Week 8 Prompts

30. Just a passing face on the street. Oh lord, just a passing face....

I spot her at the end of the isle. I stop like a deer in the headlights. Crap, did she see me? I pretend to be looking at the shelf to my side. Tampons, perfect, that makes me look better. I picture the conversation, she asks what I'm up to. I respond, 'Oh you know, just shopping for tampons.' Sweet. Plan B, make a run for the next isle. But I realize, eventually, she will be in the next isle too. And the next, and the next. Why did I pick today to go to the store in my pajamas? I don't even have the kids with me. Usually I am fearless with the kids. I can direct the conversation and attention to them and away from myself. Not today. Here I stand, makeup-less, hair disheveled. Maybe she won't recognize me in this crude state. I'll just be another passing face. Oh lord, just a passing face...


35. Three of them sitting there in complete silence.

Ron and the kids sit on the couch watching TV. It's like he's holding two miniature versions of himself, one on each knee. I'm not sure why they chose the love seat instead of the big couch. If they were on the big one they wouldn't have to be squished in like pickles in a jar. I guess I'm glad they didn't though, it makes for a good cuddle session.
Not only do they look alike, but they behave the same as well. I'm always cleaning up after them, I have to ask a question three times before it really registers. I bet if I walked over there and waved my hand in front of their face, they wouldn't even notice. Ron and Grady do this thing where they pretend I'm not standing right in front of them. If the TV is on, they are fully engaged.
I walk over to the couch and ask, 'What do you want for dinner?'. Simultaneously they lean slowly to one side and peer their lifeless TV eyes around me as if it would pain them to look away for one milisecond. I ask again, 'Dinner? Any ideas? How about you Grady, what do you want to eat?' Nothing. Not so much as a blink. I actually have to turn off the television to snap them out of their trance. As soon as my finger hits the button, they both give me a look of terror. I feel like I have committed a murder or something. Maybe Grady does this because he only watches TV when his dad is home. He has learned the obsession from Ron's superb modeling.

38. The bluebird of happiness flies over the battlefield and lands on a boot left behind.

Grady marches across the lawn. Or tries to. Every step his foot sinks into the soupy soil and it takes much more effort than usual to lift it. But he presses on, determined to make it to the magnificent puddle ahead. He decides running may be a better bet than marching. But he was wrong. The first few steps went according to plan, but the next his boot is held captive by the mud. My first impulse is to run over and rescue the fallen soldier. But I don't. I've played the controlling role too much lately, he needs to be a little boy. Running through the wet lawn and splashing in puddles is what a kid is supposed to do, one boot or two.
He finally makes it to the puddle after much hard work and immediately sits down right in the middle. I encourage him, 'Splash!'
He raises both hands and slaps them against the water, gasping as it hits his face. 'Woah', he says in awe. He continues to splash around until standing up to stomp his feet. The same effect. The same response, 'Woah'. He spots another puddle not too far away and starts walking towards it. The dog barks in the background so I turn around to see what mischief she has gotten into this time. I turn back to see Grady face first in the mud and instantly panic, is he okay?. Before I can even get the words out of my mouth, he looks at me and says, 'Oops, I okay.' He knew the question before I could even say it. Yeah, I really need to back off a bit. He's not made of glass, he's a little boy. I take off my shoes and make my way over to the puddle. For the next half hour we splash and roll around in the water and for the next half hour, I am two years old as well.