I sit, on the eve of my favorite holiday, wondering what to write.
Instead of capitulating and catapulting into a lengthy life story, I’ll retire slightly earlier. I’ll give you the same opportunity. After all, the focus of a holiday should be on what brings you true joy.
Happy Thanksgiving. I wish you well, whether you celebrate or not.
“Babe-eeeee, where are you going?” I say, in an effort to distract my contortionist one-year-old. All I want is to diaper the squirmy creature; so, in the words of my almost-three-year-old, he won’t have a “naked tush.” One hand grapples with legs, another with the body, another with setting a toy between Baby’s fists, and yet another reaches for the clean diaper.
…
We’re out. At least, we’re out of the handy pile I keep by the bed.
This means it’s time to tear open another oversized box from my home-away-from-home, Costco (seriously, I’m up to daily trips, now). I keep a running tab on how many of the 222 disposable landfill hazards are left, ready to up my trips to twice-daily if the stock’s too low.
I’ve 112, so we’re good -the large pile comforts me. My seeing it also reminds me of when I was expecting my very first baby:
Fifty years ago* and around 30 weeks, I’d had enough with pregnancy. Knowing the only way to extract the male parasite within, however, I crossed my legs and waited for nature to take its course.
And, I accepted the inevitable by accepting gifts from friends and relatives. I have many kind acquaintances who visited and gave us a lot of necessities.
The weeks sped closer to a supposed due date for Owens Boy #1; I surveyed my blue and green clothing, white burp cloths, pristine car seat, bumpered crib, and -yes- piles of diapers with satisfaction. I was set; I could do this. I would …eventually… get all our moving boxes out of the intended nursery and have it arranged for our offspring’s arrival.
I clearly had everything we needed.
Except, I didn’t.
I’m not sure if I realized my error whilst watching a friend change her baby’s bottom. I’m not certain if I saw the problem whilst shopping and traveling down the baby aisle. I’m not even positive if I was hit by Captain Obvious whilst attending a free class at the hospital on How to Change Your Baby.
Remember kids, we didn’t have YouTube in The Time of the Pager.
See, pregnancy is a funny thing. When sampling it; women may experience stupidity, ignorance, idiocy, and a generalized inability to think. (No, seriously: if someone tells me s/he told me important information in the past that I can’t recall, I’ve learned to ask, “Was I pregnant?”)
At some point that may have been AFTER pushing out Kevin jr.**, I noticed a number written on the boxes of diapers. I’m not referring to that old ‘222’ of how many fit in a box; I’m referring to ‘Size 3.’ Furthermore, I’m referring to a group of numbers under ‘Size 3’ that describe a weight range. While some might consider that to be a diaper’s maximum limit on retaining moisture; it is, in fact, a range in which your baby must fall in order to fit that size.
Up till this revelatory moment, I’d ignored that little range and that little word, ‘Size.’ I’d surveyed my derriere-dressings with pride, smugly confident that I had enough for my means. Unfortunately, I had Size 1, Size 2, and Size 3.
“Unfortunately” because the baby popped out a bit small, necessitating an unknown ‘Newborn’ level of coverage.
Photo by kelvin octa on Pexels.com (Not my baby, but still cute)
So…. did you know they give you diapers in the hospital? They also teach you which end to put it on.
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Did you also know that diapers come in different sizes? What surprising yet simple idea have you learned in life, perhaps from an embarrassing lack of knowledge like my experience?
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Last week, I wrote: Wednesday, November 9: “You Don’t Have to Read This.” You don’t -nor any other posts you aren’t interested in.
Friday, November 11: Friday Photo. I hope no one eats these things for breakfast.
Whether begun there or in some unknown infancy, I can admit to my affection’s growing through a guilty pleasure: BBC broadcasts. I remember paying rapt attention whenever they interrupted my listening to KBYU, the local LDS University’s classical music station.
There was class! There was distinction! There was the most correct, proper way to pronounce …anything. I harbored a secret dream to one day be able to speak in as refined a manner as the BBC radio announcers.
I read a lot as a child, my preferred genre being fantasy and adventure. My preferred period was the Any-time of Probably-England or its nearby Kingdoms. From Narnia I found Prydain; from thence, Cornwall; then the moors; Darrowby; Wonderland. England and its surrounds became synonymous with the romantic locales of magic and imagination.
My infatuation grew. Was it my heritage, being mostly of British descent? Was it my love of beef and potatoes? My odd sense of humo(u)r? My name?
Do I think I’m unique in this adoration? No. Look at the British Empire’s reach or at the popularity of The Beatles or Harry Potter.
I believe most of the world reserves a tender spot for that soggy land. Whether most of the world wishes to enter England’s sogginess through a magic wardrobe is another story -but the tenderness is there. Right?
I haven’t written about local COVID conditions since last October. Considering how compulsively I felt the need to describe life constricting around me when The Plague first came around, I should describe life releasing one again with as much compulsion.
