Tag Archives: moms

Making Danica Patrick Proud


Usually light-hearted and felicitous, Fannie appeared befuddled. The quaff normally perched atop her head in platinum perfection, instead shot out in all directions, and her frippery lay uncharacteristically in disarray. Fannie didn’t feel her normal self. 

The children fluttered about her like mob of meerkats, just as frantic as she, before loading into their Mercedes sedan. The nanny usually drove them to school, so everyone’s anxiety ran high. Mother’s driving expertise equated amateur level. 

A previous trip ended in such embarrassment. Last time she delivered them to school, arrival was marked with sirens sounding and lights in the rear-view mirror.


100-word challenge:  amateur 


Photo: Markus Kneibes via Flickr


Leave a comment

Filed under fiction, writing

The Birds & the Bees on TV

16 - 1

The clunking sound of pans and plates being rocked by the spray of water in the dishwasher covered an annoying chatter of television sports announcers emitting from the adjoining room. Fortunately, the rotating whoosh sound fairly drowned out the strange mentions of “dog legs” on golf courses and commentators’ snappy banter about ball scores and one another’s tie on the cast that day. Her son’s attraction to such boring fare was beyond her understanding.

She asked him, “Why don’t you go outside and play, honey?” Apparently the boy was in rapture of the reporting and didn’t answer. She raised her voice to get his attention. “Hey, there! It’s a beautiful day outside. You ought to go ride your bicycle,” the woman suggested. Imagining the silence in the house, she relished the idea of sitting at the kitchen table with the enormous cat dozing in her lap at the chance of reading the final pages of her book.

“Oh, come on, Mom. I’m watching ESPN,” he told her. Personally, she’d rather listen to the sound of jackhammers outside the door than the squeak of athletic shoes on a basketball court or another jaunty jingle in a beer commercial. The same stereotypical advertisements filled the network’s breaks between segments. Maybe programmers knew their market, but her boy didn’t need to choose shaver brands quite yet.

“I just can’t fathom what you get out of watching that stuff,” she said. “Can you explain it to me?” No reply came. He was lost to the eagle putt again.

Back in her childhood, she loved roaming the neighborhood. All the other kids played in their yards and waved at her walking their dog around the block. Sometimes they’d join her to place pennies on the railroad tracks, which they’d flock to retrieve later in hopes a train had smashed the coins flat. She stayed aloft and out of her parents’ sight in the tallest oak tree if sought for causing trouble.

Remembering those shenanigans made her smile. Being outdoors had been her absolute favorite pastime. Why didn’t kids feel the same way nowadays?

Barely within her realm of acknowledgement, she heard an ad announcer say, “A healthy erection will not last more than four hours.” “Great,” she thought, “here we go.”

Her son called, “Mom?” She closed her paperback and froze in fear of the next question. Being out of his line of sight, maybe he’d think she left the room.

“Mo-om,” he persisted. “What’s an erection?” She remained silent. She’d dreaded this day coming. He was too young to know about these things yet. “Damn, you Golf Channel marketing department,” she pondered. “Why did you make this conversation necessary so soon?”

She remained perfectly still. Maybe she didn’t have to respond. Looking out the window, she wished she could climb the nearest tree and hide.

*Studio 30+ writing prompt – shenanigans s30p

Image: Katy B.


Filed under life, writing

By Now

It’s yet another writing prompt from Studio 30+.  Just before Mother’s Day.  Studio 30+

Endera hated those mini-van windows with the stick figure family progression from Dad (because, of course, he’s always tallest) down through kiddos and even the dog. As usual, Mom is second in line — funny, as she’s probably the one who put the damn things there in the first place. It was comical to see those embellishments on a tough-looking SUV or a sporty little coupe, not what you’d expect on anything but the micro-bussed, soccer-mom-mobiles of the world. Endera was outwardly bitter toward the whole thing, and she couldn’t help but wear it on her sleeve.  stix

She’d been a babysitter most of her young adulthood and always thought she’d wanted kids of her own, but the older she grew the clearer it became that maybe she wasn’t cut out to be a mom. Kids are loud. It was enough to listen to her date yammer on about nothingness, much less the cacophony of a toddler in her house, and the thought of a newborn’s blast was enough to shake her womb into utter rejection. Noise sensitivity came along with age, or at least Endera blamed it on that.

photo: yalescientific.org

photo: yalescientific.org

Her own mother’s and grandmother’s nagging hadn’t helped matters. “When are you going to settle down with a nice fella?” “You need to give us a grandbaby sometime, you know!” “There’s nothing like the pitter patter of little … don’t worry, you’ll change your mind.” The best was the admonishment, “Your biological clock is ticking!” They were relentless.

She’d let those lofty illusions simmer in her brain at one time, but the fantasies were long in her past. Way back in her 20s.

Endera had assumed her life with Tate would include those familial fairytales … the four-bedroom house, two kids and the stinky little dog. Her dream version life came complete with a chain-link fence to secure a miniature Schnauzer from being hit by the neighbor’s mini-van. Her future didn’t pan out the way she imagined.  But as John Lennon once said, “Life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans.”

She had a decent job, her own SUV and a great apartment in the city. Endera’s social group regular met for happy hour or movies and had dinner at nice restaurants on a regular basis. Her girlfriends set her up with Accountant or Broker friends of their husbands, so she had a very satisfying sex life and things to do.

Her disappointment stemmed from Tate breaking his promise. It was only a proposal, after all. He didn’t actually say “till death do we part” in front of everyone — he’d only hinted at those sentiments in private, in the dark after they’d been intimate. He’d led her on like a puppy, and she hated herself for believing his lies. Sometimes she’d catch herself digging her perfectly French tipped nails into her palms so deeply in unconscious anger that she had almost ruined her fresh manicure before she stopped.

Little did Endera know what he actually had in mind, that he was more intent on keeping his affair with a co-worker secret. Their private meetings had gone on in those hours of “working late” and happy hours that were only for the guys at work. Yeah … the guys. That group wasn’t supposed to include the one with a surgically enhanced rack and fake-ass veneers. Those same sparkling teeth had been flashed at Endera in false greeting when she’d stopped by Tate’s office once to surprise him with lunch.

Her cell phone’s buzz surprised Endera out of her temporary catatonia, and she released the tight grip of her fists. Uncurling her fingers revealed four perfect crescent-shaped indentations across each palm.  She shook out her hands and answered the incoming call. A high-pitched ramble emerged from the phone, “Hello, sweetheart! How are you? Do you have a date tonight?”

It was her mother. Endera released a weighty, yet silent, sigh. She replied, “No, Mom. Sorry to disappoint you. I’m staying in tonight.”


Filed under writing