A Mom's Year

Creating a comfortable life one moment at a time

Short Fiction

Becky

Becky sat in her car, watching people go in and out of the gym’s outer doors. They all looked impossibly fit to her, members of a secret club she’d never been able to join. She slumped down in her seat, hoping for invisibility. Which was usually not a problem.

Becky glanced at her phone. Her fitness evaluation was scheduled to start in 5 minutes. A couple came out of the doors, laughing. When Becky realized they were going to pass right by her, she fumbled to cover up the box of donuts on the seat next to her. They walked past without a glance.

Becky reviewed the reasons she was here. She was turning 30 in 5 months and didn’t want to start the new decade weighing 312 pounds. She was tired of people saying, “You have such a pretty face.” She was tired of fat clothes and squeezing into seats and being out of breath. She was tired of being tired.

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Creative + Life / Does Writing Have to Hurt?

Ernest Hemingway, they say, wrote the best short story ever. History is fuzzy but the general idea is that Hemingway bet some friends he could write a complete story in only six words. No way, they said. Hemingway jotted some words on a napkin and passed it around. His friends read it and handed over the money. This is what he wrote:

For sale: baby shoes, never worn.

In my first attempt at writing short fiction last week, I managed not to convey a single emotion in 500 words, let alone six. Not even a drop. I got the who, what, where, when, and how, but none of the angst felt by someone who fears she’s piddling her dreams away.

Which made me realize that switching from editor to writer will be harder than I thought. Because it turns out that when you write, you go through all that pain first!

How did I not know this? And, really, does every novel or short story or poem have to be gut-wrenching? Can’t writers just entertain without putting characters we love—and everyone else—through the wringer?

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Krazystraws: Name Straw

My kids love straws. The more they twist and turn, the better. So I thought they’d get a kick out of these Name Straws.

The straws cost $3.99 (plus shipping), which I thought was reasonable for a gift that’s so unique. Krazystraws can make straws with up to 5 characters and/or 3 capital letters. And, really, you’re not limited to names. Your straw could say Cutie or Bride or Dad or Love or anything that fits the occasion.

 

Golden Hours

Tim sent me this photo from May 2006. 

You must have been warned against letting the golden hours slip by. Yes, but some of them are golden only because we let them slip.

J. M. Barrie


Country of the Week: Iceland

{ Eldfell Volcano, Iceland, 1973 }

As I put the Little Passports suitcase back in its spot during post-Christmas clean up, Lily asked if we could do a Country of the Week (we haven’t done one since August). She and Will voted for Iceland because it came with a cool mini volcano.

We kicked off the festivities by playing “Immigrant Song” during a dinner of Icelandic caramel potatoes and baked cod. I got the recipes off the Internet and, to be honest, they weren’t great. I hope we’ll have better luck with something called lummur that’s supposed to be like a thick pancake. I’ve seen Siggi’s Icelandic skyr-style yogurt around somewhere so I’ll be on the lookout for that, too.

We will not be trying hakari, the rotted meat of a dead shark.

After “Immigrant Song” we watched a Björk video for about two seconds. The kids weren’t feeling it, so we moved on to the “Little Talks” video from Of Monsters and Men. Equally strange, I thought, but the kids liked it.

For activities, all we really need to do is go outside and look at the ice and snow. We should probably make a Viking longboat. And read some epic poems.

I don’t think I’ll mention Flengingardagur (Whipping Day). This holiday is part of the Lenten season and involves children “whipping” their parents with paper whips until they’re given a bun or muffin. Good times. From what I’ve read, the custom grew out of the actual practice of self-flagellation. I’m always fascinated by how traditions and customs develop and change over the years—centuries, even.

Were any of you affected when Eyjafjallajökull erupted in 2010? Apparently, people flocked to Iceland to see the volcano after the ash had settled. Have you ever seen an active volcano up close? How close would you be willing to get?