Short, Short Stories

 One thing that I have been doing the last several weeks, is trying to write more. It took a little bit but I found a time that works for me. After I put Milo for his afternoon nap, I let Gus watch a little TV, while I write. I found what works best for me is looking at this website for a journal prompt. Using that prompt as a lens to look at my morning with the boys. Then I write what I call a short, short story. I write for 20 minutes. Sometimes its more of a direct aspect of what we did, some times its an extended moment that we witnessed. All are at least slightly exaggerated. Here is one from this week. If you all like them, I can share more on here!

 Prompt: On the other side of the house...

 

On the other side of the house lay the ruins of a two year old left unattended. 

Three cloth baskets all upturned and in separate corners of the room. Their contents lay bare covering half 

of the carpeted open space. Various toy vehicles of all sizes, magnatile stacks (maybe put together, 

maybe they were like that before), and a bevy of toy animals make up the spilt contents. 

Added to the minefield, a large, orange rescue truck the size of a small raccoon blocking half the entry way

into the playroom. Where do you think the large wicker basket holding the dress up clothes was? 

The dress up clothes themselves? … you are correct if you concluded that they too were thrown about. 

The clothes are still in a rough pile, just not in their proper place. A small plastic shopping cart also emptied of

 its paper fish and toy rod. The fish “swimming” in the magnatile mess. To complete the look, several 

small trucks line the window sill. 

The two year old wanders back into the dining room to join his father and older brother, who are playing 

with oobleck. “Water.” “Water, now.” “What word are you missing?” states the father. The boy gives a 

cheeky grin and belts out “PLEASE!” The father gets to his feet, the oldest waits until the father is 

walking back with the water cup, to state that he too needs some water. By the time, he is back, the 

youngest has disappeared back into the playroom. It is a rainy day, the dad looks at the clock. Just past

11 am. Should be getting lunch ready, he thinks to himself. On cue, the oldest states, “I’m hungry.” 

The dad is once again out of his chair, cutting red pepper and mango. Adding a beef stick, that also 

needs to be cut and throwing the last two street taco size tortillas from the package onto their plates. 

The youngest jogs into the dining room as his lunch is put on the place mat unbeknownst to his father, 

that a dozen or so books are now added to the playroom floor. Along with the books, several pairs of 

shoes made the short distance from their pile near the entryway to join in with the debris. The eldest 

son’s sandal placed precociously on the arm of one of the sitting chairs. 

Yawns start while the boys eat their lunch. The youngest asking for his blankie and pacifier  while still 

chewing on a beef stick. He gets a quick diaper change before being escorted up to his room for a nap. 

As his father reads to the youngest son, the oldest hops down from his booster seat and journeys into 

the playroom. Unperturbed by the mess, he decides that more toys need to be added to the mix. 

A large plush sloth named Beans, similar in height to the boy becomes a fixture in the center of the room. 

The tablet, that still isn’t charged, goes on the chair opposite the one holding his sandal. His final touch 

is the three pillows from the living room find a new home, stacked neatly in the corner of the room. 

The youngest went down easily, though needed to sit in the rocking chair by himself while being read to. 

The father is hopeful to rest his eyes a bit while he turns the TV on for the oldest boy. PJ Masks is the 

choice of programming. The son climbs up on his dad as they snuggle on the couch (dad rolling up one 

of the blankets to make a pillow), the father glancing a peek into the playroom noticing the rescue truck 

propping the door open. He can only see a small patch of empty carpet and the top of Beans’ head 

staring back. He smiles to himself. “Usually the boys are more messy.”