Hmm, my horribly bad attempt at writing in first person is finally finished, and i'm actually kind of happy with how it turned out...
Not the best writing ever, but for my first try i was pretty happy...
it's defnintly my longest ever chapter...six pages!
Use your imaginiation as to where Matt is...It doesn't actually say in the story. He's just away on work...somewhere...
hope you like! i'd love some feed back as well, it makes writing so much more enjoyable :D
Disclaimer : don't own them..but if i did we'd have many many season's to look forward to...i do own Jackson, Abbey and Lachlan...
gosh, i don't think i've ever written a story with out children...guess thats cause i've been a child before but not an adult...:P
"Mummy" whispers Abigail, turning her brown eyes to look at me solemnly.
Her father's eyes I remember painfully before smiling at her. Why my children have to be carbon copies of their father has escaped me, though I'm not complaining. I'd like to think they got their beauty from one side, brains from the other.
"Yeah" I reply, smiling as I tuck the soft blanket around her small figure to keep her warm through the night. It's been colder than usual lately, the chill of the mornings has been carrying on through the day and Abbey's recent cold hasn't liked it much. Of course this means we've been racking out every blanket and coat ever to pass through the house in an attempt to keep the children warm. They seem to like it too, if the snowman of coats in my living room is anything to go by.
My daughter, Abigail Catherine Flannery has without a doubt the most innate sense of timing I've ever seen in a four year old. She was born 4/8/2011 right on her due date, almost to the minute according to Matt, though how he knows that has never been explained. It comes at no surprise that she's waited until tonight to ask the question she's been longing to hear an answer for. She may have natural sense of timing, but it isn't always the best you could hope for.
"Will daddy be home soon?" she asks innocently, shifting her head to the side as she stifles a yawn, her small hand reaching up to cover her mouth.
It isn't so much the complexity of the question I've been dreading, more the answer. It would be quite easy for me to say 'tonight sweetheart, he's just go tot finish the last of his paperwork for aunty Cheryl, then he'll zip home for your bedtime story'. Except I can't tell her this, instead I'm stuck with the age old 'I don't know' or an explanation of the FBI, neither of which will settle her curiosity I'm afraid. Instead I opt for the easy route, sitting back on the bed, almost squashing Abbey's sacred Minnie Mouse in the process, as I muse over the answer my self. I had been wondering that same question lately. My husband, Matthew Flannery has been away on work for over a two months now and though we were both assured he would be home for Christmas I'm beginning to doubt that will happen. Unless he appears over night it's looking to be quite the lonely Christmas morning come tomorrow.
"Soon, sweetheart" I answer, leaning down to kiss her forehead "He's very busy lately" I add in, smiling encouragingly at her. Hopefully this will stop the questions. God knows I've had enough from her brother. Being the eldest of the kids he's taken on the responsibility of man of the house. Something he was quite proud of at first, though you can see it in his eyes, just like his father he wears his heart on his sleeve, and he's missing Matt more then ever.
"I know" Abbey sighs, snuggling down under her Fairy Princess covers, curtesy of last years Santa visit. "I miss his bedtime stories" she sniffles, the lasting effects of her cold still present. If swear if theirs a higher power he's been testing me lately. I'm not one to complain about my children, they mean more than the world to me and god knows if something happened to one of them, well, quite frankly I'm not game to think about it. But when you have a sick four year old, a teething one year old and a grumbling seven year old all to yourself for a two months, you begin to wonder when you walked under the ladder or pass the black cat into such a mess. That or when I can legitimately shovel them off to one of their aunts or uncles for the day. Hopefully Frank, Cheryl and the rest of the team enjoy their Christmas presents, because it's no where near the thanks they deserve.
Abbey's grabbed onto her Minnie Mouse now, another Christmas present from Aunty Cheryl, and is hugging it close to her chest, squeezing it as she closes her eyes tightly. I brush the light brown hair away from her face slowly, soothing her into sleep. No bedtime story tonight I've decided, mine just don't reach the standard that's been set. Bedtime was always Matt's domain. I took care of bath time and dinner time but he was the master of bedtime stories and as hard as I try I can't weave the fairy tales like he can.
"Mum" calls a soft voice from the hallway, breaking me out of my thoughts and back to reality. My 7 year old son, Jackson Matthew Flannery, is standing in the hallway, his Batman pyjama's buttoned up crookedly and his curly black hair lying damp on his head.
