#ippp: about wanting to get there first

Welcome to #iPPP! GFunkified and I want to see your funny, your yummy, your heartfelt, your favorite phone photos of the week. All you need is a blog post containing at least one photo from any phone camera. Link up below!

A daddy duck and his four ducklings

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When I began writing the poem below it was supposed to merely be an observation from an experience I had with a vanilla pudding cup. You see, there was one left. In the refrigerator. And after a few seconds of deliberation– I put the cup back. Because it was the last one and I KNEW someone would probably cry about me taking the final cup. So I put it back. But I marveled at just how fast I am to do the smallest thing to make my children happy. And sometimes to do so at my own expense. It’s not like I was mad about the pudding cup. I simply put my own wants further down on the list almost without noticing I’d done so. Such is motherhood. Such is life. But as this poem about the pudding began to unfold itself I realized rather quickly that I was not addressing my children as I had intended. No, the poem was speaking to another.

It’s a little racy in parts, but I wonder if you can look beyond the sexual overtones and find other matters I’m referencing here.

Let me know.

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I want the last vanilla pudding cup. I don’t want

to just see it there. Pick it up. Hold it near me

only to put it back because it’s the last or

because you want it more.

 

Instead of walking away. Turning my back. Taking

it easy. I want to throw open the refrigerator doors

and fall into them. I want to get there first.

Foil and plastic be damned. Merely trash between.

That cup belongs to me.

 

I’ll be rough because I can be rough. I’ll rip

the lid from the top with one pull. I’ll sink my spoon

in deep the first time. Until I tap bottom. Until

everything’s a mess. Until it’s enough.

What is enough?

 

And then in plain sight. In full view. With the shades up

in the middle of the kitchen. I’ll hold the spoon high

over both our heads. Oh, the sugar and the milk

and the extract. Thick like butter and these words

in my mouth.

 

I’ll let you watch while I take what is mine

because it’s always been mine. All mine.

That should be enjoyable

for us both.

GFunkified



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About Sunday Spill

I am a freelance writer. Childbirth educator. Doula. Photographer. Mama of four. On most Sundays I head out early to take a leisurely drive alone. It's kinda my thing. Music up. Heart open. Soul alive. While I cruise I break my thoughts apart. I stack them back together. When I return home, my head feels much better. I spill all my goodies here. This life is such a trip, ya'll. So buckle up, Buttercups. And welcome. 

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