Tasting a Rainbow (A St. Patrick's Day Story)

Tasting a Rainbow

by Elizabeth LaGrange Muster
Word Count 500


So I wrote my very first picture book in second grade and it won an Indiana Young Author's contest.  It was called "Did I See a Leprechaun or was it a Dream?"  I've had this idea in my head for a month now, and finally had time to write it down.  Let me know what you think. 

Brianna woke up early on a dreary morning hungry for a banana.  

(Illustration note: calendar shows it’s March 17).

She searched and searched the kitchen and couldn’t find one anywhere.  Strange, she thought.
There was one more left last night after dinner.  Maybe Momma ate it. But Momma was still asleep.

Then Brianna heard a noise coming from the refrigerator.  Was it her little brother, Benny?
No. Benny was still asleep too.  

Curiously, Brianna opened the refrigerator door and found -- a leprechaun!  
The strange little man with bright orange hair sticking out from a under a green top hat
wore a matching green suit.  Brianna thought leprechauns only existed in books and movies.
But here was a real one in her refrigerator! On St. Patrick’s Day at that!

Brianna tapped the leprechaun on the shoulder.  “Can I, uh, help you with something?”

The leprechaun turned around, holding the missing banana.  “I found this strange little rainbow,”
he said. “But some colors are missing.”

Brianna pointed to a bowl of strawberries.  “These are red.”

The leprechaun tapped his chin.  “That might work. Such a dreary day.  
Need some sunshine to make a real rainbow. But I have to find a way, or I might get fired.”

“I wouldn’t want that to happen,” Brianna said.  “What about oranges?”

The leprechaun frowned.  “Those look much too big.”

“We can slice them.” Brianna peeled the orange and then the leprechaun carefully cut it.   

He popped a wedge into his mouth and juice dribbled down orange beard.  
“That even tastes like sunshine.” He grinned.

“We can add some yellow pineapple chunks to the banana,” Brianna said.  
“Now we need green.”

“My favorite!” The leprechaun clicked his heels.  “But that’s not green,” he said
as Brianna took a kiwi from the drawer.  

“Cut it in half. See?”

“Leapin’ leprechauns!  That’s beautiful!” The leprechaun did a little jig.  When he was finished,
he said, “We still need blue.”

“Blueberries, of course,” Brianna said. “We’ll just rinse these off.  And here’s are some purple grapes.”

(Illustration note: Leprechaun pops a purple grape into his mouth.)

“Now let’s make our rainbow,” the Leprechaun said.  

Brianna set out a platter and the two arranged the fruits in arches -- red, orange, yellow, green, blue,
and purple.  

“It’s beautiful!” said the leprechaun.  “But there’s something missing.”

“What?” asked Brianna.

“A pot of gold!”  

“I’m all out of money,” Brianna said.  “And my parents are still asleep. I guess I could go take
some pennies from Benny’s bank.”

“No, no,” said the leprechaun.  “Let’s make our own. I just happen to have the recipe here
in my pocket.”

Illustration note:

Leroy’s Pot of Gold Dip

• 1 (8 ounce) container frozen whipped topping, thawed
• 1 (3 ounce) packet dry instant vanilla pudding mix
• 1/2 (12 ounce) can frozen lemonade concentrate, thawed
  Mix everything together and place in a bowl.  

Brianna dipped a strawberry into Leroy’s concoction.  It was delicious! This was the best
St. Patrick’s day ever.  “Can you stay for breakfast?” she asked Leroy.

“Oh, no.” He shook his head. “I’ve got to move on. Lots more rainbows to make.”  

Just as Leroy slipped out of the back door, Benny walked into the kitchen.  

“Did I see a leprechaun or was that a dream?”

Brianna rubbed her eyes too.  “I’m not sure. But here, have some fruit.”  

Patience, Lost and Found

I wrote this for a poetry contest, but I'm not going to submit it because I think it’s geared more for parents than for children.  I've gotten some great feeback on 12X12 that helped me improve it, and I may still totally rework it into a picture book from the child's POV. But none of the readers actually believe Maddie Grace asked me if my patience had gone down the drain during bath time. But she did. And the other night she called down the drain to try to find them.

Patience, Lost and Found

A bedtime poem for a mother and daughter

By Elizabeth LaGrange Muster

Come on, Maddie Grace,

get out of the tub.

Just five minutes, please.

My mermaid’s swimming.

No, little girl, your

fingers are wrinkly.

Don’t lose your patience.  

Is it down the drain?

You’re a silly girl,

and you’re oh so smart.

