#River Mumma

[phaedraismyusername]

This is possibly way too specific BUT for any of my urban/contemporary fantasy or magical realism type reader girlies who are also eagerly following the whole Kendrick dragging Drake situation then BOY do I have the rec for you

White lady steals a magical golden comb from the Jamaican river spirit River Mumma to open a Jamaican restaurant in Toronto, consequences occur, and she gives the comb away and our protagonist has to set off on a Wizard of Oz style quest across the city to try and get it back from (and i swear I'm not lying lol) DRAKE who's refusing to return it because he's a fucking hack lol.

Yes it's a weird book but I really enjoyed it and I genuinely don't think there will ever be a better time to recommend it lol

[preethecaribbean]

Illustration of a Caribbean mermaid from Arthur Spiderwick's Field Guide to the Fantastical World.

In Jamaican folklore, the River Mumma is a Water spirit who protects the rivers. The fish are her children. It’s said that if you find her belongings—such as a gold comb or jewellery—on the river bank, you should leave them where they are, or else!

[thefaezoo]

River Mumma originates in Jamaica, but her legend can be compared to European tales about mermaids or Greek tales of sirens, depending on whose story you hear. She can be depicted as peaceful or malevolent.

The River Mumma often sits at the riverside combing her hair, and disappears when she senses onlookers. She protects the water and the fish, keeping an abundant supply for the people who may need its resources.

She is also said to guard a golden table that was thrown into the water by colonizers. If anyone were to try and steal it, they would drown. The River Mumma is also rumored to drown those with bad intentions if they try to approach her or cross her river.

[coffeeinkblog]

#BookReview #RiverMumma by Zalika Reid-Benta #NetGalley

NetGalley Description:“River Mumma is a love letter to culture, home, and coming of age—and will spark important, relevant book club conversations, too.” —Marissa Stapley, New York Times bestselling author of LuckyIssa Rae’s Insecure with a magical realist spin: River Mumma is an exhilarating contemporary fantasy novel about a young Black woman who navigates her quarter-life-crisis while…

[beckysbook5]

River Mumma by Zalika Reid-Benta - ARC Review!

Alicia has been out of grad school for months. She has no career prospects and lives with her mom, who won’t stop texting her macabre news stories and reminders to pick up items from the grocery store. Then, one evening, the Jamaican water deity, River Mumma, appears to Alicia, telling her that she has twenty-four hours to scour the city for her missing comb. Alicia doesn’t understand why River…

[duelbraids]

oh I’m afeared that miss protag and I share a mother

protagonist pulled The Tower and the Wheel of Fortune at the beginning of the book oh baby doll is IN for it

[naturalswimmingspirit]

saralato

despedidos da amazônia🌿despedidos da familia🌿

arabellakasler

❣️FAMILIA❣️. Well upon embarking to the lands of Brazil, after months of convincing, our planning mumma lizzie, had more than she bargained for, almost 10 gringos in the mix! What a trip, seriously. Months of joy and challenge. Having to manage the dietary requirements of all of us.. was even a test not many would withstand. Yet with all challenges come great insights. We had to learn to adapt, to compromise, to chat logistical and still find time for emotional, we had to consider many people at all times. That’s hard. So one might ask why did we do this to ourselves ? Hahah The answer simply being because we love one another. And the moments where we help lift each other up to wee in the Amazon river where there are parasites, or have a huge korean feast in the middle of the jungle, all play with fire in a carnival float, come out of all doing ayahuasca together to a home cooked meal by another member, climb mountains and live in a cave living of jackfruit, trying to fit 11 people in one car or just turn around and see what Ruckus we make walking down the market streets, makes it all worth it. I felt this family, as family in the deepest sense, the honeymoon period over as we all showed all our colours, our shadows, our grumpiness and our light. Teasing, tormenting, holding, laughing, loving. As all the family dynamics seem to present itself, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers it all. The depth of being with each other all the time. What a madness. And with all families, it’s time to have a break, and I know I will never travel with a group that big again, or possibly ever live so entwined with so many people. I feel a new phase I enter my life with. To prioritise quality time over quantity, and more internal growth. So yes a time of commemoration is in order Thanks for putting up with me, helping me, and choosing to stay by my side for this wild ride you bunch of brilliant butholes. Each one of you has inspired me in your different lights, and I will take these lessons in my strides. Your all a bunch of filthy fuckers, sugar hoes, faffy McGees, and hilarious beans. Well done we made it out alive !

