Friends with Kids by Carolyn Glass

I never realised how much I hated kids, not kids in general, I mean the ones I’m forced to spend time with, because their parents are my friends.

It wasn’t too bad at the start, new babies are pretty quiet, and you can take them to parties and just leave them in the bedroom and check on them now and then.

Then when they get a bit bigger, you can’t really do that anymore, so you end up having to go to places that are “child friendly” or even worse, having to go to their homes because it’s awkward for them to go out because they can’t get a babysitter.

I mean let’s be honest, child friendly just means no place for normal people, and homes with small children or babies are no place for normal people either.

Today was the final straw, I was asked to hold a screaming infant (who needed a nappy change) while his parent sorted out the demented toddler who had just been refused more chocolate. As soon as I got home, I founded a new site on the internet; No parents allowed; a meeting place for sane individuals to seek sanctuary from friends with kids. I’m sure it will be a hit.

Friends with Kids by Lesley Whyte

"So, what do we have planned for the weekend?"

"Well, Marcy's boy is having his Christening on Saturday morning, then we're supposed to skip out early to go to lunch with Helen and Joel to celebrate their upcoming bundle of joy. Saturday afternoon, we have to go buy a gift for Lena, and we'll have to spend a lot of money because her college friend is getting her the pushchair. You know, the one I showed you online? They don't even talk anymore. We're going to have to really step up our game. I was Googling for ideas all day, but I've got nothing. Anyway, it's her co-ed baby shower on Saturday evening, so we both get to go. Which is kind of nice, actually, and it means we only have to give one gift, unlike at Sarah's shower, when she and Ethan expected separate gifts at their stupid separate parties. And then there's Sunday, which is just-"

"You want to go away this weekend?"

"We can't. People are expecting-"

"So tell them I surprised you. Blame me, I don't care."

"I...really?"

"Yeah. I'm thinking somewhere with a beach that serves cocktails."

Day Twenty-Seven

And today's prompt is...

Friends with Kids

Family Man by James D. Irwin

'No, no--- we're not saying Familyman is a bad idea. We like it. We think the character has a lot of potential. We're just saying that, for the time being, we're going to go with Superman. We just feel he has wider appeal--- I mean he can fly and stuff. As far as we can tell--- and correct me if I'm wrong--- the only power Familyman seems to possess is 'the supersonic guilt trip'. We're just thinking about what the kids'll want to read about...'

Family Man by Solomon Blaze

The rain Poured.

Stormwind tears around the pair in a sadistically small cyclone, made up of searing hot atmosphere and acidy rain. The plains are expansive. The plains are dark, and cold, and lonely. He can’t see; the light’s left this place, to be with him.

She shivers and shakes in His arms,’ I knew you were trouble,’ she chokes out, thumping him on the chest in frustration.

He grits his teeth against the idea, ‘I would burn it all down; if you would be Queen of the Ashes...’

She looks up, startled.

He looks down into her StarStream eyes and kisses her; brilliantly uplifting light explodes out of the two, stopping the tornado dead and clearing the path ahead – if there had been one to begin with...

He scowls at the horizon, ‘get on my back,’ He says definitively.

‘What?’ she winces, turning frantically from side to side,’ why? What’s there??’

He looks back into her; ‘Do you trust me...?’

‘...what?!’

‘Do you trust me?

She thinks – really thinks...’Yes.’ she agrees after what seems like nevermore.

He turns and kneels down, holding his arms back, ‘hop on!’ He says, turning back with that Peter Pan smile.

The anxiety falls away with a look into those carelessly haunted eyes and she does as he asks

He turns on his axis 180 degrees; and their off.

Not 200 yards into motion and a small, hard object comes whizzing past His face, so fast that the air around it is enough to cut his cheek.

A bang is heard in the far off distance, followed by a noise not unlike a swarm of motivated Hornets.

‘Hold on!’ He shouts to the precious treasure on his back, who wraps Her arms around his neck like an Anaconda, burrowing her face into his red hair to hide.

A wall of the miniature objects come flying towards them; He takes a deep breath, let’s Himself enter the Flow State and moves through the pellets one after the other until they’ve completely cleared the barrage.

‘What happened?!’ She screams, lifting her head up against the g-force of the run.

‘Just close your eyes and count to sixty!’ He yells back.

