It is Sunday afternoon and I have nothing to write. I thought about blogging about breastfeeding and how it’s so different and better now, but I worried you might die of boredom. I worried you would read about the closeness and the bonding and the love and you’d keel right over your desk, mouth open, your last words “if only she could’ve been more interesting.”
I worried your relatives would call me, very upset, and I wouldn’t know what to say. I’m sorry? I’m sorry that breastfeeding is so boring?
It wasn’t worth the risk.
Finally, out of desperation, I googled “writing prompt generator” and clicked on this link. The dancing pencil and URL quickly led me to believe that it is for grade school students, but I disregarded it and hit “random.”
“One day on the playground at school, you see a large green bag. Suddenly, the bag begins to shake. Write a story about what happens next.”
So this is definitely for kids. Next.
“Imagine that the time is late at night, you are at home when the telephone rings. Create a story that includes this scene.”
It’s probably my mom, asking me if Waylon pooped today. Next.
“I think a true friend is someone who…”
gives you better writing prompts. Next.
“If I were on a deserted island I would…”
totally take a nap. A ten hour, uninterrupted, long and peaceful nap. I’ll worry about the rest later. Next.
“The world will end in one week. What will you do until then?”
Eat cheese and lay in the sun. Next.
“You have to babysit a pet chimpanzee. Write about your experience.”
This is exactly the kind of writing assignment that makes a child hate English class. Next.
“Suppose aliens abducted you as you were walking to school. Write a story telling about this experience.”
This is exactly the kind of writing assignment that made me fear getting abducted by aliens on the way to school. Next.
“If an alien visited my home…”
Again with the aliens.
If an alien visits my home, I will tell him that I cook with onions.
I will tell him that my kitchen makes carb heavy, gluten packed meals that often contain curry and that if he’s on a diet, he should probably leave.
I will tell him that if he’s going to take his shoes off in the house, don’t leave them where I’m going to trip over them.
I will tell him that my baby cries.
If he asks me about Twilight, I will say that I haven’t read the series but I don’t mind if people do. Lord knows we all have our guilty pleasures.
If he asks me about The Bieber I will refer him to my brother-in-law who has watched the music video for “Baby” one million times.
I will show him the Internet; Maru the cat, the sneezing panda, Google. I will show him Pinterest.
If he asks about Facebook, I will tell him it’s like going to a high school reunion every day–except you don’t have to wear pants.
If he asks about Twitter, I’ll pretend I don’t know.
If he asks about love, I will tell him it’s very steep.
If he asks about sex, I will draw him a map.
If he asks why my husband is blowing his nose on a hanky, I will tell him that I think it’s pretty gross too.
We will listen to music and I will tell him it’s all the same, that it doesn’t matter what it is–as long as it helps you feel something better.
If he asks about dancing, I will put on my old college playlists and tell him I would do just about anything to go back.
I will tell him about childhood, about sidewalk chalk and braces and growing pains.
I will tell him about my first kiss and how you shouldn’t marry someone just because you want to do it more.
I will offer him other advice, too. I will tell him to never buy off brand cream cheese and to always let the mom with the screaming baby ahead of you in line.
If an alien visits my home, I will ask him to stay for dinner. I will offer a bed and a towel and a washcloth.
If an alien visits my home, I will make breakfast.
I will apologize that we have no coffee in the house because we aren’t coffee drinkers and everyone needs to just shut up about it.
If an alien visits my home, I hope he stays.