Blood Type

Cary sighed and flopped down onto her bed dramatically. Her parents were probably the worst parents in the history of lame parents.

(Yes, she was exaggerating. Yes, she was aware of it. No, she wasn’t going to stop.)

They weren’t going to answer her questions. They weren’t even going to acknowledge that she had questions and that they would have to answer them at some point.

(They were likely to actually go to their graves holding onto this secret, she suspected. It seemed to be that kind of secret and it was driving her nuts.)

It had started with a simple Biology assignment for school. They were learning about genetics and how they affect blood types within the family. Her parents were both Type O and she was Type AB. She looked like her parents and she was fairly certain that her mother hadn’t cheated on her father.

(They just didn’t have that vibe and what prodding she’d done had shown up as her parents being completely faithful to one another. And that they were both very aware that she apparently wasn’t theirs,thank you very much.)

Their manner towards her had never been any different from the way they treated her younger brother.

(Who was their biological child. She’d been there when her parents had explained why Mommy’s tummy was getting bigger and why she was going to have a younger brother. That had been a very traumatic thing to realize when she’d first gone through puberty and realized just what her parents would have to have done in order for her younger brother to be there at all.)

“This is going to bug me until the day I die if I don’t figure it out,” she mumbled to herself.

“Dawn” by my mother

My first books of poetry were given to me by my mother. At the time I was studying different styles of poetry in elementary school and found that I loved it, even if it was one of those things that I wasn’t the best at. It wasn’t until several years later, when cleaning out some boxes from the storage room, that I found a slim red-covered notebook with ‘A Collection of Poetry’ written on the front page in my mom’s elegant cursive.

(Seriously, her cursive is so beautiful that it reminds me of calligraphy. I lament the fact that cursive wasn’t as important during my learning years as it obviously was during hers.)

Inside of the notebook held a lovely collection of works that my mom had written throughout her life. Many of them were written for people that I have never met, but my favorite one is the first one inside the notebook. It goes as follows:

Dawn
 
I saw my daughter just today,
All rosy pink and new.
My precious little gift from God
Shone fresh as morning dew.
 
I saw my daughter just today,
Her chubby hands still held
Her favorite doll, a circus clown,
All ragged, smiling still.
 
I saw my daughter just today
With pigtails curling round,
And tied with ribbons, white and pink,
Dressed in my evening gown
 
I saw my daughter just today
With rouge and lipstick on,
High heels and all the latest styles:
My little girl was gone.
 
I saw my daughter just today,
A woman now, full grown.
Her beauty took my breath away;
Oh, how the years have flown!
 
I saw my daughter just today,
So still and white with death.
I pled with God with all my heart,
“Please, do not take her yet!”
 
I saw my daughter just today,
She talked of memories sweet,
And of tomorrows we will share
When once again we meet.
 
I saw my daughter just today,
A promise in her eyes.
“Someday I’ll be with you again,
We’ll say no more goodbyes.”
 
I saw my daughter just today.
“Keep close to God,” she said.
“Draw comfort from the things He says
And death won’t be so sad.”
 
I saw my daughter just today.
“It’s time for me to go.
My love for you is always here
Because you loved me so.”

She wrote this for her cousin when she lost her daughter. I don’t think I was even born at the time. She says she was cooking dinner at the time she received the call from her sister-in-law. Mom had to stop what she was doing, sit down and just write this.

“It just flowed.”

I still can’t read this poem without crying no matter how old I have gotten and how many times I’ve traced her words.

Written for Suzie’s Weekly Challenge: http://suzie81speaks.com/2014/06/08/weekly-word-challenge-books-poetry-and-prose/

Awesome Li’l Sis – Thankful Thursday

Last week I spotlighted someone in particular that I was grateful for, my brother-in-law. This week I would like to spotlight his wife, my sister.

For most of her adult life, pre-marriage, she supported me and our mother through some very hard physical trials. Paying for doctor’s appointments when we had no income and making sure to pick up medications, going to doctor appointments with us and a pad of paper to take notes. She is the youngest of my sisters and though she was not alone in these endeavors (our second eldest sister was right there alongside her) she did not have to do so. When her now-husband wasn’t even her fiance yet, she mentioned to him that it was a likely possibility that they would need to help us often throughout the rest of our lives (we are disabled).

He was totally awesome about it and let her know that there would always be room for one or both of us if needed (though it might be a tight fit.) He also mentioned that this type of thing wasn’t new to him as he’d done the same with some of his own family and let her know that the reverse for him might be true. (That there would be times when his sister would need that type of help as well.) She was just as for it.

