Mama Kat's Writer's Prompt.

I've been on hiatus for awhile, and I thought the writers prompts had changed to random. They're not. So I wrote the wrong story. You can scroll down to read the one I spent all day on- it's very good. As for the REAL available prompt I chose:


What type of flowers would be in a bouquet that best describes you?

Well, if I got out Ophelia's list of flowers and their meanings from what my kids call "back-in-the-day" and figured THAT out, it'd probably be something else. However, just the way I am, I think my wedding bouquet says it all:

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My bouquet was all of red and orange sunflowers with tiny steel blue flowers (don't know what they're called) - I definitely think they still describe me.

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Of course, we all know how Mama Kat's prompts work. She has this nifty button you click on and it gives you a random prompt. It's a wonderful development. And every Thursday, I gladly participate. Please come over and link yourself up too:

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The prompt I was given:

Based on their personalities, what do you think your children will be when they grow up?

Warning: This post might strike you as cynical or cryptic. It's not meant to be. It's just reality.

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It has, on many occasions, startled me and tickled me to see the incredible differences in personality my children have produced, despite the fact that they were all born of the same parents and all raised in the same household, with the same environment around them.

Lilly is my first, as you all know. She came to me, wise already, with big brown eyes and fluffy cheeks. She has a brilliant mind. She is also stubborn and brave and has a knack for dancing and acting. Regularly, Lilly tells me that she wants to be a mommy, and that she wants to be on Broadway. Her career ideas have changed constantly through her short life. But I do believe that Lilly will pursue the stage in some way or another- be that high school or, like myself, in the community as an adult. Maybe Broadway. If she wants that passionately enough to try for it, I'll figure out how to get her there.

Mahone was calmer when he was born. For several years, he was my helper, my shadow, a sweet little thing with a ready hug and big fat lips to kiss. The last few years he has become quite intense, loud and rather overbearing with his affection. He can't just hug you, he has to climb you. Mahone is my king of quotes. He has a descriptive mind, and tells elaborate stories as though they are fact without the slightest pause. One might think, listening to him, that he believes the whole thing happened. He is a dynamic, popular soul. He brings people together, and doesn't leave anyone out. I can see him running for student body officer in high school, and spending his years as an editor in the Literary Magazine class the way his father and I did. He is not a performer though, and I don't see him engaging in theatre with his older sister.

Scarlet is my rebel. She lives on the edge, is always doing something that taunts disaster, despite our baby proofed home, and likes to color. On the walls. And her face. With permanent marker. Her favorite hairstyle is what we call a "faux hawk", she loves makeup and jewelry. And at the ripe old age of 3, she has a fairly decent collection of Super Girl comic books. I blush when I brag, because I know I'm bragging, but it has to be said that all my children are smart. They all are ahead of the curve. But Scarlet very well may be my smartest. She reads matter of factly as though there's nothing to do but say the word. This girl, I expect, to shock everyone. And then surprise them because they have judged a book by it's cover. I expect that someday, Scarlet will give me a great deal of trouble. She will pierce her ears, her nose and probably a lip. She will forge my signature and get a tattoo when she is 17 (and really, if it's going to go that way, I'll probably just sign it so that she doesn't have to rebel. My theory of good parenting is to never give them the chance to shock you. Shock them.) She'll be the valedictorian of her graduating class and then major in art.

I don't know enough about Teague yet to describe what I think he will become. I know he's stoic. He loves dogs and pretty girls, and he is his daddy's boy. He would rather play with a spoon and a scrap of fabric than any of the "real" toys that have generously piled up over the course of his siblings' lives. He likes to sing.

All that being said, in complete honesty, I expect that they will grow up, have their problems, have their triumphs. They will do some great things, and some mundane things, and they will get married, have children, and live lives that the majority of the world does.

Henry David Thoreau said, "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them."

My children will grow to be good, productive, contributing members of society. Might they aspire to every potential they have? Will Lilly really be on Broadway and win a Tony award? Maybe. It happens. Will Mahone write a book and travel the world signing his name on the inside cover, appearing as one of the New York Times' best sellers? Maybe. He has the potential. Will Scarlet have a masterpiece featured in some upscale museum someday? It's possible. But the truth of the matter is, likely, they will live their lives in a fairly normal way and not get to do everything they want. A part of them will be living in quiet desperation, and go to their graves with that song still in them.

I don't think this has to be depressing.

Instead of hoping for them to reach their potential, which is incredible greatness, and being disappointed when they don't, and instead of hoping that they are able to find contentment and happiness within the boundaries they place on themselves with job, marriage, children, debt, and so on, my desire is that they develop more than one "song". May my children live a lives FULL of songs, soundtracks that ribbon across their entire existences, that the things that keep them from fulfilling their dreams may also be a song their hearts sing. May they always be restless in their creation. May that be a song. May they always be in love, even if their lover is common or poor, or has a conflicting song in their own heart. And may they consider that a ballad. May they never settle, but never over reach. For over reaching, instead of fine tuning, can break strings, go flat, and become a one hit wonder.

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Hurry! It ends Friday at midnight!