Ouch! Don’t comb my hair.

No! Not the dryer!  

Time to brush your teeth

Yes, morning and night.

Yucky! Blue toothpaste.

Can I spit in the sink?

Come in the bedroom,

put on your jammies.

Not the unicorns,

I want Paw Patrol.

Let’s lie down now and

sing “Little Red Bird.”

I’m not sleepy yet.

Let’s look for Patience.

It must be hidden

among piles of toys.

Let’s try the kitchen

And eat Scooby snacks.

Get in the covers.

Let’s say our prayers.

I’m thirsty again.

How about some juice?

No.  Your teeth are clean.

You’ll have to potty.

I want my iPad.

Let’s watch videos.

Let’s snuggle in tight

and tell a story.

The one about pigs

and the scary wolf?

That’s your favorite.  

Once upon a time...

Tell me another one.

How about Goldilocks?

I’m tired, baby.  

Here’s a kiss goodnight.

I love you lots, Momma.

Did you find your patience?

I’ve found it right now

with you in my arms.  

The Perfect Valentines

Last month I signed up for the 12X12 Challenge, and already I have learned so much about picture book writing and myself as a writer.  Someone shared the Valentiny Writing Contest entry information, and I just had to give it a try!


So here is my Valentines story in less that 214 words (205!) in which someone (or in this case, some squirrel) feels guilty!  


For more information, check out
https://susannahill.com/2019/02/13/oh-guilty-heart-the-4th-annual-valentiny-writing-contest/

The Perfect Valentines

by Elizabeth Muster

All day Scurry the squirrel searched for a Valentine’s Day gift for his mother.
All the nuts he found were too high, or too small, or too hollow.  

“I found Mama the perfect one,” Scurry’s sister, Furry, bragged. “You haven’t found anything?”

Scurry looked at the ground and shook his head.  

“What else might Mama like?” Scurry wondered.  He hunted for a grasshopper,
but none were out in this cold weather. A heart-shaped leaf flew away before Scurry could grab it.

Then Scurry spotted a beautiful round nut in Furry’s favorite tree stump. Perfect!

When Scurry returned home later that night, Furry was crying. “I’m sorry, Mama.
I had the perfect nut for you, but now it’s gone.”

“Well, that’s too bad.” Scurry smiled slyly and handed Mama his present.

“Thank you, Scurry.” Mama patted him on the head.

“Wait a minute!” Furry hopped up. “Did you find that nut hidden in the hollow tree stump?”

“No.” Scurry clicked his front teeth together.   

Furry’s eyes widened. “Liar!”

Scurry sobbed. “But I needed a Valentine’s Day present for Mama.”

“I found it first,” screeched Furry.  

“Listen, you two. All I need is your love.” Mama hugged Scurry and Furry.
“And for you to always be honest.”

The Creativity Faucet

Sometimes, like now, the creativity faucet is at a continual drip, drip, drip. The ideas emerge slowly, but at least they are coming. Trust me, I have experienced times when the pipes are clogged completely. Other times, the pipes have busted and what came out was pure...well...sewage. Last month, however, the words were gushing like a broken hydrant. It was wonderful for my writing, my creativity, and my confidence. But other aspects of my life did not receive the attention they deserved. What I'm striving for, a steady flow of clean words that nourishes my soul and hydrates others only comes with continual upkeep -- adhering to a writing schedule and maintaining my own physical and mental well-being. How is your creativity flowing? How do you reach the steady flow? 

A Purple Mom on a Purple Day

When Maddie Grace was just a few weeks old, someone asked me if I was a “crunchy” mom. I had to Google the term, but even then it still wasn’t clear. I was breastfeeding, but I supplemented with formula. I used disposable diapers, but I did carry her around in one of those slings sometimes. I was pretty sure I wasn’t crunchy, but who knew? My hair was definitely crunchy. Today, I am proposing a new term for myself: purple. I have a feeling there are a few more “purple” moms out there too.

You see, purple is my favorite color. My LuLaRoe leggings today remind me of that poem “When I am old, I shall wear purple with a red hat…” I’m 37 with ankles that ache from chasing an 18-month old, but that’s not why I’m purple. All in all, I absolutely love being Maddie Grace’s momma. Motherhood is everything I hoped and prayed for during my years of infertility. But, to get to the purple, one must mix reds and blues -- the frustrations and the sadness. It does, however, come out beautiful in the end. This morning has been the perfect example of being an imperfect or “purple” mother. I am a middle-school library media specialist, and it’s the first day of public-school spring break. So what better idea than to take my eighteen-month-old daughter to the public library’s story hour? I strapped Maddie Grace into her little pink backpack/harness, and together we strolled through the stacks.

