post a non-mishpacha/binah magazine style story.

mummiedearest ↓

Thu, Jan 13 2011, 11:10 am

edited as the tone was hurtful. (thanks for pointing that out. this is why I have to read things over before posting.)

I'd like to read real stories about ourselves as adults. this genre specifically excludes stories that are meant to be inspirational (they can be inspirational, but not intentionally so) and exclude those serials that run for a million weeks. adult pov's only, please.

as a tip: it is hard to read longer pieces on a screen, so please be careful to break things into readable paragraphs.

my apologies to those who may have been hurt by my initial tone. I've been having one of those weeks. nothing personal was intended.

Last edited by mummiedearest on Thu, Jan 13 2011, 12:37 pm; edited 1 time in total

↑ mummiedearest ↓

Thu, Jan 13 2011, 12:32 pm

sequoia wrote:

I've never read frum fiction so I have no idea what you're talking about or what to "avoid."

Also, you don't just get over childhood or teenage traumas. This is why I try to stick to impersonal or humorous pieces, because if I wrote anything from the heart, it would be about traumatic things (which IS what's real for me in the here and now, unfortunately).

Your tone is hurtful.

my apologies. I meant no teen angst/childhood trauma from the point of view of a child. how childhood trauma affects the adult is included in the category. I should have been more clear.

my apologies. I had no intention to be hurtful. I will edit the first post to be more specific.

↑ mummiedearest ↓

Thu, Jan 13 2011, 1:15 pm

I wake up at 7:00 am thinking it is 3:00. "snrrrrrrgllll grrrrnx time is it?"

"It's time to wake the kids up, dear."

Yes, we call each other dear. Like an old married couple. Which is what we are. After all, we've been married for five years.

"Who's getting the kids up today?"

"I'll flip you for it."

"Ok, heads."

"It's tails. You get to wake them up."

"Darn."

I trudge over to my son's bedroom, my eyes half closed. I sit on the bed and give it a bounce.

"Wake up, kiddo. Today's another day. You need to get dressed so you can catch the bus."

"nuwanna."

"I'll tickle you then."

"nuwanna."

I tickle my son, hoping he'll really wake up. He laughs hysterically, but rolls over and shuts his eyes as soon as I stop. He gets out of bed only because I threaten to tickle him again.

He slumps his way to the bathroom.

My daughter is awake, but screams as soon as I come into her room. "NOT YOU! I want Papa!"

Great. It's one of those days.

I trip my way back to my room, intending to get dressed. I don't want to put the kids on the bus while I'm still in pajamas.

I notice that my husband has fallen back asleep.

Sigh. I did lose the coin-toss, after all...

I hate waking up for pre-school.

↑ amother ↓

Thu, Jan 13 2011, 1:54 pm

Sunday. I filed my claim for unemployment. Go to part-time job in Yeshiva.

Monday. I check my bank account to see what's left. Then I go to Sears to buy my kids slippers.

Tuesday. Do grocery shopping at Kosher Store using Benefit Card (food stamps). Only $50 left, so $50 comes out of my bank account.

Wednesday. Car insurance deducted from my Bank account. $200 left. Need to buy ice scraper for car from Walmart. None left at Walmart. Go to Shop Rite for ice scraper, cereal, aluminum foil, plates.

Thursday. If balance drops below $100, my bank will charge $15 fee. Better not shop today. Go to gym instead.

Friday. Thank Hashem I have enough money to buy essentials for shabbos.

Shabbos: Get criticism from well-meaning friends for not buying fashionable clothes.

If they only knew...

↑ mummiedearest ↓

Thu, Jan 13 2011, 1:58 pm

amother wrote:

wow. good luck, amother. that sounds tough. sorry about your friends. that must be very unpleasant.

MommytoB ↓

Thu, Jan 13 2011, 3:06 pm

Ok...decided not to post anon. First time ever to post something I wrote...

In a heartbeat, Julie jumped out of bed, unseeing, not sure what had awoken her. She was halfway out of the room when she realized the baby was crying. Trying to steady herself, she put her hand on the wall in front of her and squinted through her eyes to see the red glow of the alarm clock; 3:15 am. Only 20 minutes since she had fallen into bed last.

