4/9/2020 of COVID-19 Home Life

What kind of joke does the CDC recommend?
-Inside jokes

We all got out of the house today, then out of the neighborhood, then down the road, then up to the grocery pickup. I used my cellular telephone device to contact the waiting store associates.

“Please open your hatch to maintain social distance as part of our COVID-19 measures,” the man on the other end of the phone said.

He and I did a little back-and-forth of which items were out of stock and whether I could get something else for them. They had no chicken breasts, egg roll wrappers, mushrooms, or ground beef. Guess we’re not having egg rolls or hamburgers. Wait -he thought the butcher had brought out some more meat since they pulled my order and would check on the beef…

A nice woman worker dumped everything in the back of my minivan, said a cheerful, “Hi,” to my children in the backseat who were about one foot away, and pushed the button to close the hatch. Maybe she planned to wash her hands once she got back inside, much like the Harmon’s cashier last week who used a mini washing station after the guy in front of me paid in cash.

Once we returned home to unload, we discovered a ratio of one grocery sack per item. We also discovered there was no whole ham. They had the flimsy-sliced sandwich variety, so maybe we’ll try to bake that for Easter Sunday.

The most annoying aspect of this whole ‘shopping trip’ apart from the week-ahead wait, the inability to specify how ripe I like my bananas, and whether two one-pound packages of ground beef could count as one two-pound package; was the quality of the graying steak. Yes, it’s grocery store steak. But, today is the last birthday of our Birthday Season and we wanted our $30 of meat to be edible for birthday dinner…

Coronavirus-Quarantine-Funny-JokesI swiped this from BoredPanda.

Because home life isn’t really so bad. We’re not the sort to socialize often. We plan one family trip a year, usually involving a visit to a relative or destination that’s about a day’s drive away. Being raised LDS, Kev and I have a lot of children and a month’s supply of food storage* to feed them. I know how to cook and bake. The boys all like board games, computer games, reading, and impromptu wrestling.

The annoyance is the sudden reminders that something is different.

It’s driving down the street and stopping to talk to my overly-generous neighbor who can sew, then having her offer two homemade masks with instructions on how to remove one after going out in public.

It’s kids on bicycles tailed by anxious parents, all veering out of the way of oncoming pedestrian traffic.

It’s all the signs at the stores about staying away from each other and new hours of operation.

It’s doing a Google search for the boys’ doctor’s office and having Google advise me regarding COVID symptoms.

Screenshot_2020-03-31-11-50-38

It’s planning birthdays with just us, and with a week-ahead grocery order.

It’s that niggling feeling that I need to remember a forgotten thing, like closing the garage or turning the stove off or setting the garbage out on Wednesdays.

Since I’ve determined to control what I can control, I need to pull that niggling part to the fore when I leave the house. I need to only wave at the neighbor kids. I ought to wipe down our incoming packages. I shouldn’t drop in on my friends or relatives.

But I also do not need to get up and drive the children to school, back from school, back from school again, and back from school again. Karate class is online, so no more driving to and from that studio. No more incessant Costco trips, and fewer post office runs…

Speaking of, I offered outgoing dice order packages to our local, white-haired, blue-eyed postman. He handed me a new bin for tomorrow’s orders, then said, “Wait. I need to decontaminate it.” Pulling it back, he made a grand gesture of brushing something unseen from the side before offering it again.

“You’re sure casual about it, considering you go to everyone’s houses,” I noted.

He shrugged and said, “It’s only a matter of time…”

I hope not. He’s a really nice guy. When we’re not social-distancing, I’ll make him a plate of cookies.

pexels-photo-230325.jpeg

Photo by Lisa Fotios on Pexels.com

 

Last one:

What goes great with a Corona virus?
-Lime disease

 

©2020 Chelsea Owens

*It’ll be dry black beans and five-year-old Limas, but they’ll survive.