"I finished my shower" he tells me quietly, hugging his towel to his chest. Jackson is my go to man, my sweet natured, if not somewhat cheeky (he is still a Flannery after all) boy who is quite the opposite of his little sister. He's stuck somewhere in between myself and Matt. He likes watching the world go by, but has been caught on occasion acting before he thinks like his father. He cares for people, all people in general so much, and you can see his emotions in his actions and words, he wears his heart on his sleeve and he knows it.
"Okay" I sigh, hoping he doesn't see the tired edge in my voice. I don't know who I'm kidding though, with both parents in the top five negotiators in the country all three of my children are more perceptive than most adults I know. It's charming most of the time but makes lying hell, especially around Christmas. If I have one more question about how Santa actually gets down the chimney, or how he can get all the toys, or how he eats so many cookies (last question curtesy of Abbey) I'm not sure if I'll be able to answer. There are only so many lies you can tell your children, and mine have heard most of them.
"I'll be in there in a minute to tuck you in" I tell Jackson, wondering if he'll head off to bed now, or escape into the realms of Star Wars play station games, his newest past time.
"Kay" he nods, giving his sister a small smile before heading down the hall. There's a trail of water across my newly mopped floorboards marking his wet towels path and I silently remember to tell him to hang it up instead of clinging to it. Why I volunteered to have everyone over for Christmas dinner is still beyond me, maybe 16 people packed into our house sounded appealing at the time, now I'm not so sure. Though when I made the decision in the first place I did have my husband by my side; it's amazing how much of a difference it makes just having him next to me.
"Goodnight Abbey" I whisper, leaning down to kiss her forehead gently, my thoughts still wondering between reality and my own world. Abbey's breathing's evened out and it won't be long till sleep claims her, darling child being blessed with the talent of falling asleep at the drop of a pin. Then again she's decided this year she'll wake up in the middle of the night to catch Santa Clause, and though her brothers explained that it won't work, and he should know having tried two years running, she's still bent on trying herself. She's a stubborn little thing, so I don't doubt that she'll be in the lounge room tomorrow morning, just like she told us she would be. She'll do it just to prove Jackson wrong.
Whether she's stayed awake long enough to catch Santa is another story.
"Jackson" I call down the hallway, reminding my son that bedtime means bed, not the play station in the spare room that he has in fact escaped to. He may have been smart enough to mute the television but his own commentaries of his Star Wars battles haven't escaped me. Nothing escapes me according to Matt. The eyes and ears in the back of my head have been fine tuned to any and all sounds of my children, and I'm proud of that quite frankly. It sure as hell saves a lot of time when I'm angry at one of them.
"I'm coming" he sighs, switching off the television. God bless him, at least he knows when not to start a fight, unlike Abbey who's got an answer for everything. I smile at him, acknowledging the smart move, as he walks past me into his messy bedroom. Toy trucks and Lego pieces cover the ground but there's no use telling him to clean it up now. He'll only mess it up tomorrow when presents are opened and Frank's children arrive.
"Goodnight Master Jack" I smile, ruffling his hair though I know he hates it. He was lucky enough to be born with a full head of dark curls just like his father, and just like his father he hates having it touched, let alone cut.
"You know we'll have to get this mop fixed up before you go back to school" I remind him, stroking the way ward curls down. A futile attempt on both accounts, though I'll keep trying, one day I'll win.
"But mum" comes the usual whine. I swear if I had a dollar for the amount of times 'but mum' had been whined in this household I would a rich woman.
"But yes" I reply automatically, kissing his forehead before leaving the room. It sometimes amazes me just what comes automatically or instinctively now days. The amount of useless junk I now know about Disney characters or Star Wars battles is appalling, though I wouldn't have it any other way. After all, how many women rank within the top five of the country at their job by day then act as a teacher, doctor, counsellor, mediator, taxi driver, mother and wife by night? I'd like to think I've done pretty well. Now if I could only get the house clean by tomorrow, I might not have to worry about much at all.
Jackson's climbed into bed now, thought it'll take him longer to fall asleep. Unlike his sister whose eyelids droop at the mere sight of a bed, Jackson has been blessed a night owl, the masterful stories and colourful drawings that cover our fridge and his bedroom wall's have all been created well past nine o'clock. It'll be no surprise to Matt or I if he ends up working night shift somewhere, maybe a doctor or something with a science background to suit his interest's. Though I must say he is quite the talented artist. He loves to draw, and has followed on his fathers love for music. I'm just grateful we put a stop on guitar practice after 7:00 pm, both for the children's sake and our sanity.
