Writer Wednesday

writer wednesday

 

Hey fellow writers! Here’s today’s prompt:

We all have junk. What is in your fridge that you never use but can’t throw out?
What item of clothing in your closet do you never wear but cannot bring yourself to throw away?
What’s in your attic that you can’t get rid of?

 

I don’t know why, but this little guy has been in every fridge in every place I’ve ever lived. I don’t use it. I don’t see anyone use it. But, somehow, there’s always a teensy bit missing. Its never full. But I can’t seem to throw it away!

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I typically do a purge of my closet about every 4-6 months. My rule is: if I can’t remember the last time I wore this, I have to give it up. But…there is a shirt that I will NEVER, EVER give up, for three reasons: it was my dad’s, it has Bruce Freaking Springsteen on the front, and the copyright says 1984 (i.e., the year I was born; its as old as me!):

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One of my goals for 2015 was to get rid of a bunch of crap I have stored at my parents’ house. (I mostly made this goal because I didn’t want to bring any junk into our new house–that we have yet to buy.) I threw away three giant plastic storage tubs FULL of old papers, notes, toys, and awards. There was one book though, I couldn’t bring myself to part with:

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What about you? What’s made a permanent home in your fridge? Got a pair of pants you just can’t part with? Is there a box of old newspapers in your attic just asking to be throw away?

Mommy Monday

Before I had a baby, I didn’t really consider myself a “connoisseur” of music. Granted, I know a lot about music history. I was raised on Bruce Springsteen, The Allman Brothers Band, and Lynyrd Skynyrd. I worked at a classic rock radio station and learned all about the importance of The Wall, Alice Cooper, and Katmandu.

 

I didn’t really keep up with new music—I’m certainly no hipster, going to shows in musty old clubs, bobbing my head to two guys and a laptop—but I knew the greats. I prided myself in not listening to stuff I considered ridiculous or not worth the plastic case it was packaged in.

 

Then, I became a mom.

 

And my music collection went from this:

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to this:

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I’ve found myself go from humming and air-guitaring Hotel California and Night Moves  to Zaccheus Was a Wee Little Man and Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes.

 

At first, I cringed. “Ugh,” I moaned. “I’ll never be the ‘cool’ mom! Better get the Mom Jeans and embroidered sweaters.”

 

But then I saw Huff the Babe giggle when I danced to Father Abraham and saw her face light up when I jammed out to Where is my Hairbrush? Then I figured I’m okay with not being the ‘cool’ mom. I’ll settle for being the silly mom that sings silly songs and makes her little one laugh.