It's been a while since I've posted anything new. My little sister is here visiting for a week and we've been having fun catching up and doing sister things. Our kids are not having such a good time, however, finding any opportunity to fight, scream and cry over dramatically. Plan on me working through my pain and frustration in a creative writing kind of way. I'll be posting my thoughts on the clash of the cousins here in the coming weeks.
Here's a little something that I wrote, again about an experience with my son Jonah:
“Can I have a pet, “Jonah asked with a little too much hope and eagerness in his voice.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked. I’d been enjoying the last few chapters of a book I knew I had to finish in the next few hours not only so I could find out what happened but also so I could have a few productive days before starting the sequel.
“A bug,” Jonah said innocently enough, but I could tell it was a little more than a request.
“I don’t think we want a bug as a pet,” I tried to convince him. “Bugs do better outside where they can live with their family.” I had used the “family” argument before whenever one of my boys wanted to bring something in the house I thought should stay outside. I wasn’t proud of emotionally manipulating my boys in this way, but this argument had been successful in keeping not only pet worms and ants out of the house, but also mossy sticks and muddy rocks.
“It’s not a flying bug,” Jonah offered, as if it would make a bit of difference. I realized though, with this new information, that the bug was probably already somewhere in the house.
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