 

4/4/2020 of COVID-19 Home Life

Today’s my son’s birthday. We were planning a birthday party for him, before. “You know this year you get to have a big party, right?” I’d said to him. “Make sure you’re thinking about what you want to do and the friends you’ll want to invite.”

Fortunately, my baby-surgery recovery and our other birthdays made it so we didn’t get past that point in conversations. I didn’t have anyone or anything reserved. We hadn’t invited people. All that happened is that, when Utah’s governor first announced the schools were closing, my son asked, “What about my birthday?”

“Well, we’ll plan to have it after school’s back in session. If things go longer, we’ll have it in September.”

Looking at maps of the spread of Coronavirus, I’m thinking we’ll push his party till next year.

World map showing countries with COVID-19 cases
Global case numbers are reported by the World Health Organization (WHO) in their coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) situation reportexternal icon. ©2020 Centers for Disease Control and Prevention

Another event’s been affected by all this, for us. Kev (my husband) and I were planning on our first-ever trip to Europe. We had to commit to going last year, and have been paying toward it. I’ve also been stressing about it; thinking and praying about whom to leave which boy with for three weeks.

Although the organizers have not officially told us this is the case, we think it will be cancelled. More than the money is the idea that I was *this close* to something that’s been on my bucket list since I was a girl. Not much is still on that list, mostly because humans haven’t developed self-aviation.

Birthday parties, vacation plans, weddings, funerals, baby blessings, Disneyland, the dentist… all cancelled.

We’re not the only ones affected. A friend complained about missing their family cruise. Another listed all the concerts she couldn’t attend. What whiners, right? There are people dying after near-suffocation from a disease they contracted at Wal-mart.

But, we are not trying to be shallow. We are dealing with massive change.

My favorite example of this, pre-COVID-19, is in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. <Spoiler Alert> Planet Earth is bulldozed to make way for a hyperspace expressway. The protagonist, Arthur Dent, escapes with Ford Prefect (an alien in disguise) just before the bureaucratic aliens known as Vogons blast us to nothing. Arthur is an Everyman. When Ford tells him what’s happened, he can’t grasp that Earth and everyone on it is gone.

“There was no way his imagination could feel the impact of the whole Earth having gone, it was too big. He prodded his feelings by thinking that his parent and his sister had gone. No reaction. He thought of all the people he had been close to. No reaction. Then he thought of a complete stranger he had been standing behind in the queue at the supermarket two days before and felt a sudden stab: the supermarket was gone, everyone in it was gone! Nelson’s Column had gone! and there would be no outcry, because there was no one left to make an outcry! From now on Nelson’s Column only existed in his mind. England only existed in his mind. A wave of claustrophobia closed in on him.

“He tried again: America, he thought, has gone. He couldn’t grasp it, He decided to start smaller again. New York has gone. No reaction. He’d never seriously believed it existed anyway. The dollar, he thought, has sunk for ever. Slight tremor there. Every ‘Bogart’ movie has been wiped, he said to himself, and that gave him a nasty knock. McDonald’s, he thought. There is no longer any such thing as a McDonald’s hamburger.

“He passed out.”

I remembered this quote as I drove around on my once-a-week errands, feeling a slight jolt at empty restaurants and neon signs about what part of which business was open. I remembered the quote while we watched LDS General Conference this morning; while the camera panned over an empty exterior shot of the building where 21,000 people would have been meeting.

Mormon NewsroomGeneral Conference, April 2019. Thanks to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints for the picture.

Surreal.

The good news is that I think I’m through all the Stages of Grief now. I skipped from Shock to Depression, swung back to Emotionless, and am now resigned to Acceptance. My family and I are still here, are fine, and are just staying home. I can stay here in my own, four walls. I don’t need to worry about what if because those who are in charge have removed the stresses I had, outside of my four walls. If IT can stay outside those walls as well, then we’re set for months.

And, we’re making lemonade out of lemons. My son and his brother set up a Minecraft server and invited his classmates. We’ll wait and see what happens with Europe. The LDS church leaders are broadcasting from a small room, with their chosen speakers sitting six feet apart.