[naturallyadventured]

arabellakasler

❣️FAMILIA❣️. Well upon embarking to the lands of Brazil, after months of convincing, our planning mumma lizzie, had more than she bargained for, almost 10 gringos in the mix!

What a trip, seriously. Months of joy and challenge. Having to manage the dietary requirements of all of us.. was even a test not many would withstand. Yet with all challenges come great insights.

We had to learn to adapt, to compromise, to chat logistical and still find time for emotional, we had to consider many people at all times. That’s hard.

So one might ask why did we do this to ourselves ? Hahah

The answer simply being because we love one another. And the moments where we help lift each other up to wee in the Amazon river where there are parasites, or have a huge korean feast in the middle of the jungle, all play with fire in a carnival float, come out of all doing ayahuasca together to a home cooked meal by another member, climb mountains and live in a cave living of jackfruit, trying to fit 11 people in one car or just turn around and see what Ruckus we make walking down the market streets, makes it all worth it.

I felt this family, as family in the deepest sense, the honeymoon period over as we all showed all our colours, our shadows, our grumpiness and our light. Teasing, tormenting, holding, laughing, loving. As all the family dynamics seem to present itself, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers it all. The depth of being with each other all the time.

What a madness.

And with all families, it’s time to have a break, and I know I will never travel with a group that big again, or possibly ever live so entwined with so many people. I feel a new phase I enter my life with. To prioritise quality time over quantity, and more internal growth. So yes a time of commemoration is in order

Thanks for putting up with me, helping me, and choosing to stay by my side for this wild ride you bunch of brilliant butholes. Each one of you has inspired me in your different lights, and I will take these lessons in my strides. Your all a bunch of filthy fuckers, sugar hoes, faffy McGees, and hilarious beans. Well done we made it out alive !

[jugglingjujube]

Just finished River Mumma by Zalika Reid-Benta.

Very much recommend if you're into magical realism/urban fantasy, Jamacian folklore or Toronto.

The book is about a 26-year old Jamacian woman living in Toronto who's out of grad school and struggling to figure out what do with her life. One day a Jamaican deity, River Mumma, tasks her with finding her missing comb somewhere in the city with a 24 hours deadline. It talks about being part of a diaspora, and cultural ties to your family's past, and having a quarter-life crisis and most importantly it's one of the most Toronto books I've ever read.

[libraryleopard]

May reads

The Moon That Turns You Back by Hala Alyan

We Deserve Monuments by Jas Hammond

The Z Word by Lindsay King-Miller

The Bone Way by Holly J. Underhill

Wonder Woman Historia: The Amazons by Kelly Sue DeConnick, Phil Jimenez, Gene Ha, and Nicola Scott

The Undetectables by Courtney Smyth

All These Sunken Souls: A Black Horror Anthology edited by Circe Moskowitz

Widdershins by Jordan L. Hawk

What Feasts at Night by T. Kingfisher

Crema by Johnnie Christmas and Dante Luis

The Library of the Dead by T.L. Huchu 

Sixteen Souls by Rosie Talbot

River Mumma by Zalika Reid-Benta

When We Become Ours: A YA Adoptee Anthology edited by Shannon Gibney and Nicole Chung

A Sweet Sting of Salt by Rose Sutherland

Damned If You Do by Alex Brown

The Hundred Years’ War on Palestine: A History of Settler Colonialism and Resistance, 1917-2017 by Rashid Khalidi

Interesting Facts About Space by Emily Austin

Cosmoknights vol. 1 by Hannah Templer

Experienced by Kate Young

Blood, Sweat, and Chrome: The Wild and True Story of Mad Max: Fury Road by Kyle Buchanan

kitten by Olive Nutall

Let the Mountains Be My Grave by Francesca Tacchi

[sharktea4-0]

River Mumma from Jamaica. A fierce representation of the Devine feminine. She can be found sunning herself on rocks by the river, sometimes she will test your honesty.

[beckysbook5]

Waiting on Wednesday!