This sister of mine not only is awesome in her own right, but managed to find someone like her husband. They fit so well together and I can honestly say that I have never seen a couple so well-balanced in my life. They aren’t perfect, but they work together and try and that, in the end, is worth everything.

image: martha0stout's phone

image: martha0stout’s phone

Original Thankful Thursday prompt for this week: http://mithriluna.wordpress.com/2014/06/05/thankful-thursday-we-did-it/

Letter to the Editor

Dear Editor,

I would like to file a complaint.

This complaint is about cookies. The last two different batches of the same recipe (different changes) have failed utterly. They were delicious and good for you (sort of), but absolute failures as cookies.

My mother has informed me that they weren’t just failures. She insists that they were, in fact, EPIC failures.

On further attempts with this same recipe I have on a third attempt succeeded masterfully, but failed the fourth attempt. (Though they did make strangely good granola bars after prying them from the pan.)

This recipe:

 Cream – 1/2 c. white sugar, 1 c. brown sugar packed, 3/4 tsp. salt, 2 eggs, 1 tsp. vanilla, 1 tsp. baking soda, 1 c. peanut butter

Add – 1 c. oatmeal, 1 (12 oz.) chocolate chips, 1 c. nuts

Mix well. Drop on cookie sheet. Bake at 350 Degrees until lightly browned about 10 to 12 minutes. If too dry add a few drops of milk.

That is the extent of the instructions. I have learned that the peanut butter, oatmeal, nuts and chocolate chips can be optional if you want and that the length of cooking time can vary as well. This recipe is able to be turned into a low sugar recipe, though it is easier to do so if you have doubled or tripled the batch recipe and then substituted some of the white sugar for Splenda (or your equivalent). (Don’t mess with the brown sugar too much or it will change the cookies a lot; that’s why it’s good to convert to low sugar and not no sugar added. I have tried this, it makes weird biscuit/bread cookies that are good, but still strange.)

One of my sisters compiled a recipe based off of the previous one.

It goes as follows:

Ingredients –
1/2 cup Splenda/Sugar Substitute
1 cup brown sugar, packed
1/4 cup margarine/butter
2 eggs
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp vanilla
1 cup oatmeal
1 bag chocolate chips
1 cup chunky peanut butter

Mix: Splenda, brown sugar, salt, baking soda.

Add: Peanut butter and margarine to sugar mix. Cream together.

Mix in eggs and vanilla.

lastly, stir in oats and chocolate chips.

Drop cookie dough by spoonfuls on cookies sheet.

Bake cookies in a preheated 350° until lightly browned, approx. 9 1/2 mins.

Once again, the amount of time in the oven varies and the chocolate chips and oatmeal and even peanut butter can be optional.

The second recipe is the one I usually use as it has slightly better instructions and I like to switch out the butter/margarine and some of the peanut butter (if needed, you don’t always have enough peanut butter when you quadruple the batch. There are a lot of people in my family…) with applesauce or some other fruit that has been turned into a sauce (or mashed up). The amount of applesauce (or other fruit) I haven’t really measured (which might be the cause of some of my problems now that I think about it…) but have added using how much I think I need. (If it looks like it needs more, I add more.)

On further thought, it occurs to me that this letter might be better used should I actually measure the amount of mashed fruit/applesauce I put in and record the results.

Either way, the ‘epic failures’ were still mostly edible and some of them were even delicious.

As such, please disregard this letter, Editor and I thank you for your time.

Sincerely,

Martha Stout

Dust Bunny, Hop Hop – Poetry Prompt 14

Dirt will puff with the lightest of touch
Unless of course the scent comes out
So don’t complain when by she will slouch
There really is no need to shout.
 
Because she will rub up against you
Until you smell as dusty and she does.
Next her mother will come on around,
Necessary it will be, for she will tongue bath you.
Yes she will try to reach all around, but still you’ll smell dusty.

Written for another of Pooky’s poetry prompts: http://pookypoetry.wordpress.com/2014/05/14/poetry-prompt-14-describe-a-smell/

My cat’s name is Usako, which means baby bunny, as she had rather large ears as a kitten would spend most of her time jumping around. As an adult, she likes to roll around in the dry dirt out back and then come in. It’s not always easy to tell when she’s done this as she’s a grey and orange and white cat. (She’s mostly grey.) So, she’s my little ‘dust bunny.’