I was thrilled when she picked a book off the shelf and started turning the pages. I was not so happy when she started tugging the leash and demanding to play on a computer during story time. The man trying to work quietly in the corner wasn’t so thrilled either when Maddie started to cry as I pulled her away from said computer. I gave her a pacifier, even though I had demanded my husband this morning not to give into her. Everyone on the second floor of the library was relieved. Our next fun outing was lunch at Chick-fil-a. I thought arriving at 11:15 would be early enough at the popular restaurant. Wrong. There were no parking spots, except at the hotel next door. I carried my twenty-seven pound toddler across the ditch and walked into a crowded restaurant with lines at the counter, no spare high chairs, and no empty tables. But I wasn’t giving up that easily. I didn’t want to have to strap her back in the car seat already, and I needed caffeine.

A kind employee secured us a high chair, and I wheeled Maddie Grace up to the counter in it. Only to realize that I had grabbed my 2016 discount card this morning, not my 2017 one. Surprisingly, the manager at the register next to ours still gave me my free fries and Diet Coke anyway. He must have a “purple” wife, because there was a certain understanding in his eyes that our clerk didn’t have.

A friendly couple motioned for us to take their table, which was next to three moms with a total of six kids, two under six-months old. I don’t know know how they do it. They have their own special color -- like rainbow unicorns with sparkles. Meanwhile, my one and only and I enjoyed a delicious meal. We sat across from each other like two ladies who lunch, and Maddie Grace ate her applesauce and grilled chicken nuggets all by herself. She didn’t even throw food on the floor.

Then we went to play area. Maddie Grace ran from play center to play center laughing and squealing in delight. She played with other kids too. I was one proud momma sitting cross-legged on the rubber mat until another mom came over and looked down at me. “Your first?” Guess it’s as obvious as my sister and I being American tourists in Italy a few years ago. How do they just know? I nodded.

“I never let my first come in here. Now that I have older kids to watch my third, we come a lot.” I smiled, hoping transparent me was only secretly smirking at her back-handed statement. She continued. “I can’t believe you would bring her here on a day like today You must not have known it’s spring break.”

“Actually, I work full-time,” I said. “This is my spring break.” I wanted to add, “and your kid pooped his pants.” But luckily I didn’t, because then I realized it was my toddler with the fragrant behind running around.

I took Maddie Grace to the changing table in the handicap stall of the women’s restroom. “You’ve got this.” I told myself. Until I realized there weren’t any more diapers in my bag. I looked down at Maddie Grace and smiled because what else could I do? “Sorry, kid. We’ve gotta go. I love you.” She grinned back at me. Luckily, since I had found a stuffed cat that she hadn’t played with in awhile, she wasn’t holding a grudge.

We are home now. She fell asleep in the car five minutes into our twenty-minute drive, so I am sitting in the front seat of the car typing this on my laptop. I’m pulled into the garage, letting her sleep with all the doors open because it smells like a toilet in here.

But I am happy, because today is a purple day. With a little luck, Maddie Grace and I will have more purple days this week. I’ll put a fresh set of diapers in the bag, but undoubtedly something else will be forgotten. Things will go wrong, but hopefully they’ll be outnumbered by the things that go right. As my grandma used to say, “You’ve got to keep on keepin’ on.” And that’s what purple mothers do.

When Life Gave Me Brussels Sprouts

Brussels sprouts.  The name alone makes me cringe.  I did actually try them last Thanksgiving, but not even bacon, parmesan cheese, and EVOO could hide the dreaded taste or the awful texture.  Of course, I choked them down so as to not make a scene in front of my in-laws.  But when my writer-friend asked me to think of a disgusting food yesterday, Brussels sprouts immediately came to mind.

This week, the doctor served me Brussels sprouts.  It’s difficult for me to call it what it actually is: cancer.  (1)  Because I am only 37, and (2) The prognosis is not as horrible as what so many others with such a diagnosis must endure. 

The abdominal mass was discovered on a renal ultrasound this past summer.  While this is not a routine test for most people, I have one yearly to monitor congenital bladder and kidney issues.  Since I also have endometriosis and had had a fibroid the size of a grapefruit removed along with my beautiful baby girl during a C-section 15 months ago, my gynecologist attempted to remove the mass laparoscopically. However, he found it to be out of his territory and surrounded by blood vessels and wouldn’t touch it. 