Time for my last rounds, making sure each child is peacefully asleep or at least in bed.
Abbey's out like a light, Minnie Mouse still clutched tightly to her chest. She yawns softly, shuffling onto her side, her brown locks falling over her eyes. It's time like these that I understand what people mean when hey say "you love your children most when their asleep" Not to be biased but I have the sweetest looking children when they sleep.
Especially my little man. Lachlan James Flannery, the only one of my children to be born late and with an attitude to go with that. He's a laid back little guy whose perfectly content to be passed form lap to lap when ever people are over. He's just taught himself to walk, much to his pleasure and his speech is coming along so that I can partially understand about 10 words. Abbey has her own language with him, and the pair will talk for hours on end together. Matt was lucky enough to be here for his first birthday, just a few days before he left, though he missed Lachie's first steps. So, Jackson and Abbey have spent the last few weeks putting together a little performance for Matt, to show him all that has happened while he was away. The closing act, amid an array of colourful costumes and sets (as drawn by Jackson) stars our one and only Lachlan stepping wobbly across the make shift stage. Well, that's the idea; it'll all come down to whether Lachlan wants to walk. He's a law onto himself, much to my worry and Matt's amusement.
He's teething at the moment, so I'm quite surprised to find him fast asleep. His little hands gripping the blue blanket tucked around him as his chest rises peacefully. If their was a way to freeze frame a moment, stop time for second to enjoy it longer I'd be the first to do so. There are so many things, little things, in my life I wish I could capture. And though I'm fully aware of the invention of the camera, a printed piece of paper doesn't hold the same emotion that a moment does. Not the way I want to remember things. There's a dark curl framing Lachlan's small forehead and I can't help but push it back, wondering just how much this must annoy the boy's, both of whom have the dark Flannery curls.
Speaking of my Flannery boys, Jackson's calling me from his room.
"Yes" I reply, careful not to wake the sleeping children on my way down the hall. Abbey might have the gift of falling asleep easily, but it's a different story when she's woken up, not such a cute child then, I assure you.
Not to any surprise Jackson is sitting wide awake in bed, the last pages of his sketching pad lay open before him and a pencil poised ready to draw. Despite this, a frown is plastered on his young face.
"What's wrong?" I ask, immediately noticing the signs of a distraught Jackson. Not many things get my son bothered to the extent where he gets upset, but when they do he's an open book. His downcast shoulders and defeated frown appear before the tears even form. 'Like now' I realise, worriedly taking the few steps towards his Batman covered bed to take him in my arms.
"I can't remember the beginning" he sob's against my shoulder, his small arms reaching round to hug me close as the first tears fall.
"What beginning sweetheart?" I ask, utterly confused as to what has upset him.
"The beginning" he sniffs, rubbing his sleeve against his mouth.
"Take this" I mumble, passing him the tissue from my back pocket. I've had a stash there for the better part of winter, hoping to avoid using sleeves as handkerchiefs.
"I can't remember the start of dad's story" he explains, the muffled, teary reply against my shoulder only just reaching my ears.
"Oh mate" I whisper, holding him tight against me, rocking back and forth. Matt's story, an adventurous epic had been going on for the better part of three months. Each night, after Abbey had her fairytale Jackson and Matt would settle down for the next instalment. I often wondered if Matt made it up on the spot or planned it. It was the most offbeat, made up, but exciting tale I'd ever heard, yet Matt never missed a beat in telling it.
"Why can't I remember" sniffles Jackson, leaning back out of my arms to wipe his nose.
There's a strand of unruly hair running down his face and I tuck it away, praying that I myself can remember my husband's masterful bed time tale of elves and knights and dragons. I don't want to imagine what will happen if I can't.
"I don't know mate" I admit 'But it's pretty big story so I don't think it matters that you can't remember all of it"
"Do you think dad will be angry that I've forgotten it" asks Jackson tentatively, the real reason behind tonight's dramas becoming apparent. Who ever was the one in charge of Matt's assignment has a lot to answer for.
"No, no" I murmur, pulling him in for a hug again, anything to assure him Matt wouldn't be angry.