“Waiting On Wednesday” is a weekly meme that first originated at Breaking the Spine but has since linked up with “Can’t Wait Wednesday” at Wishful Endings now that the original creator is unable to host it anymore. Either way, this fun feature is a chance to showcase the upcoming releases that we can’t wait to get our hands on! Happy hump day! I hope you’re all having a great week so far. The…

[amidst-wonderland]

[the gray area]

pairing: nora + michael warnings: child endangerment, language, alcohol, smoking, slightly smutty foreplay summary: nora's living in ‘the gray area’ with michael in glasgow

november, twenty-third

nineteen-twenty-nine

“nora” alec breathlessly warned. handling the squirming six-year-old in his arms as he struggles to wrap the blond in his own larger coat in an attempt to keep the heat in, but alas he wanted nothing less than his mum who seemed to be more entranced by the two blokes about fifty yards from them. one laying lifeless on the ground, and the other hovering over the well-dressed body.

    you can see it in her eyes – the pain; the grief and sheer rage – she was ready to pounce, to do so regardless of a present audience. yet, there was no point. the deed was done, and the man was dead. they’d protected their son and that’s all that mattered.

    alec couldn’t understand why the ginger wouldn’t leave it to rest as she continued to grip the revolver. this was never her fight.

    “mummy!” george cries, continuing to fight off his uncle.

    “hen, jist– hiv the wean. wu’ll ye?

    nora turns to them both, her eyes beginning to soften at her shivering boy who’d almost fallen to his death into the cold depths of the river clyde below.

     george hadn’t reacted like this since christmas at john and esme’s when he’d caught a glimpse of michael fighting for his life on their drive.

     she takes george from alec, pulling him into a tight hold as her son gripped at the fabric of her blouse. nora’s heart aches whilst george sobs into her shoulder, feeling his little tears begin to dampen skin through the linen.

     nora turns back to her husband making sure that george was no longer facing the corpse spread across the damp cobbles.

     “i tried to be brave mumma,” george cries between heaved breaths. “promise.”

     she releases a shaky exhale. softly flattening his hair and lulling him back into her shoulder. this was no sight for a child to see. “ah know chicken, ah know.”

     “you aw’right hen?”

     nora gives her bother a nod. squeezing her eyes shut, hoping the tension would prevent any tears falling in the visceral moment of brevity.

     “gonnae gie him a haun,” she motions to michael, “it’ll need tae get dumped.”

     “no lookin’ tae send a message?”

     normally, she would’ve been elated at the chance. to rub it in the faces of those heartless bastards but with the blubbering boy in her arms no amount of pride in the world would allow the man to stay beyond the surface.

     now standing beside nora, alec looks to his brother-in-law lighting himself a smoke.

     michael stood over a man that had caused the mcleod’s unimaginable distress since they were teens – when threatening to slash each-other limbs was a far cry from having a bullet buried in his thick, brittle skull.

     as pathetic of a sentiment it was alec wouldn’t lie, he was jealous of the shot. the pent-up, bubbling, boiling fury he’d clutched for decades had been forced to dissipate. the chance to take the man’s last dying breath was wrenched from his grasp by his baby sister’s husband.

     stolen by an englishman that didn’t know the first thing about their city and mccavern’s prolonged tyranny.

     michael conceived a corpse; the alec wanted his disgraced, pitiful martyr.

     perhaps nora once felt the same–

     “naw, no anymair.” nora stated. she was still soothing george in her arms rubbing at his back, feeling his stabled breathing fluctuating against her chest as he drifted off. he felt safe. good.

     grumbling, alec gives nora a reassuring pat on the back before moving past his sister making his way over to the body whilst michael continued to smoke his cigarette. ‘um gonnae at least kick ‘im in the clyde.’

     the mood was solemn, the purgatory state between the potential loss of a child and tucking him in to bed as the night falls.

     strong, bitter winds hit against nora. feeling the breeze nip at her bare skin. instinctively she clutched george closer.

     the rush of fear and adrenaline that saturated nora’s bloodstream running through the back forest heading for the river’s shipyard, her husband trailing behind had come to pass.

     “cheers fir this,” alec says, “jane only telt me efter youse left the pub when she wis feedin’ yir lassie.”

     michael gives him a weak smile acknowledging the gratitude. “it was for the best alec. he thought i was here for my cousin, not my kid.”

