Category: writing
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Mom is bouncing. Not like jumping-bouncing. Like excited-bouncing. Like her voice is doing cartwheels and her eyes are sparkly and she keeps saying things like “This is magical” and “You’re going to love it.” She’s holding the remote like it’s a wand. She’s got snacks lined up like a Hogwarts feast—popcorn, juice boxes, and those…
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It was the night before Monday, when all through the home,Not a creature was stirring—except on Mom’s phone.The calendars juggled, the schedules all tight,She whispered her worries alone in the night. The scissors were missing, the glue sticks were gone,Yet she knew their location, like dusk knows the dawn.The backpacks were ready, the lunches all…
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Posted by u/ChaosCuddles (age 3, elbow activist, towel renegade) Okay so here’s the deal. Mom folds towels. Like, a LOT. There’s stacking, fluffing, and this whole ritual where she lines them up like they’re auditioning for a spa commercial. And me?I unfold them.All of them. With flair. With purpose. With the kind of dramatic toss…
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I met cheese tonight. Not the yellow square kind. Not the stringy kind. This was special cheese. It lived in a bowl and let me dip things into it. Chips. Fingers. Daddy’s straw. A spoon.. I dipped. I dunked. I painted my plate with it. I baptized my chicken finger. I whispered to it. “You…
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She woke up and chose violence. I don’t know what Mom thought she was doing, but it wasn’t cleaning. It was erasure. It was treason. It was the systematic dismantling of my entire vehicular empire. My trucks—my loyal fleet—gone. My carefully curated car line, organized by color, wheel size, and emotional backstory? Obliterated. Replaced by……