The latest from LDS General Conference: Church membership tops 16.5M; afternoon session begins with a virtual vote
(Photo courtesy of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) General Conference begins at a small auditorium in the Church Office Building with top leaders socially distanced amid the coronavirus pandemic. ©2020 The Salt Lake Tribune

I’ll bake a birthday cake and make enchiladas from the ingredients I picked up from my store order yesterday. I’ll wrap the presents our postman delivered. I’ll remember to look at this from my son’s perspective, because all he wants is a happy birthday.

 

©2020 Chelsea Owens

3/31/2020 of COVID-19 Home Life

My parents came by yesterday. I don’t talk about them much because they have the right to decide whether they want their information online.

Still, over they came. They walked forward and deposited my and my son’s birthday presents on our porch. They stepped back. I unwrapped them: a framed pencil illustration my mother drew of our son, and a beautiful Schwibbögen. My children crowded around me in the doorway and excitedly waved and yelled about schoolwork and the new computer game we’ve been playing as a family, Stardew Valley.

My parents put up a good face. I held my new baby in the doorway as they drove away, waving his little hand for them. I doubt they saw; they probably barely saw well enough to drive if they were crying as much as I was.

I think IT -as Mike calls the Coronavirus crisis- has finally hit most of us. One of my sons came in last night around 9. He sat on our bed. “I’m scared,” he said.

“Oh? Did you have a bad dream? What are you scared about?”

“I don’t know. Just scared.”

Trying to uncover the fear did nothing, so I quickly switched tactics to enumerating everything safe about his situation. We have family, a safe area, a warm house, brothers to take care of him. He calmed enough to sleep in his own bed.

As I was drifting off to sleep later*, I heard and felt the slight change in air pressure that meant our bedroom door had opened. One of my older sons stood in the doorway.

“Son? What’s wrong?”

Bearing his about-to-cry face, he came to my bedside. “I’m scared.”

I hugged him and held him. “It’s okay, Son. It’s okay.”

“Thank you, Mom.”

We walked back to his bed together. I gave him a Melatonin and tucked him in.

…Which might explain why several of us slept in this morning. I awoke to feed Baby at 8ish; finished and got ‘ready’ to pick up a prescription by 10 a.m. Everyone but we parents and my early-riser was still asleep. Costco’s automated phone message played its usual bit, then had a slightly louder recording tell how they have new hours for the warehouse, including a special time for seniors to shop. People picking up prescriptions do not have to wait in line at the door -just tell the guards associates at the exit doors that you’re picking up a prescription and they’ll let you in.

I haven’t written about Costco yet. Usually, it’s my home away from home. I like to go there when we travel, and Utah boasts the world’s largest Costco. Friends have even teased that I ought to travel to all of them and chronicle my adventures.

When I went there to stockpile toilet paper and water three weeks ago (okay -kidding), people were a tad tense. A few, like me, knew what was coming and were purchasing a few extras. A week later, the store had imposed limits on supplies. A few days after that, signs dotted the columns and tape lines dotted the cash registers and waiting areas so that we might stay 6 feet away from each other. Lines formed to get in, separated by cones and pallets; lines formed to check out, enforced by Costco employees.

Today, plexiglass barriers are screwed to the front of all the cash registers. Some workers wear face masks. The receipt-checkers at the exits have clipboards and gloves. No one touches your membership card. Everyone furiously wipes down counters and computer equipment. They spray shopping carts (trolleys) with a pink solution out in the parking lot.

I saw a pregnant woman of Indian features and dress wearing gloves and a dentist-style face mask. They’re probably not doing much for her, but I’d be doing the same in her shoes.

Next on my errands was the post office. They had tape on the floor as well, plus a sign outside about keeping 10 or fewer people in the waiting area. The woman at the desk wore a face mask and she also sat behind newly-installed plexiglass.