     “aye, suppose.” alec darkly chuckled, “he wis stupit, but he wisnae daft especially if ‘es workin’ wae yer man mosely.”

     michael sighs glancing back to nora gently swaying their son in her arms, he hadn’t seen her do that since george was little.

     “listen, i’m sorry about that,” he grimaces, “i told tommy to ring you for the meeting but he’s using nonie to get under my skin.”

     “the wee-yin mentioned.”

     michael could hear the discontent lingering in alec’s words and he couldn’t blame him. thomas was putting nora in the line-of-fire just to piss him off.

     his cousin had deliberately thrown nora into the lion’s den knowing michael couldn’t protect her. he’d been constrained to watch as she was stared down and up, ignored and tittered at by men who saw nothing more than a scrawny piece of scum.

     thomas’d watched michael for years in family meetings acting defence between nora and the shelby’s. hands on her waist, her shoulder or even the back of her chair. warning everyone to do not cross (although thomas initially mistook that for calming down nora). even when she addressed the clan, michael would stand behind her, observing everyone else’s movements.

     “ah’ll no pry. can see there’s a loat going oan ‘ere and that’s yer ain business as man an wife. but jist gonnae dae right by ‘er. she’s been bloody crabbit efter the shite wae ma maw an da.”

     “did you manage to find your mum? johnny said the taylor’s didn’t know she was missing.”

     alec braces for a moment, unsure if he should break the news on nora’s behalf or let her do so, “aye, she wis closer tae hame than we thought.”

     michael nods in content before looking down at the body before him. jimmy’s face had now become eclipsed in tacky blood and plasma, it still trickling from his forehead pooling onto the mucky cobbles.

     he didn’t regret what he’d done. he didn’t regret taking a life to save his son and he didn’t regret taking the shot for his wife. nora was lot of things but a killer she wouldn’t be.

     the gun she’d unsteadily aimed at the gangster was a stark reminder of their time apart.

     he’d killed solomons’ boy with that pistol and hughes, narrowly escaping his own demise at the hands of the crown before lending it to nora should she ever need to use it without him.

     “go ae yir wean mick” alec says, waving him off. “ah’ll chuck the body.”

     “you sure?”

     “aye.”

     michael turns back, heading to nora and george, who’s now draped limply over his mum’s shoulder and out like a light. the ginger girl looking over at the loch opposite them.

     “whit’s he daein?”

     “dealing with it.” michael answers, slipping an arm around nora’s waist pulling the pair closer into his side taking in the strong sent of lavender coming from his wife. something’s never change.

     “ah need a fuckin’ drink, or a smoke.” nora announced, though it was more a lingering sentiment for the latter demand.

     “used my last one just there.”

     “did ah ever tell you yer a terrible liar?”

     “take’s one to know one nonie.” michael smiled as nora scrunched her nose in annoyance, knowing that meant ‘no, you’re not having one.’

     “ah’m glad ‘es deid,” nora said, her heart still beating heavy. “but i jist wish the wee-man didnae hiv tae see that.”

     the couple began trailing through the trees and winding path, back down to where michael had parked the bentley. george now in his father’s arms giving nora’s frame a rest.

     “ah would’ve done it.” she firmly states, “i would’ve leathered him and put it right fuckin’ through him.”

     “i know you would’ve, it’s why i did it.”

     nora frowns, turning to her husband. “how?”

     “the last thing george needs to see his mum’s fucking terrible shot,” michael jokes. lightly attempting to change the subject.

     “it’s been ages since ah’d felt lit that, that angry. how fuckin’ dare that rat-bastard involve the weans.”

     visions of mccavern’s demise kept replaying in her mind like a terrible picture edith had dragged her to. the boom from the barrel, the whisp of the bullet almost grazing her ear before the splatter of blood oozed from the billy boy’s forehead, falling to the ground with a thud.

     the memories made her tense.

     for every moment she lived as a ‘shelby’, murder was not a common viewing. with the tommy-gun’s output rattling through their home and esme trapped against the door. she’d only witnessed the aftermath of john’s passing because unlike her friend, nora’s husband was spared by the reaper.

