Throwback: Snappy McSprinkles

I do not understand the appeal of Elf on a Shelf. The whole thing is CREEPY; a twisted way people are screwing with their children’s minds.

In light of that, enjoy this piece I wrote back in December of 2017:

Elf

They’re sleepin’, so quiet-like. Little pink cheeks smile in dreamland. Soft breathing’s moving their fluffy blankets.

Perfect.

Now, time to untie this string. I’ve been hangin’ around all day, grinning like a fool.

They’ll be the fools soon.

C’mon, striiiiing! I broke through thicker ropes back at The Pen’!

Good ole North Pole Pen. You don’t hear any annoying Christmas songs about that place. Just crap about naughty and nice and coal and presents.

Candy-coated lies, that’s what.

If I just twist this way -oh. The dog. Glaring. Waiting for me to fall. You can fool those fat humans, but never the slobbering dog.

I even tricked a pet parrot once. He was completely clueless, right up till I pulled the first feather. Would’ve had bird for dinner if Blabbermouth Jingle hadn’t seen.

Made for an impressive scar, anyway.

Nice, doggie. Stop growling; go to bed. I’m just a toy, ya dumb mutt. Just a tied-up toy hanging EXACTLY WHERE FUDGING MOM STRUNG ME UP!

What kind of mom ties up a toy, anyway? What kind of twisted caregiver can’t even use a toy the way she’s supposed to?!

Oh! Footsteps. Stop swinging, string. It’s just the wind, dumb broad -I swear.

“Stay, Duke.”

That’s right, ya drooling waste. Stay there. You’ll be asleep soon, too. She doesn’t tie me up every night.

“Hmmm. Where should we put Snappy tonight, Duke?”

Why ya talkin’ to the dog, lady? It’s not like he can answer you. Just wait till you hide me near the Christmas presents. saw that chemistry set. Ha ha. Dead dog, anyone?

Yeah, don’t whine at me. I’m more valuable than you, dog. I’m Santa’s secret messenger and all that.

“I think we’ll do a treat tonight.”

Oh, good. Make it truffles, woman. I’m tired of eating that candy cane crap. That’s all I got in the joint, too: candy canes. You’d think Santa could hire someone who branched a bit, but no.

Maybe they have some sort of deal with Wal-Mart for all the unsold candy from a decade ago.

Dots and Dubble Bubbles! She is doing candy canes. And, duct tape. Why ya got duct tape? What the -no! No no no no no no no -ouch! Oomph!

“Good night, Snappy. Come, Duke.”

Oh, sure. Of course it’s a good night for your walking pet drool machine. He’s not taped to a box of Fun Dippin’ CANDY CANES! He can probably move to piss somewhere besides his own fleecy bottoms and jingling shoes.

Just keep it up, all of ya. I’ll wait. Every night you tie me is one more slit in a sleeping neck. Who’ll be seeing dancing sugarplums then, huh?

Original Post

A Picture Perfect Picture That’s Not Perfect

Why do my neighbors insist on silly things? I already struggle with admitting I’m a stay-at-home mother who drives a minivan and knows how to bake. Just when I think I’ve made some headway in my self-esteem because I set something decorative on the mantel, another woman posts her Taste of Home setup on TwoFacebook.

white-ceramic-mug-1693652.jpg

Not that I envy her or anything.

Sort-of.

Mostly, I feel indignant. Indignant, I say! Hours of decorating are a waste of time and money, plus a psychological strain on the children who are not allowed to touch any of it.

Don’t believe me? In a fit of domesticity last Easter, I decided to make a holiday wreath. We were out of home-grown grapevines and lacked the time to paint them with off-white chalk paint, so I purchased a pre-made wreath. I also lacked the materials or time to cast my own swirled pastel eggs in resin, so bought those while we were there. And, yes -I picked up some ribbon (silk worms are notoriously difficult to breed).

Okay, okay. I got a glue gun, too. Sheesh. I used their coupon!

Anyway -two hours later, I had my Easter wreath. From a distance, you couldn’t even see the dripping entrails of hot glue or a few bits of burned skin I’d also adhered. For my efforts, I figured I spent about $30.

20191209_142340

…which is why my other door decorations have come from Goodwill or Wal-mart.