Perhaps we ought to start living in personal plexiglass houses.

The oddest part of my experiences is something Pete pointed out in his comments on my last update: people are avoiding any interaction. Told to be wary and stay six feet away, we are also avoiding nonverbal cues that indicate safety. We are not smiling, laughing, reassuring, or talking. I guess we need to learn to be friends …from a distance.

Which is why I find comfort in the snippets of sunshine. A woman asked another woman at Costco where she’d gotten her package of Charmin toilet paper** from; I heard them laughing at whatever the response was, and I smiled at their smiles. The secretary for my sons’ school asked how we were all doing when I called about a registration issue. My friend and I talked on the phone.

I felt like giving up that day we had the earthquake. I’ve mostly stopped obsessively checking the United States Geological Society’s latest earthquakes page since, and was handling each day too busy to dwell on the larger implications of what we were doing. Today, however, I’ve returned to some of that anxiety. The novelty’s worn off, I suppose. We’ve purchased all the extra food we can eat. We’ve got a rough schedule for schoolwork at home. We’ve even finally started a nap routine for the baby. Now, though, comes the most difficult part: facing the long dark of Moria.

But wishing IT away hasn’t worked for most of us. Assuming IT wouldn’t come didn’t work very well, either. My son’s speech and behavior aide last year told me they were working on his Sphere of Influence; what he could control. Me, I can’t control IT. I can’t control the world’s response. What I can control is me. I can still control much of what my family does and is exposed to as well.

So, you may find me writing from within a circle of salt. Still, at least I’m still alive. And writing.

©2020 Chelsea Owens, including photos of the Schwibbögen and Costco
GIFS © GIPHY

*Okay, I was really playing Candy Crush. They’re offering infinite lives all week, which is brilliant for keeping people in.
**Charmin Ultra Soft toilet tissue is worth more than gold right now…

3/29/2020 of COVID-19 Home Life

I’m not certain what time I awoke this morning. We’d all stayed up late watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail. We tend to save shows we don’t want the children repeating for times when they’re out of school.

A Twofacebook friend posted a re-posted snippet from a doctor in NY or somesuch. It was an amusing bit despite the message, because the author introduced horrible traits of COVID-19 with specific, sometimes humorous examples. I could not find the darned thing in searching for it this evening; sorry. One of my friend’s commenters suggested the article was in error because the author said COVID is airborne and WHO says it is not.

Two interesting articles: WHO’s statement, and a story about a choir group infecting each other despite washing hands and not hugging.

Last week marked my birthday and one of my children’s. Our traditions usually include the birthday person choosing his dinner and cake, apart from suggesting presents he’d like. I also prepare and present the birthday person with breakfast in bed. Since all of those activities required food, I placed an online order with our local shop …then discovered they were three days out in being able to prepare it.

20200325_200154

It’s supposed to be a motherboard cake.

Another child’s birthday approaches this Saturday, so I just finished an online order for his requests. Yes, the store is now booked out till Friday. I intend to dilute the remaining milk with some of our (expired) powdered variety.

My order is for fresh items we can’t store, like bananas, and some cake decorations.

Like most of you, I find my irregular drives to be surreal experiences. Yesterday’s post office run took me past empty restaurant parking lots that advertised drive-up or delivery options STILL AVAILABLE. Twofacebook friends lament cancelled concerts or Spring Break trips. I receive the occasional e-mail update about this dentist now closing, or this doctor or this specialist I haven’t been to in five years anyway. It’s good to know I can’t go, if I miss them.

Despite the doom and gloom, I feel an overwhelming level of community support and love. There are still idiots, naturally. There are selfish acts and short-sighted people. Overall, however, we’re sticking it out for the greater good.

woman about to reach camera

Photo by Wesley Souza on Pexels.com

Utah’s governor issued a ‘Stay Home, Stay Safe‘ directive. Our Salt Lake County Mayor issued a ‘can smack you if you break these new suggestions’ directive. Our county has the highest number of cases, but we’re also the most populous and densely-packed area in little ol’ Utah.

