This week’s blog post is related to the week-long project I started on Instagram. If you’re not on Instagram or just haven’t checked it for a while, let me briefly explain.

Life has gotten busy and full, and one of the things I have let slip is my daily five-minute writing practice. (I’ve written about my five-minute writing exercises before. Here’s a link to one such post.)

Since the new school year starts on Thursday, August 14th (at least, schools in the Los Angeles Unified School District begin then, other schools in other districts may have different start dates), I thought this week would be the perfect time for me to begin doing my five-minute writing exercises again. 

Except, I needed some help, some way to be held accountable so I wouldn’t brush it off when I felt too tired or felt like I had “more important” things to do. So here’s the plan — Monday, August 11th through Friday, August 15th I am posting a reel a day on my Instagram account. In that reel, I read aloud a writing prompt — either one from Kicking in the Wall by Barbara Abercrombie or Rupi Kaur’s Writing Prompts – Self Love. 

And me, being a former teacher, decided to keep track of my progress by placing a sticker on the calendar for each day I completed my five-minute writing exercise. 

Today, I am sharing with you what I wrote in response to Tuesday’s prompt — Write about a name that creeps into your heart. The name of someone or something you love — an animal, a place, weather, a song. 

Growing up, my mom’s family called her Honey. In a family of five children, she was the only girl. They called her Honey, even into adulthood, but everything I know about my mom’s childhood doesn’t match with the way they treated her. It doesn’t seem like she was ever treated like a Honey. In the stories she tells and the memories she shares it feels as if her years at home were missing a sweetness and tenderness and love, both explicitly expressed and implicitly felt. 

My mom, now 80 years old, has always spoken fondly of her maternal grandmother. A woman who wore lots of jewelry (like me). A woman who, when visiting California from New York, would ask my mom to polish her nails for her. A woman who called my mom Honeycakes.

Honeycakes. I love that name. It sounds like a delightful dessert. Like something you eat with your fingers and when you’re done eating, you lick your fingers clean, one-by-one, because you’re trying to savor every little bit of the sweetness. It warms my heart,  knowing my mom’s grandma spent time with my mom — hugging, being affectionate, letting my mom know she was a special girl.  

After 50 years of marriage, my 79-year-old dad, still calls my mom Honey. The red heart tattoo on his right arm has the name Honey written inside. 

My mom is Honey. 

And because it’s my mom’s name, I don’t call my husband Honey. 

He’s Honeypie. 

Readers, please let me know if you’re completing these five-minute writing exercises. I’d love to cheer you on!

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.