Rather than label my error as ‘pessimism,’ I’ll optimistically posit that where things are heading now is what I am accustomed to; what is normal. Where things headed in spring of 2020 looked like the plot line for a dystopian novel.
Speaking of lines, things are flattening out once again…
Thanks, coronavirus.utah.gov. An important note is that this is one graph, no matter the variant tested for.
In Utah, the public atmosphere is mixed. Everyone behaves as if no pandemic existed, exists, or will exist again. …mostly. Public stores have lingering signs on the doors about masking or staying home if sick. I see a patron here or there, sporting the determined half-covered-face look.
We were not asked to mask at three sons’ pediatrician appointments; we were at a different pediatrician appointment for a different son.
I’ve visited a new dentist as a normal, everyday person; an old endodontist as a masked, must-be-healthy, sign-all-these-haven’t-had-a-cold-or-been-vacationing threat.
I faced a similar interrogation in taking Boy #6 to an appointment to look at his Sloth-like head shape:
You know, Sloth-like in the back. His front is very smiley and social. As a side note: those baby helmet thingies are really, really expensive. They’re the orthodontics of infants with a similar price tag and aversion to insurance coverage.
On the plus side, the few times I hear of a person contracting Coronavirus I also hear words like “mild case,” “not bad,” and “feel fine now.” Encouragement to be boosted is seen on a billboard here, and a notice at the doctor’s office there -but I don’t feel hammered on the head about it. I am not in the workforce, however, so the environment might be different in that pool.
Inflation is finally accepted as happening. I guess the emperor couldn’t keep people looking at promotional ads for nudity any longer. Whatever; the prices are what they are. Maybe we can go back to an agrarian lifestyle …once the housing market settles down.
We have a side business selling gaming dice and gaming candles. I wrote about a Kickstarter we did in February of 2020 for creating music dice. Since then, I’ve not talked about the business much. Some of you may not have even known we did that in our free time.
We’ve had the dice company about 12 years. Kevin thought of the candles and put a few out there, back in 2019.
The biggest surprise of the last two years is how incredibly popular the nerd candles are. Who knew DND Candles would be a thing? Who knew someone would want a dirt candle? A bacon candle? A whiskey candle? (The weed candle‘s popularity, on the other hand, doesn’t surprise me that much.)
We’ve had a blast. We’ve told everyone who’s come over about it; invariably, most want to try making candles as well. Learning how to make candles isn’t difficult. Starting a new candle business is. …Which is why I’m using Wednesday’s space to plug an idea:
We are collaborating with Kevin’s sister’s family (and their EIGHT KIDS) to get another business going: Valiant Candle Company.
So far, it includes a Dr. Who candle, Lord of the Rings candles, Star Wars Candles -mostly Mandalorian-themed, and Mythology candles. Check it out to see all the categories.
The sky’s the limit with creative designs and scents. We and my in-laws are trying all sorts of ideas. I love how excited our nieces and nephew are whenever someone buys their candles.
Do you like candles? What are some of your favorite scents? Have you ever made a candle from all-natural soy wax? If so, how did it turn out?
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DON’T FORGET that Susanna Leonard Hill’s Valentiny contest runs Friday February 11th between 12:01 AM EDT Friday February 11th and Sunday February 13th by 11:59 PM EDT. The instructions to enter are here.
What did I do all last week? You’ll find out, below: Wednesday, February 2: Salsa’d to “We Don’t Talk About You-Know” no no no….
“‘We Don’t Talk About Bruno’ is the #1 song in the world right now,” the radio announcer said this morning. I watched my boys in my rearview mirror; their ears pricked up. “In case you don’t have kids and, for some reason, have no idea what we’re talking about, here’s a little clip from the song.”
“Trust me,” he added, “Now, all day long at the office, you’ll be singing, ‘Bruno, no no no….'”
Have you heard the incredibly catchy “Bruno?” You should have now (the video’s right there). It’s a song from Disney’s 2021 animated film Encanto; the musical phenomenon of creative genius Lin-Manuel Miranda -a man already popular for creating In the Heights and Hamilton. From the Disney side, he’s responsible for the songs from “Moana.”
With so much success, what can he say except, “You’re Welcome?”
Bruno, whom we are not to talk about, is a member of a family almost-all blessed with magic talents. While his sisters heal through food and change the weather with mood, he’s able to see visions of the future. Understandably, this skill quickly makes Bruno a pariah of both the Family Madrigal and the local (normal) town. The film’s talentless protagonist and Bruno’s niece, Mirabel, seeks information to solve the mystery of their suddenly-failing magic.
While Encanto leaves me wishing for a clearer conflict and a more solid resolution, the music leaves me and my family wanting to play it again and again. Why?
Did you actually listen?
The tune of “Bruno” is a Salsa. It stomps along in a syncopated pattern, constantly pushing us to aural completion. Add the video of actual dancing and you can’t stop your feet from tapping.