I’m realizing that the long-term plan is for us all to be exposed at some point, but in a spread out manner. We can’t turn off the world forever.

But that world keeps turning. I keep turning on it, in my tiny corner and in my tiny world. So, I hold my boys when the panic hits. I hold a handful of chocolate chips sometimes, too. I tell my mother I love her. I tell my relatives with anxiety to not panic. I tell my relative doing his medical residency that we’ll pray for him. And, like everyone else, I wonder when we’ll return to whatever normal might be.

 

©2020 Chelsea Owens

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 3/27/2020

♪ Happy Birthday to me… Happy birthday to you! ♫

It’s Birthday Season ’round our place (mine was Monday). Which of our esteemed entrants sang the most terribly?

Untitled piece

by Ruth Scribbles

Spoken:
As we don’t gather
On this day to blather
Let me sweetly remind you
About your place in history

Chant:
You are old
Older than dirt
You are old
Not a little squirt

Sing:
Happy birthday to you
You’re not allowed to boohoo
The virus will leave us
Yippe yay, ha-lle-luuuuuu

Congratulations, Ruth! You are the most terrible poet of the week!

We had terrible subject, terrible singing, and terrible wishes. I felt Ruth’s song encapsulated just the wrong sort of thing one wants to hear on her birthday anniversary, plus a lovely dusting of lazy lyrics for that extra bad poetry effect.

(I also hope she sings it to her hubby, whose birthday is tomorrow!)

If you’re needing a ‘lift’ for your own birthday, may I recommend any of the following:

Happy birthday, as sung by owls

by Doug Jacquier

Hootie, hootie, hoot, hoot
Hootie, hootie, hoot, hoot
Hootie, hootie, ‘lil owlet
Hootie, hootie, hoot, hoot.

—–

Toilet humour

by Doug Jacquier

Oh, dear, what will we do
We’re singing to you
But you’re not here to hear us
‘Cos you’re locked in the loo.

—–

Farmer’s birthday song

by Doug Jacquier

Happy dirt day to you
It’s raining for you
And now there’s some sunshine
Happy dirt day to you.

—–

Untitled piece

by Matt Snyder

Crappy birther day to you
You smell like one [heck] of a giant half submerged and sticking out of the bowl poo
Crappiest born day dear Mr. Mattttttttttttthhhhhhhhhhhheeeeewwwwww
Crappy birther day
to yooooooooooou
and many more pellets falling out your pants leg
now scurry real fast down to the loo

—–

Untitled piece

by Trent McDonald

Healthy birthday to you!
Sequestered birthday to you!
Virus-free birthday dear Chelsea,
(Hope you have enough TP too!)

—–

That Time of Year

by Fishman

Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday to you,
Have a cake made of frosted honeydew,
Happy Birthday to you.

Your birthday is soon,
(Is your favorite color maroon?)
Enjoy being another year older
Happy Birthday to you.

+ + + + + + + +

Hey, listen up, this is a poem.
So sit down and don’t you roam.
It might be kinda terrible.
But it’s still bearable.
And I’ve only got one.
So it’s not spareable.

So I hope you sat down because I got something to say:
The Terrible Poetry woman is having a birthday.
Is that cool?
Better than a sliced boule?
Tell me, what do you say?
Who doesn’t like birthdays?

I’m guessing that jellyfish don’t like birthdays because they don’t have brains so they wouldn’t even know what a birthday is if they even knew when their birthday was.

So the Terrible Poetry woman needs a present.
But not a pheasant.

