bumble bee sitting on the sidewalk.

It was huge, as most bumble bees are, and if it had been in flight it’s buzz surely would have been deafening.
But it wasn’t flying.
It was just sitting there, on the concrete.
My eyes darted from one child to the next hoping they had, in fact, not seen the fuzzy behemoth which was now showing signs of alertness.  It must have been picked off by a bird or fell victim to the chill in the breeze.  It was clear that neither child saw the black and yellow monster.  All at once my heart felt the surge of adrenaline as I made the split second decision to overstep my youngest child, cutting across him and nearly launching him across the lawn which followed the sidewalk, and stomped on the unsuspecting bee as hard as I could while maintaining as much subtlety as possible.  Thor would have been proud of the might my shoe had upon the bee that was salivating at the sight of my ripe and pink offspring frolicking, unaware…according to my wild, protective, imagination.
I gave my foot a decisive twist, feeling the bee’s body compress and smear against my shoe, pivoting on the confidence that I had undoubtedly just saved my children from certain death.

Thankfully, my children were relatively oblivious to what I had done, but as I lifted my foot to continue walking, I could hear the residual crunch of the bee’s body and I asked myself that exact question: What had I done?
It dawned on me that I had completely contradicted my speech on the value of life.  Apparently, not all life was important.
Apparently it wasn’t “leave it alone and it will leave you alone”.
Based on the slight stick my shoe had against the sidewalk, as a result of the bee’s innards, my overactive mother-imagination was more important than the bumble bee sitting alone on the sidewalk on a breezy late Spring day.
I was able to reinsert myself into my children’s discussion, but I had to split my thoughts between that and the complexity of why I had completely annihilated the bee.
We rounded the corner of the block and approached our house.  I held the door for the kids who trotted inside to pick up whatever activity they had dropped in favor of the walk, and I let out a long, motherly sigh.

It was the sigh that knew I was not going to ever mention the incident to the kids.  By the time it would have any meaning to them, it would be meaningless.  When it was time for them to dwell on why society reserves the right to decide which lives are precious and which lives are worthless, me stepping on a bumble bee would be trivial.  On the other hand, if I sat them down and told them what happened and why I felt the primal, instinctive fear-urge-to protect them from a potential bee sting that may have or may not have led to an allergic reaction; it would have been so far over their heads, their hair wouldn’t even move.  I knew that this whole experience was one of those defining mother moments.  I would carry the weight of today’s lesson on my shoulders and simply watch my kids grow up waiting for them to come to the same realization.  After all, isn’t that what parenting is all about?  We protect them from our worst fears until they are able to face and deduce those fears on their own?

Sadly, I don’t think anyone told that bumble bee.


A Night of Young Love…A Continuation of Rekindling the Flame

*A year and a half into Eric and Rosalyn’s relationship*

The moonlight spilled into the room carelessly.  It had no regard for Rosalyn trying to sleep.  She tossed and turned, throwing her arm habitually over a body that wasn’t there.  After a while, she rolled onto her stomach; face half smashed into her pillow and thought for a moment.
I wonder if Eric’s awake.
She looked at her clock; 1:00am.  With a groan, Rosalyn picked up her cell phone and opened it up to check if she had any text messages.
She snapped the phone closed and rolled to the middle of the bed, becoming tangled in the blanket she usually shared.
I wonder if he is busy.  I shouldn’t bother him so much, he needs this experience.  But I wonder if he is thinking about me.
Rosalyn reached over and opened her phone once more.
She sent one text.
Then two.
Three or four texts went by and Rosalyn laid the phone down and peered into the bluish, gray hue that coated their room.
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
She missed Eric more than she realized.  Every moment that he wasn’t next to her, laughing at a joke, or discussing serious issues was agony for Rosalyn.  Her heart felt like it was only half beating when she was without him.
He truly completed her.
She knew he was trying to improve their quality of life by getting his degree, she knew this was what they had planned together from the very beginning, but she had no idea how being away from him would affect her.
A number of minuets passed and the only thing that broke Rosalyn’s absent stare was the sound of the window sliding open.
Her heart leaped about inside her, with excitement
She popped straight up out of bed and quickly cleared the nightstand of all debris.
Eric was sneaking into their room!
When he closed the window behind him, he turned around and gave her a very confident smile.
“Hey, you awake?”