"You dad would be so proud of you. You've helped me so much, and looked after Abbey and Lachlan" Jackson just nod's, the tears have stopped but he's not happy, no where near the excited child he should be on Christmas Eve.
"If it makes you feel better, I can't remember the story either" I admit with a smile, hoping to life his spirits a bit. He just shakes his head, still upset with himself. "It's not fair" he sighs, tears starting to form again "Everyone else gets their dad at Christmas. Why can't we?"
"Hey mister" I interrupt, turning his face to look at me "I honestly don't know" I admit "but I'll tell you this, I bet you anything your dad is trying everything within his power to be here for Christmas"
"Then why isn't he here now" sighs Jackson, obviously not believing like I do. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the silly one, believing it, but someone has to, if not me, who else is going to keep this family going.
"Jackson" I sigh, settling my self against the head of his bed.
"How about we try and remember the story together?" I offer, hoping he takes the chance and will settle down for the night. I still have an armful of 'Santa's' presents to get ready after all.
"Okay" he sighs, though he's still not a happy camper.
"Right" I begin, trying to remember any part of the epic I'm about to recreate.
"Once upon a time"
"No mum" interrupt's Jackson. Obviously I'm wrong and I'm beginning to wonder if this could take longer than I first thought.
"It doesn't start like that" he tells me. He's got a look on his face that reminds me of his father so much that it's startlingly scaring me.
"Mum, why are you crying?" Jackson asks, before I even realise that I have tears rolling down my cheek. I reach up quickly to brush them away, breaking my no sleeve rule.
"No reason" I assure, breathing in deeply to stop the tears. Now's really not the time Emily I scold.
"It starts off like this" continues Jackson, speaking the first few lines of the story, his voice strong and clear, stopping at all the right moments like Matt does. God bless him, he's smart enough to know when to stop asking questions.
"You know what, I think you really do know the story" I smile, finally getting my emotions under control and nudging him playfully. Finally, a smile, it may have taken the better part of the night but I've succeeded in keeping everything together for another day running. We'll make it through the night and onto Christmas, but after that who knows.
"Mummy" calls Abbey from the door, Minnie Mouse is still in her hand and her hairs in a tangle as she stands at Jackson's door. We must have woken her with the story, though she usually doesn't come out of her room at night. Don't let their be something wrong I pray, not now.
"Yes sweetheart" I answer, sitting up more to get a good look at her. There are no visible signs of damage, and if it were a nightmare she'd be crying. In short I have no idea what's wrong.
She shuffles from foot to foot, her toes wiggling nervously through her stripy socks.
"Can I listen?" she finally asks, her eyes open pleadingly, while her mouth purses in anticipation. In true Abbey form the silent pose doesn't last long. She hopes onto one foot, leaning against the door frame "pretty please" she begs, clasping her hands together.
"Yes Abbey" I smile, holding out my arms to pull her up onto my lap.
"You can't interrupt though" instructs Jackson as she clambers up to join us, settling her self in my arms "it's my story"
"You won't will you Abs" I assure as she shakes her head in agreement. The three of us settle back down against the bed as Jackson continues the story, adding in his own bits and pieces in true story teller fashion. Before he reaches the next instalment Abbey's drifted back to sleep in my arms. Her breathings evened out and she's sowing no signs of waking. Some how I don't think she'll be getting up for Santa tonight after all.
Soon after Jackson's voice drops a notch, sleep is coming soon and he knows it. Storytelling rights are then passed onto me, luckily not for long though. Jackson's finally joined his sister in sleep mush to my relief. There's only so much you can make up and get away with where my children are concerned and I was bound to stuff up a long the way.
Sometime tonight I'm going to have get up to fix presents but right now I'm quite content where I am. No one will notice if I nod of slightly I reason, after all, who is their to notice any way. I'll get them later, along with that shopping list. Some how I have to get to the shops tomorrow, though I'm pretty sure none will be open.
Ahh well, tomorrow may be a mess but will survive. It is Christmas, and only so much can go wrong at Christmas, especially when you have friends and family with you. Even better there's the hope that Matt's found a way home and will be here when I wake up.
Gosh I'm a dreamer; I chuckle, drifting in and out of sleep. If only Matt's car would really pull up in the drive way, like the one I can here in my dream.
Then Christmas would be complete