Carla

The day Carla died
my almost seven year old cried at the hairdresser
not because Carla died, but, because he wanted to
“it is just so unfair”
When we came home
he cried some more.
Refused to shower
claimed he hated showers since the end of time.
Then he said, “Sometimes you don’t take care of me”
I sat down and slowly gave up, “I can’t deal with you anymore!”
He cried some more
through tears and snot
came a whimpering, “Deal with me.”
Later, he ate four slices of bread with peanut butter and jam.

 

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Diligent Candy

A local international blogger, writer, wants to be photographer, academic, solar-powered INTJ, voracious reader, wears novelty socks, proud mom, and indulgent wife.

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