Me; I’m interested in discussing its addictive appeal. We writers need to take note. If we can create the same movement in an unresolved conflict, think how happy readers will be at resolution. Consider how word choice can orchestrate any scene like the steps of a dance. Imagine offbeat poetic meter!
Do you see it? Have you intentionally crafted prose or verse this way? What’s your favorite Disney song?
I can understand his confusion. Cats are the only animal we voluntarily care for at the moment, besides his Christmas-present turtle. The cats are the first pets we’ve invited in and kept. I hold them, talk sweetly to them, and feed them. Any second, however, I expect they’ll go for my throat.
I’m just not a cat person. I am, and always have been, a dog person.
My life dream was to travel the country in a pickup truck with several dogs. If I had to have a home, it was going to be a ranch where they could run. I relate far more to Charles Muntz of Up with his posse of trained canines than I do to Madame Adelaide Bonfamille of Aristocats.
Look, I know dogs are dumberer. I got it. And it’s not like I love ALL breeds of dogs. It is like I dislike all breeds of cats, and especially dislike certain breeds.
I think it comes down to trust. I know, given the option, that cats would take over the world, lock us up in a pit, and forget completely about humanity. Dogs, on the other hand, would invite us over for games and treats.
What about you? Are you a cat person or a dog person? Why?
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Here are last week’s posts: Wednesday, January 19: Admitted that no one likes housework in “Neverending Lau-ahn-dreeee.”
Thursday, January 20: Announced the Terrible Poetry Contest. There’s still time to enter a sonnet!
If there’s one thing I hate in life, it’s chocolate-covered raisins. Such deception!
A close second, however, is housework.
Dishes, tidying up, laundry, vacuuming, dusting, toilets, mirrors, counters, beds, shelves, drapes, dishes, windows, cooking, laundry, showers, mopping, dishes, and laundry -over and over in a neverending cycle!!
Growing up with chores, I knew my parents assigned them out of a sadistic sense of selfishness. When I’m older, I vowed, I am never doing jobs!
I haven’t quite checked that one off my bucket list.
I have learned which tasks I prefer over others. Like, loading a dishwasher or organizing a space instead of putting away clothes. And, I’ve talked with others who’ve told me their most- and least-favorite chores. An aunt says she hates vacuuming the floor but my sister loves it.
Tuesday, January 18: “To Be Readtinued,” in answer to D. Wallace Peach’s writing prompt.
Matt of A Prolific Potpourri has been doing audio performances of my Wilhelmina Winters series. He does them once a month for Short Story Saturday and they are excellent. Go listen!!
“And this one here, this one we’ve got loads of in stock; ya know what I mean?”
There it was again, grating.
The motorsports salesman continued his spiel, hands gesturing and mouth sideways-smirking. Every now and again, he’d slip that phrase at the end of a statement -not in the same pattern, no. He couldn’t even alleviate my senses that way.
See, I’m bothered by repetition. Maybe you’re not. Maybe in sixth grade, you could have sat through your classmate’s reading her report aloud with an, “And, um” announcing each new paragraph. As she became more and more nervous, the phrase increased to lead each line. Then, she stuttered it after every pause.
Maybe you like “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”
Instead of reflecting on irritants, however, my mind wandered to a mirror: what am I doing, perhaps unconsciously, that drives others up the wall?
I know of one thing. I know because of others’ comments and because of my own instincts. I wrestle with years of childhood shyness and mumbling and such to just LOOK PEOPLE IN THE EYE when speaking.
Much of my conversational behavior irritates me. I know I couldn’t stand a recording of myself; I’d spend the entirety of it regretting this gesture or that head flip or ugh; was that what I thought smiling looked like?
Not that I am recommending harsh criticism of oneself. Rather, I wonder what habits you’ve noticed in yourself. Did another person have to point it out for you?
What sorts of amusing or irritating idiosyncrasies have you seen in others? Will you write a character based on them -if ya know what I mean?
ALSO!! Matt of A Prolific Potpourri has been doing audio performances of my Wilhelmina Winters series. He does them once a month for Short Story Saturday and they are excellent. Go listen!!
I’ve been absent lately, in an unofficial fashion. Since this has been due to life and its overwhelming responsibilities -furthermore, since no one has gone looking for me in a panic- I can only presume that: either everyone is equally engaged, or everyone understands that I am not only engaged but have married and sired six children.
If you are feeling like panicking, this post is meant to deter that.
I am still alive. My family is alive and kicking. I’ve come through the holidays, have declared a word, and have been mentally planning what to do for this blog.
I intend to include:
More creative stories, although they may be short.
More off-the-cuff posts as was my wont before COVID-19 hit.
Wrap-ups of my Tour of Utah and mystery series, and promises I’ve made to bloggers to read their works.
If you made it this far, maybe you’d consider helping: 1. What would you like to read? Why do you come around here? 2. Would you be a guest blogger? 3. Would you be a guest host for a contest or writing prompt? 4. Is there anything I haven’t listed that you’d like me to write about?
Thank you for joining me on consider the current chaos.
Chel Owens 