Awkward Mom vs. Fiction

Sometimes Awkward Mom writes fiction. Because it is fun and silly and actually shorter than her blog posts. Thought we would share one with you.

A Micro Marine Story:

And there goes the octopus; each purple plush tentacle sinking beneath the harbor waters. Is it the sun? My imagination? Or do the glass eyes wink at me as they pass to freedom under the lazy waves. Well, that was money well spent. Bruce would win her a purple octopus and not one of the many adorable teddy bears or kitties. He would, in full knowledge of Beatrice’s tendency to extremes. In full knowledge that she has been watching Nova a little too much. A teddy bear or one of those multi-colored cats or even those sweet monkey dolls would have worked. Would have actually made it home with us. Won’t have been hurled off the boardwalk and into the benignly lapping water beneath in some misguided attempt to free the imprisoned sea creature momentarily in her possession. Poor Beatrice actually hollers “Save Our Oceans,” as she flings the octopus over the railing, not quite clear on the fact that she is actually hurling what will amount to trash into the ocean she is trying to save. Perhaps 4 years old is too young to watch Nova. Who knows and is it really worth questioning my entire parenting approach here on the boardwalk? Especially since a passing boat has already hauled the drenched octopus out of the briny deep for her. She, of course, tries to explain her motivation for the “rescue,” only to be met with the kind but clearly confused expression dancing in the eyes of this extremely patient fisherman. Ultimately, I ask him to take the octopus and “release it into the wild,” while asking him with my eyes to not think we are crazy. He chuckles and places the soggy octopus in a seat of honor near the wheel. Then, he winks at me and tells Beatrice of a special octopus lair that he knows about further out in the bay. She listens, rapt and terribly relieved. Bruce is all smug, like he created this magical moment just for her; oblivious to the fact that we won’t even be in this situation if he had just won her a teddy bear like everyone else. We wave to the fisherman and his purple plush stowaway until they are out of sight beyond some boats, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Crisis averted. Of course, I sigh too soon because Bruce and Beatrice are already making their way to a new game. The prize for this one: goldfish. 

Stay tuned; maybe we'll include some more fishy fiction someday!