“Oh my God, you actually came!”
“Oh yea, sorry.  Eric, I am so happy to see you.” Rosalyn bounced while sitting cross legged on the bed.  She leaned over and threw her arms around him.”So what’s the matter?  You said in your texts that you needed me to come home.  Is everything ok?”  He asked hugging Rosalyn back.
“Yea”Rosalyn released Eric and slunk back to where she was sitting. The moonlight shifted and hid half her face as she looked down. “I didn’t realize how much I needed you with me”
Eric frowned slightly, “Rose…we talked about this.”
“I guess I am upset because I feel abandoned.  I feel like you are off having this amazing experience and I am left behind; part of your past.”
“But Rose, you aren’t my past, you are my right now” This made Eric concerned.  Rosalyn was not taking the distance well, despite only being a 10 min car ride away from each other.  It tore him up inside to see her unhappy, but he had to try to make her understand how important it was, for him, to finish the plans they had made together.
Rosalyn took his hand in hers and started to rub it rhythmically.
Eric sighed.
She was so good at that, she never gave any warning when she was going to take his hands and rub them, but Eric was always so happy when she did.  Rosalyn knew how to work the stress and frustration of the day out of each finger.  Her hands had the right amount of pressure on his palm that sent relaxation washing over his body.  She focused on one finger at a time, working her way from knuckle to the fingernail, then engulfing his whole hand with her warm, loving hands.  Eric was surprised to hear what she said next,
“I am worried you will find someone better than me.”
Rosalyn jumped a little when Eric jerked his hand back from her.
“How could you say that?  Rosalyn, don’t you trust me?  Don’t you trust our relationship?!  I am not there to meet other girls, I have you.  I am there to experience the college life and get my degree so we can have a better future.” He reached through the moonlight and cupped her face with his hands, “I like being at college, but I LOVE you.  There is a big difference.  I came home tonight because as much fun as I have there, I miss you just as much as you miss me.”  With that, Eric pulled Rosalyn into a warm kiss.  He forgot how sweet her lips tasted and how well her lips molded to his.  She kisses so well, he thought, I could kiss her all night long.

After some time exploring each others kisses, Eric traced up her arms with his hands.  Rosalyn placed her hands on the back of his neck, half tangled in his hair, and tugged gently.
Eric could feel his body ignite.
He broke from their oral embrace and took off his deconstructed, black and gray hoodie, knocking his military style cap to the ground.
Rosalyn began to help Eric undress.
The pair stood on their knees, not saying any words, but speaking volumes to each other.  Their eyes met and the whole room lit up with the love, laced with lust, they had for each other.
Eric, now baring his torso, stood tall over Rosalyn. She looked up at him, letting her blonde hair fall back to be washed in the moonlight, and never broke his stare as he lifted her shirt over her head.
A quiet whoosh made them smile as he tossed her shirt hastily on the floor.  He bend down to her neck and lightly breathed along it’s length.
Rosalyn let out a shaky sigh.
She juggled her focus from Eric’s kisses and the heat she felt for him in her sleep shorts.
She returned the gesture, finding his collar bone with her lips and traced it to his shoulders.  Eric wrapped his arms around her middle and slid his legs out from under him causing them both to lay back on the pillows.  With Rosalyn sitting on top of Eric, the two massaged each other.
Eric’s firm, but gentle, hands found Rosalyn’s breasts.
She let out a tiny moan as he applied steady pressure; feeling her curves in his hands.  Her voice sent steamy adrenaline down Eric’s back and he used that adrenaline to flip them over. The moonlight peeked through the window, watching them as they became intertwined in each other.
Rosalyn begged Eric for bliss.
She whispered in his ear provocative promises that made Eric groan, almost growl, with excitement.
In their tangled embrace, they became completely honest to each other; baring themselves on the sheets of their bed. Rosalyn reached down and held Eric in her hands.  He let out a small gasp, but dove back into the nape of her neck to muffle the moans she was triggering.  A few minuets later, without a word, but with complete understanding-the pair, became one.
Rosalyn’s body was hot and excited, and she could feel Eric’s love plunge deep into her.  Eric’s body was glistening in the moonlight, Rosalyn was overcome with emotion and arched her back, giving Eric direct access to her own love.  He took full advantage of her offering and pushed harder, faster.  The two created a pulsing motion that, when mixed with the sounds of their breathing, turned into music. They listened to the love song their bodies played for several minuets.
Suddenly, Rosalyn felt that familiar tingle.  She reached above her, her body matched Eric’s glisten and her bare breasts erect from the soft breeze caused by their movements, and grabbed their black wrought iron headboard. She began to rock her hips back and forth against Eric’s love and before long she felt the rush of her lust surge down her body; engulfing Eric.  She let out a soft cry as her body became tense with ecstasy and Eric looked down at her and grinned.  He loved watching her love flow for him.  She was so beautiful as she lay beneath him, soft and sensual.  He had never felt love like hers before.
A moment later his own lust surged for her.
He bent down and clung to her as his body expelled his emotions to her.  Despite the two being exhausted and covered in sweat, Rosalyn smelled sweet against Eric’s nose and her hands softly caressed his brown hair as he lay on top of her panting for a moment. He brought his lips to her ear and softly whispered,
“I love you.  With all my heart.”