     ‘a truce hen, it aw stops. naemair tak’ing gold bhoys. ah cross ma heart. ah jist wan’tae hear it fae yer man sbelby, nae ‘ffence an ye kin hiv the wee-yin back.’

     jimmy demanded thomas shelby, the labour politician he’d made small talk with just last week in the presence of his family, mosley and the ginger fenian lassie.

     nora couldn’t bring thomas – he was no longer in the country, but she could bring the other brummy present who’d have an otherwise unknown vested interest in his son’s whereabouts.

     he’d agreed to the truce offered by the blinder – michael had been lying through his teeth, seething at the glaswegian gangster holding george over the edge of the water. jimmy remained none-the-wiser.

     that was the plan. nobody had to die, at least not here for a child to see.

     jimmy was about to walk from the loch, letting the matter rest but then george screamed, for his dad.

     the rug had been pulled from under him. this was no truce. his men were still at war their lot.

     george clinging to nora. she nervously clasped the cold metallic weapon, finger on the trigger and aimed it back at jimmy, ready to pull–

     she couldn’t–

     tick-boom! released from behind her, catching a glimpse of jimmy’s horror as he plummeted the ground.

     passing george off to alec once he’d arrived. nora’d stumbled off to the side, gripping the railing as she reeled from the sight.

     nora’s fingertips softly graze along her son’s marked forearm, stained by the horrors of this morning where mccavern had gripped him. It pained the woman; her baby boy, a child harmed in the cross-fire of his parent’s game.

     there’s a painful, plunging sensation in her chest noticing george flinch in his deep slumber at the slight touch against the prominent scar. seeing the fair hair, and bumps on his skin rise. “…mumma stop.”

     carefully, she leans over the bed dragging up some of the puffy duvet over the pair of her kids sourcing some more heat as the fire had gone out long ago. rosie begins stir, brunette locks sprawled across the plush white pillows.

     the six-year-old had refused to leave her side ever since they’d returned from the docks. constantly clinging to her waist, gripping at nora’s hand as they travelled around the town and regularly climbing into her lap as they sat in the pub, debriefing as a family.

     flick!

     “michael,” she pressed. getting up from the bed and nodding to the fag. “thought you ran oot?”

     “alec had a couple to spare.”

     “so, ye’ll take fae my blood, bit no share it.”

     michael takes a quick drag from the snout before giving it over to his wife after she shuts the bedroom door behind her.

     nora slumps down on the couch beside him to coorie into his chest, pulling her legs up as she takes her own draw from the cigarette.

     the ginger now occupied with a smoke, michael grabs the tumbler from the side table. “feels like we back at the old house. home from the office, kids bathed and in bed, music on–“

     “–are you asking me fir a wee dance michael?” nora teased, craning her neck back and grinning.

     “still got a bit to drink before that nonie.”

     nora scans around the hotel room. it’s nothing like their old home.

     the dark reds, clashing with the mustards yellows and bracketed chocolate brown skirting hardly encapsulated the sense of their old cottage on the coast that was filled with soft beiges, earthy greens and smelled of rose and sea-salt.

     this time four years ago they’d either be winding down with a night-cap and a fuck or drunkenly ringing esme and john, sometimes even isaiah to pop round with more boose and snow.

     “ah miss that hoose. the beach, the weans wae us in the mornin’ in the big bed, a bloody indoor lavvy. ah’ll tell ye, that wis a fuckin’ hassle getting’ used tae pissin’ ootside again,” nora whinges taking another drag. “never did get round tae a dug though.”

     “there’s still time.”

     nora scoffs, “ach, wae yer new missus hangin’ aboot? that’ll be right.”

     “nonie–“

     “–listen, can we no dae this?”

     “you brought gina up.”

     “aye, jist ignore whit ah said then. ah’ll no hiv this chat wae a drink in me.”

     ‘that’s new’ michael rolls his eyes, pinching the remainder of the cigarette and before nora could protest, he slips the whiskey into her hand as replacement.

     “i never wanted leave nonie. i wanted to stay, make things right but then tommy told me what happened in london – the burn-bottle, the kids.”

     “never understood why you ever believed him.”

     “i didn’t. i believed mum, and ada, and lizzie. couldn’t bear the thought of having to go down there so mum convinced me to take the first train out to the riverside. leave it all behind. promised me johnny would sort out a proper gypsy send-off with your family.”