A frown covers His features as the ground starts to quake...suddenly sending a gargantuan Barrier of earth to stop them. He runs faster and faster, until he’s sure that he can clear it. He comes to the face of the monolith, slamming a determined foot in the first of it, turning them both upwards and sent their joint momentum rocketing against the force of Gravity.

...

......

.........They make it.

The view is spectacular: golden ambiance floods the abyss beyond this threshold, with a skyline carrying the promise of everything and nothing; all the things that are beautiful...in this world, in the next world, in your heart and mine; all the things that are beautiful; all the things that are Fine.

- But the Wall is still dark, cold and windy;

...

......

.........so He jumps, with her held tight and plummets to a new tomorrow; out of the Endless Night and into the Windless Light.

Family Man by Sara Travis

I line their heads up on the table, one by one. Size order is important; the larger ones go on the left, the smaller ones on the right. I peel back the gloves to examine my work with my fingers, feel their dismembered limbs under my flesh. Hard. Cold.

Their empty eyes stare back into mine, and I feel a faint stirring in my chest. So beautiful. Such dainty faces, delicate, young. I sigh happily. My other family.

I think the kids will really love the new dolls for the playroom.

Family Man by Lesley Whyte

You’ll need to know everyone's names and a little bit about them, but you shouldn't mention any of what I’m about to tell you. You should just know it.

Her oldest brother, who spent four years in prison for drug offences. The two middle brothers are still there. The youngest has never been, but it's expected he'll go. This family regard prison time the way most families view college, and they're a legacy family.

Her sister, who married someone who was not approved of - he will never be mentioned, but the children will be around from time to time - and works as a teacher on the South Side.

Her aunt who lives on the farm and raises goats. Never mention the goats.

Her other aunt, the one who likes to get drunk and spill family secrets. That aunt's husband, who has lung cancer but still smokes forty a day because, at this point, what harm can it do.

Her uncle, who is kept away from the children. There's a story there that she's not telling me, but she insists he's not a danger. He just doesn't like children. Apparently.

Her mother, who will be kind and welcoming and then criticise me behind my back. Once we're married, she'll do it to my face. If I can win her over, we'll have a long and happy marriage. If I can't, well...she didn't answer me after that.

And then her father. The one that really scares me. The kind of man who sits at the head of a family like this. I feel like I've stepped into a gangster movie, and not a particularly good one. He claps me on the shoulder and pumps my hand up and down. "Welcome to the family, son!"

Family Man by Nick Trussler

I’m a family man. Through and through I love my wife and kids. Sure sometimes my eyes may wander, my hands too, and my lips and tongue and other various body parts but apart from that I am a solid, 100% family man. And okay I may occasionally go to a certain seedy hotel on Friday nights to meet with girls and married women from online but I’m still a family man and I’ll be there for my kids and wife anytime and anyplace…except of course if there’s football on, I wouldn’t want to take them there, it cuts into my time with the boys. Oh and Sundays of course because that’s when I meet my mistress at her house but apart from those times I’m a dedicated family man. I’d never miss a holiday or a birthday unless it crosses with my evening classes and any dates I have and the aforementioned things of course but I’m still a family man. And okay I may not come home after work at all some night but when I am there I am a family man, everyone knows me as such I mean just because I like to eat my meals by myself in my own room doesn’t mean I am not a family man right? I’m still in the same house with the wife and kids and we’re still eating at the same time just not in the same room. And okay I may never have wanted a family, and just because my wife started as a one night stand that turned into a friend-with-benefits situation that turned into an accidental pregnancy, still I’ve always wanted to be a family man. From day one I was a family man, sure I went to the occasional party by myself, I still do of course but only on Tuesday and Thursday nights, and I may have missed all of the births of my children but I did give my wife flowers eventually. Just because they were picked from my mum’s garden doesn’t mean they mean any less. So yes, I would say I am a family man and that is what I shall say at the divorce hearing.

Day Twenty-Seven

And today's prompt is...

Family Man

Potato Cake by Lesley Whyte

Kayleigh paused and took a deep, steadying breath before she pushed open the door. She needed a second to prepare herself for the surprise birthday party on the other side of it. She knew what it would be like, pretty much the same as it had been fourteen months ago. Yes, fourteen months ago. 