(He Was To Remember) — Discover

“The prose is so thick that to me it has the closeness of a summer day; you can feel yourself choking on the humidity, feel the grit of Macondo sticking to the back of your neck, and all you want to do is lie on the tile floor, eat a banana, and sweat.” Honoring literature with pie — a frozen banana pie, for One Hundred Years of Solitude.

via (He Was To Remember) — Discover

I love this little blurb.  I have never eaten a frozen banana pie, but after reading this, I can taste the heavy banana and cream flavor swirling around in my mouth.  As we all know by now, I am huge on description, and this one certainly takes the cake….er, pie!

Something A Little Different

Since I wound up with writer’s block early on in this blogging adventure, I decided to add a little more variety to what you all get to read.  A wise woman advised me to use writing prompts to stir up the creative juices, and I thought it might be fun to share what comes out of them.
Hopefully, this will become a regular thing.
I need to warn you all, I don’t intend on going back and editing this a lot, I want it to be a sort of brainstorming session, as organic as I can make it.  If you all would like to leave feedback, I welcome and appreciate the advice/encouragement.

Today’s writing prompt :
What’s the weather outside your window doing right now?

I am looking outside my window, and I hardly notice the weather.  I am overcome with wonder at the large tree that sits about 20 yards in front of my house.  It’s a striking tree because it has white flowers that bloom in the early spring.  And as it is now that time, the tree’s branches are weighed down by plump white blossoms.  I don’t notice the cloud cover that has hidden today’s sunshine, nor do I care much for the chill that nips today’s air.  I care more about the dance the tree’s branches are performing for me in today’s light spring wind.  It feels like the tree is trying to get my attention.  Each time I look away, I notice it’s white floral bulbs hopping back into my view.  The tree stands in front of my house with such grandeur, as if to say, “YOU THERE, ADMIRE ME!”
Admire, I shall.
Even as the clouds, that I now notice, block the sun they do not block the tree’s beauty.  The natural shade turn the bright blossoms from white to off white, giving the tree a vintage feel.  All the more inspiring to me.  I continuously glance at the tree, it gives me a sense of hope, a sense of calm or tranquility.  I see one side of the tree has a branch that hangs low to the ground.  I wonder if it is inviting me to climb inside it’s complex branches, to sit among it’s tiny floral wonders.  What daydreams await me inside there, I wonder.  Will they dance across my eyes like pixie fairies?  Will I fall asleep on a branch to the sweet smell of the blossoms and find my daydreams that way?  Maybe I could climb into the tree’s floral mass and simply hide-hide from the life I live.  I could sit with the blooms and pretend I have no real responsibilities, no deadlines, no commitments, nothing.  Is that why this tree and I have paths that cross?  So that I may crawl into it’s branches and absorbed?  The rest of the world must carry on in my absence, but I am nestled comfortably in the soft flower clusters of that tree.