     “ach, whit’s done is done,” nora lets out a heavy sigh.

     contrary to the metal band that had rested on her left hand for over half a decade, nora didn’t always enjoy sleeping next to her husband and doing just that for the first time in three years was a blatant and unfortunate reminder.

     she was suffocated in a dark room, slightly drunk and coated in sticky sweat being stuck under the thickest winter duvet that would be far too warm even back in her natural habitat of their decrepit flat above the taylor’s inn.

     nora and her bed partner were far from the love-dovey couple of yesteryear, in fact she was moments from shoving his deadweight onto the floor just to fucking breathe.

     she would if she weren’t so disorientated. the groose was enough, michael hardly had to crack open the gin.

     michael hadn’t been in glasgow long, but long enough for sleeping in bed with him to feel normal. even if he was wearing someone else’s ring – where the fuck was his old one?

     even gina had said confessed, she didn’t want him. she wanted his name. smiling back at nora as she clasped her hand over her’s, giving back the lighter she’d received on her wedding day, noting the missing ruby.

     nora wanted to be smug. simply walk away from the man who did so to her but those tender eyes, christ. michael could glance at her from across the room and she’d utterly melt.

     she’s the first to admit her behaviour back in england wasn’t the most pleasant to deal with, especially after a couple of drinks. michael was hardly a saint himself but they’d always had each-others backs and she didn’t want that to change, and legally it hadn’t.

     with nora sleepily raking her fingers through michael’s loose curls she feels a shift in the bed with her husband peeling off her chest, readjusting himself so the pair were now blindly facing one-another. one arm firmly planted around her waist, the other on her leg. burying his head into the crook of her neck, nora felt the shivers crawl up her spine as hot, ragged breaths hit against her sensitive skin causing her to flinch on the initial impact.

     though, she narrowed her eyes. the movements were too calculated for him to still be sleeping which meant something was bothering him.

     wincing at the sudden grope of her thigh, and again, and again, pulling her in tighter each time. it’s followed by some trailing nips on her jaw, michael dragging his plump lips down to her collarbone with some light sucking. she was too tired for this shit, but it was taking her mind off the dreadful atmosphere. she’s about to question him before being silenced by a tight squeeze of her bare bum, a muffled giggle slips out. they sounded like a couple of giddy, hormonal teenagers getting up to all-sorts, which was better than bickering.

     picking up the rhythm, she hitches her leg up causing him to knowingly smirk. it was all going his way, allowing him to loop his grip under it, roughly pulling her body into his releasing a suppressed groan as he’s painfully aware their kids are now just a wall away. there’s an urge to follow as she feels her pelvis rubbing against his erection through the thin material and it all begins to make sense but the sheer rush of pleasure running through her veins turns her train of thought to mush.

     still, she wasn’t quite ready to give him the satisfaction of being wrapped around his finger once again and wriggles out of his hold across the cooler side of the mattress.

     “nonie, do me a favour, yeah?” he hushed, kissing her. “please.”

     “naw. ah’m fuckin’ knackered an hauf-cut – ah’m no nineteen anymair.”

     “c’mon, just touch it, that’s all. i’m not asking you to sit on it.”

     ‘no, but you will and i won’t be able to say no.’

     “nonie.”

     “michael.”

     “��fuck.”

     “christ-almighty. you are so fuckin’ dramatic,” nora laughs, hanging her head off the bed for some fresh air almost toppling over the side. “‘ve no had a fuck in three bloody years an ye don’t see me in this state.”

     nora feels michael shift his weight, climbing back over her frame and trapping her under.

     stubborn as ever.

     “michael, i wull fuckin’ curse ye,” she threats, “ye ‘hink ah wull’nae cause yer ma weans daddy but ah’ll dae–”

     nora’s vitriol is stopped dead in its tracks as michael tightly clasped her cheeks, “you think that’s any way to speak to your husband, mrs gray?”

     ‘don’t think you’re allowed to call me that anymore.’

     “all this fucking lip, now i know why.”

     she loathed that he was spot-on. she’d desperately tried to ignore it. distract herself – kids, work, pub. keeping up the façade of a happily married woman with her travelling husband elsewhere, she could never risk it.

     ‘’hink wee-yin’s turned intae crabbit cow waeoot ‘er man.’ nora’s sister-in-law callously joked to her elder sister, “thought you said she wis cheerie an gallus.”

      jane had point.

     who would she be to turn this down?