Next step was a colonoscopy. The general surgeon took sample tissue of the egg-sized growth that seemed to be attached to the outside of the colon.  While obviously not normal, it did not seem to be anything too alarming.  Over the past twenty years, I have had other cysts and tumors arise.  A surgeon would remove them, the pathology report would come back clear, and life would go on.  Once again, this seemed to be the case. 

But, thankfully, the surgeon did not write this off.  Three months later he ordered a CT scan to monitor any changes.  Despite having such tests before, this time I had a reaction to the dye and ended up in the ER.  But when I read the online MyChart report that the mass had not changed in size or appearance, I figured this was the worst that could happen. 

To my surprise, he did want to remove the mass.  I was devastated.  This would be my thirteenth surgery.  I have a 15-month old that I would not be able to pick up during recovery.  I would have to take a few weeks off from my new job as library media specialist that I loved.  I asked him if we could wait until summer vacation since the mass was so slow growing. No, we could wait until Christmas break, but not until June.

On December 28, I had the mass removed and my colon re-sectioned.  I had another allergic reaction, this time to the anesthesia, but otherwise the surgery went very well.  I was up and moving the next day, eating solid food two days later, and home by New Year’s Eve.  I felt so much better than I expected -- well, until my terrific toddler brought home the stomach bug.  Then I was nauseous and lost my appetite for days, but luckily Grammy was around to help change Maddie Grace’s diapers.  Still, I managed to stay hydrated and avoided going back to the hospital. 

On January 10, I had my follow-up visit with the surgeon, and as he removed the staples which made my stomach look like it zipped up the middle, he told my mom and me the news.  The pathology report was not what we expected.  The mass was actually two tumors (7 centimeters and 2 centimeters) called GIST or Gastrointestinal Stromal Tumors.  These alone are very rare and only recently identified as cancer.  As I would later read online, only around 15,000 cases are diagnosed in the United States a year.  Of these, only 2% occur in the colon.  I always have been one of a kind.

I couldn’t believe it!  The doctor had briefly mentioned this GIST thing back in November, but I had been so busy with Maddie and school and writing assignments and the holidays that I hadn’t even given it my usual WebMD attention.  Mom and I gathered up our winter coats, her hastily-written notes, and our chins and did what any two women in our situation would do – we headed to the DQ and ordered Blizzards.  The sweetness of the chocolate and salted-caramel concoctions helped to mask the taste of the Brussels sprouts as I called my husband at work and broke the news.       

      

The next couple of days were spent telling loved ones, watching comedies on Netflix, and Googling the new terms on the Internet.  On Friday the thirteenth, I met with my oncologist.  While this word does not exactly roll off the tongue either, I again feel that for a bad situation mine is the best there can be.  Even though he is fairly young and has only been in Owensboro a short time, his training at the University of Kentucky was actually in this area of rare cancers.  He described a pill he has used to successfully treat other patients which specifically targets GIST cancer cells and has few side effects. 

Life may have given me Brussels sprouts, but my portion is small and for that I am so very thankful. If all goes as expected, my treatment will last three years.  I will have frequent blood work to monitor the effects of the Gleevec medication and undergo CT scans every three to six months (with a dose of Benadryl and steroids to prevent an allergic reaction), but there will be no chemotherapy or radiation.

Undoubtedly there will be days when I just can’t stomach these Brussels sprouts, but seasoned with faith in God and love from family and friends I can digest them.  Hopefully those bad ones will be outnumbered by days like today, when I can drown them in a little humor sauce and take them a bite at a time.  

To the Woman Struggling with Infertility

I have been in your place

              in those cold mental stirrups

  and pink paper gown

              staring at black and white shapes shifting

  on the screen, searching for a follicle –

A small hope of what might be.

I have heard the advice

               Eat this; take that.

               Try this, not that.

               Just relax; just adopt.

               Maybe it’s not meant to be.

From those who mean well but cut deeper.

I will be your shoulder to cry on

               When your body says it’s impossible,

               but your heart says, “It is everything.”

               When your numbers come back too high or too low

               and you feel like a pin cushion.

Because you are tired, just so tired.

              

I will pray for you

               As the bills pile up, and insurance won’t pay.

               When you throw away another test

               that you just knew would be your

blue line, plus sign, or happy face.

And hope that one day you will find your peace.  

I will always remember

               The shots, the maybes, and the disappointments

Even though they are faded by morning sickness,

swollen feet, labor pains, and

               a whole new kind of tired

Because they brought my miracle to me.