She made her way to the baby’s room and scooped Libby out of her bassinet trying to coax a burp out of her. From the soft glow of the nightlight in the hallway, she could see Libby’s scrunched eyes as she continued to wail. Julie sighed, sat down in the rocking chair and helped Libby latch on. Instant silence. As Libby gulped down the milk, Julie closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the clock in Libby’s room said 3:50. She had fallen asleep and the baby had popped off and was sleeping soundly on her nursing pillow, Julie’s arm securely around her back. More than anything, Julie wanted to place Libby gently in the basinet and tiptoe out of the room and back to bed. But she knew that is she did not change her diaper and nurse her on the other side, Libby would be up screaming in twenty minutes. Nursing her more might buy 2 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Finding the energy, Julie stood up and walked to the changing table. She paused a moment as she looked down at Libby, still asleep regardless of the location shift. She hated to wake her up and loved to watch her take little breaths in and out, calm and quiet. Gently and efficiently, she unzipped Libby’s pajamas and swapped the wet diaper for a clean one. The scent of Libby’s baby lotion wafted up and Libby opened her eyes briefly. Seeing her opportunity, Julie grabbed Libby before she could fall back to sleep and almost ran to the rocking chair. Back in position, Julie closed her eyes again.

This time she dreamed.

↑ mummiedearest ↓

Thu, Jan 13 2011, 3:17 pm

MommytoB wrote:

ah, the late-night feeding. extra points for naming the mom Julie. (I just happen to like the name. I've known a few julies, but this one seems younger than all of them.)

↑ MommytoB ↓

Thu, Jan 13 2011, 3:57 pm

mummiedearest wrote:

I feel the same way! Though, I am often in pajamas when carpool gets here...

↑ MommytoB ↓

Thu, Jan 13 2011, 3:57 pm

mummiedearest wrote:

MommytoB wrote:

ah, the late-night feeding. extra points for naming the mom Julie. (I just happen to like the name. I've known a few julies, but this one seems younger than all of them.)

Can you tell what stage of life I am in?

↑ MommytoB

Thu, Jan 13 2011, 3:59 pm

amother wrote:

Wow amother. I can feel the stress!

sunshine!

Thu, Jan 13 2011, 5:04 pm

I tiptoe out of the room, mentally patting myself on the back. I did it! I put 3 kids to sleep all by myself. The night stretches out in front of me like a magical red carpet. Sheer bliss. I begin to imagine... First, I will go to the bathroom for 5 whole uninterrupted minutes. Then, I will get to clear away the leftovers without someone reminding themselves that they are still "starving". I can actually check my emails without the baby unplugging the tangle of wires at my feet. I can even read the mail without the pages getting shredded or drooled on. Wow! I feel like I conquered the world!

"Ma?" My heart sinks. "I need a drink." No, not again. We were done. Everyone was sleeping, weren't they? Drink dispensed, kid tucked in, I hurry down the steps. Oh no. I freeze. Is that crying I hear? Sigh. I go back up. The baby is fussing. She is pulling at her ear and my shirt simultaneously. I'm having deja vu. We've definitely been here before tonight. Tylenol given, baby tucked in. I'm off like a bullet. The target: bathroom. I grab a magazine off the rack and settle down.

I think I hear a pillow fight in the next room. Too bad. I put 3 kids to sleep already and I am done for the night.

bailalinda

Thu, Jan 13 2011, 6:07 pm

They say you can get used to anything. Really? Sometimes I don't know about that.

Everyone knows no child is perfect. My best friend had her first child at 21, a beautiful baby boy who just happens to have an extra chromosome. We think we're prepared for things like that, or that these things never happen to us. We do tests, ultrasounds, and breathe a sigh of relief when our baby has 10 fingers, 10 toes and a healthy set of lungs.

The pediatrician at the hospital missed it. Our pediatrician missed it. My husband was the one who found it when I went back to work, and don't working mothers have enough guilt about going back to work?

We pointed it out to our pediatrician. He sent us to a specialist. And at 12 weeks old, our beautiful little girl was put under anesthesia. Her eye was slit open, and the surgeon removed a cataract that had been blocking most of the light from getting to her brain.

Who ever expects that a tiny white spot in a baby's eye, something that looks deceptively like the reflection of an overhead light, could be such a serious problem?

Luckily, we caught it in before her brain decided that eye was just not functional and literally shut off communication to it. They would have liked to have caught it even earlier, but how were we supposed to know it was so serious? It was just a little white spot.

Now we live in a world of pediatric ophthalmology, rigid gas permeable contact lenses, eye exams under anesthesia, bifocals for the rest of her life and perhaps vision therapy. My day starts with putting a lens in her eye. Her day ends with us holding her down so we can get it back out again. I hate making her cry, but I would hate compromising her vision even more.

But she can see. She can walk, play and sing. So maybe you can get used to anything....