     “mrs mccaig’ll hiv ma heid if he’s no in.” nora mummers. softly tracing her finger round the edges of michael’s jaw, “she’s already gettin’ oan ma arse aboot the scrapin in the playground.”

     “i’ll have words.”

     “don’t. i’ve warned him already. says it’s the other boys startin’ it.”

     “do you believe him?”

     “mebbe.” nora sits up, untangling her bare legs from michael’s. “but ‘es no rosalin, ‘es no sleekit.”

     “rosie’d take on britain if it looked her wrong.”

     “good. means she’s ‘er mammy’s lassie.”

     nora glances round the room, catching the time on the clock, half-seven.

     “want me to come with you? ‘play house’ as mum would say.”

     her heart sinks at michael’s offer, ‘play house, right. forgot this ain’t real.’

     she smiles and nods, eyes burning struggling to peer back at him. “yeah, the weans would like that.” nora chokes out a laugh, “show the other mammies thir no a couple ae bastards.”

     “nonie–“

     “–mammy!”

     “’ve dealt wae that fir three years. your turn.” nora nips, sending him off means they didn’t have to linger.

     “rosie couldn’t even speak the last time i saw her.”

     “mammy!”

     “go see yer daughter michael.”

     “she’s not shouting for her dad, is she?”

     nora groans but before she can get out the bed, rosie’s making her way into the room, rubbing her eyes.

     “mammy, georgie keeps stealing the covers.”

     “ach yer getting’ up anyway. ‘es got school.”

     rosie grins back at her mum before running off back to their room.

     nora grimaces, “we’re in fir touble.”

i'm not overly happy with the ending but i'm probably going to write a part two of the school run or at least something with michael + rosie.

only took me four bloody years to write this.

[evenaturtleduck]

I don't quite have the brain to focus on the book I'm in the middle of right now (River Mumma by Zalika Reid-Benta) because honestly I puked most of my brain out Thursday night/Friday morning when I got the stomach bug my younger kids had, but on the other hand, yesterday because I felt like shit I spent nine hours reading fanfiction and turns out I'm a little burned out on that too (sometimes you just need to inject the "Dick Grayson has Eldest Daughter Syndrome" tag directly into your veins and have good cry about everything).

So instead I'm going through my drafts where I store all the posts I find with interesting book lists and putting in hold requests at my library for later :)

[brighthall]

Black children being taught about the River Mumma folklore!

[naturalswimmingspirit]

arabellakasler

❣️FAMILIA❣️. Well upon embarking to the lands of Brazil, after months of convincing, our planning mumma lizzie, had more than she bargained for, almost 10 gringos in the mix! What a trip, seriously. Months of joy and challenge. Having to manage the dietary requirements of all of us.. was even a test not many would withstand. Yet with all challenges come great insights. We had to learn to adapt, to compromise, to chat logistical and still find time for emotional, we had to consider many people at all times. That’s hard. So one might ask why did we do this to ourselves ? Hahah The answer simply being because we love one another. And the moments where we help lift each other up to wee in the Amazon river where there are parasites, or have a huge korean feast in the middle of the jungle, all play with fire in a carnival float, come out of all doing ayahuasca together to a home cooked meal by another member, climb mountains and live in a cave living of jackfruit, trying to fit 11 people in one car or just turn around and see what Ruckus we make walking down the market streets, makes it all worth it. I felt this family, as family in the deepest sense, the honeymoon period over as we all showed all our colours, our shadows, our grumpiness and our light. Teasing, tormenting, holding, laughing, loving. As all the family dynamics seem to present itself, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers it all. The depth of being with each other all the time. What a madness. And with all families, it’s time to have a break, and I know I will never travel with a group that big again, or possibly ever live so entwined with so many people. I feel a new phase I enter my life with. To prioritise quality time over quantity, and more internal growth. So yes a time of commemoration is in order Thanks for putting up with me, helping me, and choosing to stay by my side for this wild ride you bunch of brilliant butholes. Each one of you has inspired me in your different lights, and I will take these lessons in my strides. Your all a bunch of filthy fuckers, sugar hoes, faffy McGees, and hilarious beans. Well done we made it out alive !