Actually, the autumn one was half-off at a boutique. There’s no way the person who made it ended up making a profit. She should’ve saved her hot glue and fingers and taken a leaf from my book.

I was thinking about my practicality versus my neighbors’ insanity yesterday. I had just offered tickets to a highly sought-after event, to which a friend answered she could not attend. She really wanted to, but they were decorating for the ward Christmas party that night.

Why couldn’t she turn her fellow decorators down? Why couldn’t they do it the morning of the event?

Why not skip trying to change a church meetinghouse gymnasium into Dicken’s Christmas village* entirely?

Screenshot_2019-12-09-14-28-48

This is probably why I’m not on the decorating committee.

And, did you remember I mentioned psychological strain on children? What good are mantels, wreaths, and Dickens when all the children want is somewhere to sit? They certainly can’t do that on a pure white couch, accented by mirrored surfaces and offset by homespun metals and woods.

Joanna Gaines

Swiped from The Master.

Maybe I’m coming from a house of boys, where we can’t even keep pillows on the couch or Nerf bullets from ‘accent’ing all the surfaces. Or maybe, as I like to think, I’m the sane one in the neighborhood.

 

*For the curious, they are actually intending to do this.

—–

Photo Credit:
Photo by Ylanite Koppens from Pexels
and Chelsea Owens
and Joanna Gaines’ Instagram

©2019 Chelsea Owens

Guess What? I’m a Mommy …Again

I did it! Well -the doctors did. Yesterday, around 13:44, the obstetrics surgical team extracted my fifth boy.

He weighed 6 lbs 4 oz (rounded up) and measured 19 inches long.

I’m not allowed to go into labor, so we scheduled the operation at 37 weeks. All in all, this has been the best C-Section recovery I’ve had. I can only attribute that to the skill of the team, the healthiness of my body, and to the many prayers I know people offered on our behalf.

Because of privacy reasons, I dislike posting pictures online. Since I know he’ll change rapidly and you’re all DYING to see, however, here are two I took this morning:

Baby Five Top (2).jpg

“Hello. The world is bright and cold. I’m not certain I like it yet.”

Baby Five Full Body (2)

A pen, for comparison.

We haven’t agreed on a name yet, but I keep that information private as well. 🙂

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Butcher (Carrot Ranch TUFF Rodeo)

TUFF is a contest where the story goes through a first draft of 99 words, a parsing down to 59 words, a butchering down to 9 words, then a revisit to 99 words again.

99 Words

Jacqueline studied the tiny, harmless beans in her palm. Was it her imagination that they glowed, or did she need a hand-washing as much as Mama always said?

“I tell ye,” the old peddler said, “They’s magic!”

Magic or no, she couldn’t keep staring. Jacqueline pocketed her treasures. Yanking at Bessie’s rope, she headed on to the butcher’s.

Mama wouldn’t be impressed by anything short of a month of food, Jacqueline knew. She shrugged to herself. At least she’d haggled the peddler down to a tongue and brisket. Who knows what mama would’ve said about losing a whole cow?

—–

59 Words

Jacqueline studied the beans. They rested against her dirty palm, seeming to glow.

“They’s magic,” the peddler insisted.

Mama wouldn’t agree, any more than she would to strangers or dirty hands. Jacqueline sighed, pulled at Bessie’s rope, and headed on to the butcher’s.

At least she’d haggled down to a brisket. Mama’d never agree to losing a whole cow.

—–

9 Words

Jacqueline wondered if beans were magic enough for Mama.

—–

99 Words, Final

Jacqueline studied the beans in her dirty palm. Was the peddler right? Were the beans glowing? Maybe Mama was the honest one, and all she needed was a good hand-washing.

“I’m telling ye,” the old peddler insisted, “They’s magic.”

Magic or no, she couldn’t stand around staring. Jacqueline pocketed her dubious treasures and took up Bessie’s rope. Mama wouldn’t be impressed by anything if they were late for the butcher’s.

Jacqueline shrugged to herself. At least she’d talked the peddler down to a tongue and a brisket. Who knows what Mama would have said about losing a whole cow?

—–

Typed and entered for Carrot Ranch’s TUFF Rodeo competition: Beans.

©2019 Chelsea Owens