Grief-stricken

She screamed out her anger, her rage and her grief.

The winds ripped around her, destroying whatever they could grasp in their wispy fingers and shredding anything that stood against them. Ice spiked out from her and were reduced to hard needles in the whirlwind.

She doesn’t look up to view the destruction she has caused, is causing. She doesn’t care.

In her arms lies her child, his eyes blank and his features slack.

Rigor mortis has not set in yet.


Written because when I’m tired and my head aches a certain way, this scene will not go away.

This was also written quite a bit ago and couldn’t decide if it would settle itself into my Former Guardian universe or not. It just sort of floats around my head from time to time and is incredibly depressing.

Mornin’ Mom!

Most mothers wake first
Only to be shooed back into bed if kids are old enough.
Ready or not, they will demand that you leave the kitchen.
Now you’re waiting in bed and reading.
In they will march 10 minutes later,
Now mom will smile and sound very surprised.
Good morning, Mom! Happy Mother’s Day!

Written on honor of how my sister’s kids work through the morning on Mother’s Day. She wakes first and when they get up, they shoo her back to her room so they can surprise her with breakfast. They still manage to surprise her, though partly it’s because they’re cooking has gotten better over the years.

Sorry! You’re Obsolete

Out of everything she’d ever seen come and go, the thing she missed the most was the ability to simply sit around a table and play board games with her family. The advent and spread of video games, both on the computer and it’s smaller cousins or on the television. She missed having her husband at the other end of the dining room table with their sons on either side.

Mary entered her apartment and was greeted by the sounds of her youngest playing…something…on the small handheld that he had received from his older brother for Christmas. With a glance, she saw that Terry was sitting at the sofa working on some homework or maybe something else. She wasn’t entirely certain as he was working on those tablets that had become popular in her early years in this world.

If she was lucky, they’d agree to a quick family night tonight and do something together. If she was even luckier, they’d agree to a game of Sorry! as long as she was able to keep it a quick game.

Her eldest was often called in to work strange hours at his job.


Written for today’s Daily Post prompt: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/going-obsolete/

Also written because a few nights ago we were able to sit down and play a round of Sorry! which isn’t something that we’re always able to sit down and do. I miss the family game nights of board games…

Lazy Teen – Day Sixteen

Had enough time for everything,
Never on the run.
Plenty of time for fun,
More time for myself
Reading books upon my shelf.
No worries or cares,
Don’t really have to share.
Selfish with my time,
Could turn around on the dime.
This was my life at sixteen.

Written for today’s NaPoWriMo prompt (http://www.napowrimo.net/2014/04/day-sixteen/) and for today’s Daily Post prompt (https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/only-sixteen/).

Life at sixteen was very different for me compared to my friends. At first there were only five in my house (my mother, older sister, younger sister, younger brother and me) then my second eldest sister, who was pregnant at the time, moved back in with her two small children (toddlers, one could walk…sort of). This was only slightly strange for me because I was used to lots of people in the house (I am six of eight), but I was used to being amongst the youngest group, not the eldest.

I’d never really had a curfew before that and the only reason we had one after was because sound carried in our house. If you came home and were just slightly too loud, you woke the children (and eventually, the baby) which would then wake the whole house. No one was happy about that so it was decided by all that a curfew for everyone would be set and it would be enforced by the fact that if you woke the children up (one or all three) then you had to put them to sleep by yourself. (It was considered fair by everyone.)

Life has never been the same since, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Unreasonable

They accuse me of being unfair, of manipulating them into what I would have them do. All because I have spoken contrary to their wants. Of course I’m not being fair! What in this life is fair? If this life were fair, then I would still have Warren by my side, would not have watched him die and have to pretend I only mourn the loss of an estranged friend and father of my children. If this life were fair, then it is likely I would never have met Warren at all because I would have had no reason to come to this place.

If life were fair, I would not have been eternally lost to my past in order to have a future.

But life isn’t fair and we must use whatever means we have in order to help those who will come after us to survive and, hopefully someday, live. If that means that my children only see me as a manipulative, bitter woman, than that is the price that I am willing to pay for their future.

Sadly, it’s not like any of this means anything to my son. All he sees is his mother refusing to allow him to do something. It doesn’t really matter what that something is at this point, he is a teenager and it doesn’t seem unreasonable to him.


Written for…I have forgotten what I wrote this for. shrugs But it was written all the same and I will post it.