She pushed open the door and everyone yelled and burst out at her. Kayleigh fixed a bright smile on her face and pretended to be surprised. She went around the room, saying hello to the few family members who had arrived, her father's 'friends' and the women who worked at the centre. She noticed her father was scrurrying around, adjusting bunting and rearranging badly-wrapped presents on the table. She avoided him, and the food.

"Kayleigh, sweetheart," Karen said, wrapping an arm around her. "You're such a good sport about all this stuff, it's wonderful. It means so much to him."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Is there any food?"

"Well, that depends on what you mean by food."

Kayleigh nodded. This was standard. She headed over to the food table anyway, since her stomach was rumbling loud enough to hear over the awful early-90s music. She looked at the chocolate digestives sandwiched between slices of bread and smothered in mustard. She looked at the crisps floating in what appeared to be Coca-Cola. She looked at the cheese-and-blue-tack-squares-on-sticks. Kayleigh sighed, then slid a cube of cheese off and popped it in her mouth.

At that point, her father appeared at her side and snatched the remaining blue cube from her.

"Hey, Dad. How are you feeling today?"

"You can't eat that yet! Kayleigh will be here soon!"

"I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't realise. How are you doing today?"

"Everything's gone wrong," he said, his face red and sweaty. "I need to make sure everything's right for when Kayleigh gets here. It's her birthday, you know?"

"I know, Dad."

"Don't eat anything else," he said, and scuttled away again.

Kayleigh wiped at her eyes, hating herself for thinking this time might be different. Karen, her father's nurse, came over and hugged her gently again. "At least the cake looks edible," Kayleigh said, not wanting anyone to see her cry. She picked up a knife and cut herself a slice. As she lifted it onto a paper plate, she sighed. Mashed potato. He'd piled a bunch of mash on a plate and then covered it in blue icing.

"Kayleigh..."

"Well, at least it's not my birthday," she said quietly.

Potato Cake by Emily Chadwick

The garden-variety potato cake is nothing to write home about. It’s basically mashed up potato, in a cake-patty form, fried until golden brown.

If you really want to make an interesting potato cake, you have to add other items to the recipe. This helps the potato cake from being bland and potatoverwhelming. My personal favourite is a tuna and cheese potato cake, but you can also add onion, chili peppers, bell peppers, chives, mushrooms… anything you want, really!

If you add an egg to the mix, it helps the potato to stick together whilst you’re cooking it. There is nothing sadder than a broken potato cake.

Potato Cake by Sam Smith

It was a game we played as children. Honestly, we weren’t the coolest bunch of kids, but we had our own little group and we had fun, so it wasn’t that bad at all. There were seven of us in total, more than enough to play.

Sometimes the other groups would pick on us or make us the butt of their jokes; we were frequently called “The Butt of the School”. Kids can be mean. That’s just what they were to us. Mean. But we were mean too, which is where the game comes into play.

Let me set the scene. We would just be sitting on our table, eating lunch or working or something, and one of the other groups would say something stupid to us. It was normally either they sporty group of the group that wore sunglasses during P.E., because no matter how obvious and cliché it is, that shit actually did happen.

Anyway, yeah, they would say some little remark and we would immediately start to play the game. Whoever said the first word to us would be the focus. We knew most of the pupil’s names and where they lived because it wasn’t that big of a school. A little glace would go around the table and we would have our focus.

The next day, we would all take the day off school. We weren’t smart and didn’t really care about grade or anything stupid, so it wasn’t a big deal. The meeting place would be behind the focus’ back garden at five in the morning. Everyone knew what to bring. A mask, a hammer, some E-Z Bake cake mix and a bag full of potatoes.

The focus would leave their house around eight or so, which was when we would go to work. Hopefully no one else would be home to hear us break the door down with our hammers. Sure, there were probably easier, less destructive ways to get into a house, but that’s not really the point. In the kitchen, some of us would get to work on making as much cake as we could. It was usually chocolate cake. The rest of us would start filling every nook and cranny with smashed up potato. Cupboards filled to the brim, under the beds, in the toaster, shoes overflowing, behind the radiators, between the pages of books and magazines, in VCRs, atop the mantelpiece, stuffed into trouser pockets, down drains. It was kind of awesome how much we could get done in an hour.

When the cake was cooked, we would sit at a dinner table or something communal and eat the cake. It was like a little present to ourselves for taking the mean comment so well. We would leave afterwards.

No one is sure how this game got started, but we damn well finished it.

Day Twenty-Seven

And today's prompt is...

Potato Cake.