Rekindling the Flame, pt 3

The pair had finished their drinks and sat for a moment in silence, staring at each other, smiling.  Eric checked his phone, then looked around.
“Waiting for someone?”  Rosalyn teased as she also looked at her phone.  She scanned the room for Violet, who was no where to be found, but sighed in relief from the text that she sent to check in.
“No, I was thinking this place is getting a little crowded.  Wana get outta here?”  He asked with a half, turned up smile
Rosalyn was reapplying her lipstick, “Sure, that would be ni-”
“Hey! You still have that?!”  Eric asked excitedly while grabbing her wrist and running a finger over the gold bracelet that hung effortlessly around it.
Rosalyn laughed.  Eric’s sudden enthusiasm caused her to draw a long streak of lipstick across her face.  She wet a drink napkin and fixed the shimmering pink smear on her cheek, “Of course I still have it.  You gave it to me.  I have almost everything you gave me.”
“Why not?”
“Because we aren’t together anymore.”  The statement hung above them awkwardly.  The heavy music pumping through the bar and the sounds of chatter mixed with the clanking of glass became suddenly apparent to them. They felt the urge, almost simultaneously, to look anywhere except in each others eyes like they had been all night.
Rosalyn cleared her throat and said, “That doesn’t mean that these things still aren’t special to me.  Or that you still aren’t special to me.  It just means that our lives were headed in different directions.  The things you gave me over the years….I keep them to remember you.  To remember the good times, the times I cherish and miss.”
Eric stared at her bracelet as she said those words.  He was remembering when he gave it to her; her birthday during a date night filled with fun and laughter.
He thought he felt his eyes well up and his throat tighten.  He blinked hard and masked his emotions in a manly cough.
“Hey, didn’t you mention something about getting out of here?”  She cut in with a half smile that matched his.
Eric sat back in his chair and folded his arms, “I did.  Where would you like to go?” He could feel the Guinness float in his head.  Good thing we don’t drive in New York City, he thought.
“You asked me! It was YOUR idea” Rosalyn jested, giving Eric a playful shove.  Her heart had been pounding that familiar beat.  It was Eric’s beat.  Despite her heart’s rhythmic dance, Rosalyn felt calm in his presence.  She felt like they had picked up right where they left off all those years ago.  She was excited to see where the night was going to take them.  Her knees tingled with the thought of standing up and walking, she could feel the warm damp feeling of lust for him.
“Ok, right you are” He said standing up and motioning for the check.  Rosalyn pulled some cash out of her clutch, but Eric insisted she put it away.  The two playfully argued for a moment until Rosalyn submitted and tucked her money safely inside the small bag and snapped it shut.
Eric draped his suit jacket over his arm, came around to Rosalyn who was beginning to get out of her chair, helped pull the chair out, and offered to escort her to the door.  He hasn’t changed a bit, Rosalyn thought accepting his offer.
They met eyes on the way out and turned their heads away quickly with a chuckle.  Eric looked over to where he began his night.  His coworkers had become scarce, but he gave a goodbye nod anyway.  At the door, he stopped them took his jacket and wrapped it around Rosalyn’s shoulders and gave them a quick rub. She had forgotten how tall he was and it took a second longer than she realized to scan up to his eyes.  Rosalyn looked at him with pleasant surprise.
“It’s a little chilly out there, tonight” Is all he said as he opened the door for her.

This Is Why You Pace Yourself

I have so many stories to tell you.  So many “Ah-Ha” moments, for myself, to discover in the writing of these blogs. I sit here, with the site open ready to type away all the memories, stories, and thoughts, pressing against each other in my mind dying to leap onto the page….
I am blocked though.
I haven’t blogged enough to have writer’s block, I think.  Yet here I am writing to you, all, in a confusing point of view; am I in 3rd person, watching myself sit on my couch with my computer on my lap, or am I narrating, giving you a glimpse into myself and my life?  I am listening to a carefully chosen playlist trying to get in the blogging mood (Please refer to “Setting the Mood”) with little success.  I am beginning to think there are too many outside distractions for me to effectively open the door to let everything out for you to read.
Too much light is one problem; yes, it is an unusual problem, to have too much light.  Right now the light is shining right through the window taking my eyes away from the screen and to the possibilities that could be had in the shimmering solar rays.
The television is on.
Another problem.
I am not a white noise person, despite trying to convince Adele to get me in the mood through my earbuds.
I need silence.
To wrangle my wild, bucking memories and stories.  I use the silence like a lasso to capture a particular literary thought and drag it to the screen.  Right now I all I can focus on is whatever cartoon is trying to teach my “fan club” manners and social etiquette.
My “fan club” is the problem, of this I am sure.  Their constant requests, needless riots that destroy my headquarter, and the list goes on and on.  I am constantly pausing the creative juices from flowing.
So, here I am, trying to think of ways I can NOT blame myself for my own writers’ block.  I mean, I could pick everything up and head to my cozy, quiet bedroom right?  I could turn the television off and send the “fan club” to their rooms to play couldn’t I?  I could even take notes on ideas and thoughts that pop in my head throughout the day, and just wait until after everyone has retired for the evening to get to work cranking out all the things desperate to get out of my mind.