(Ants probably don’t like birthdays either because their brains are really small)

Something more pleasant.
Like a flower.
Happy Birthday Terrible Poetry Woman (and to everyone else in the TPW’s house)

—–

Untitled piece

by Gary

How many birthdays you have seen
So many decades since you were a teen
Happy Birthday Dear Has Been
Happy Birthday to me, now sod off and pour me a Jim Beam

—–

Hiccup Birthday

by Peregrine Arc

Happy birthday to thee,
Happy birthday to thee,
You’ll feel better in the morning
After a fifth of Jim Beam’s strategic-flask-pouring…

Hiccup! 🥃

—–

Happy Birthday Chelsea

by Susan Zutautas

Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Chelsea, happy birthday to you.

May you live a thousand years

May you drink a thousand beers

Get plastered you b_st_r_

Happy birthday to you.

Thank you all for your artistic genius this week. Tune in tomorrow if you’d like to play again.

Me

I’m still cute.

Ruth: Here’s a badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2020 The poets, and their respective poems.
Photo ©2020 Chelsea Owens

 

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 3/21 – 3/27/2020

Welcome to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest! I’m here, you’re here; let’s write some bad poetry while we’re passing the time together…

Close your eyes and imagine what sorts of poetry you wrote when you very first felt the muse to verse. Do cliché terms come to mind? Over-used emotions? Predictable lines of rhyme? Perfect. Encapsulate that, and then read the specifics for this week:

  1. The Topic is birthdays. You all don’t know this, but March and April are our second Christmas around here. Even my birthday is this time of year.
    So, as a birthday gift to me, write a horrible parody of the classic song you sing for someone’s birthday.
  2. The Length will depend on the length of the song you honor.
  3. Songs usually rhyme, so I expect your poem will most likely rhyme as well.
  4. It’s my party, so make it terrible ’cause I want you to. You would cry, too, if I sang, “Happy Birthday to you.”
  5. I’ve got children listening! Keep the Rating a G.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (March 27) to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.

If not, and for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Drop a comment if you try to link back, and it doesn’t show up within a day.

Eat lots of cake, and have fun!

Me

Yep; that’s me. Aren’t I cute?

Photo © Chelsea Owens

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest: Anniversary Edition

For our one year celebration, entrants did not disappoint. You all made choosing a winner terribly difficult.

Which may be why there is a three-way tie:

My son is Not called Adolf

by Giselle Marks

I have five Kids but didn’t give birth
Stop laughing, that is not a Cause for mirth
And Each squalling BRAT had to B named
Ex and myself could not agree, Adoph! Never! You’ve no shame!
Don’t dig the Garden or my ex you’ll unearth.

—–

Birth

by Bruce

When Bruce said he’d like to give birth
It created considerable mirth.
There’s no need to curse –
Not a baby but verse
Except when it came to creating a possible concluding line to his exquisite limerick he couldn’t think of anything of worth.

—–

Untitled piece

by Michael Fishman

The man and the woman were naked
the man said, “If I’m not mistaken,
I find you attractive
so how’s about we get active
and make ourselves one beautiful kid?”

Congratulations, Giselle, Bruce, and Michael! You are the most terrible poets of the week!

Giselle’s poem employed my recommended elements: bad structure, some spelling/grammar issues, and messed-up meter. Bruce’s, meanwhile, mostly nailed first with his aberrant final line. Michael submitted several poems, and this one rose through the ranks for its mis-meter and non-rhyming last line.

As is usual, the others are more than a close second:

Untitled piece

by Trent P. McDonald

Telling poems with mirth
About how I came to this Earth
To meet Chelsea’s rating
I’ll skip what happens while dating
And get to the part about birth

—–

Untitled piece

by Trent P. McDonald

Those dirty limericks, so bold
Say where babies come from, I’m told
With language so crude
Some think it quite rude
But without sex, there’d be no one to hold

—–

Untitled piece

by Deb Whittam

Grunt groan, all I can do is moan
Wail cry, all the while
Scream shriek, beyond relief
Then you ask, what’s my beef?
Childbirth, it’s beyond belief.

—–

There once was a tiny ball…

by Tiredhamster

There was once a tiny ball
Who decided to end it all
So with all its might
It squeezed real tight
Now we dance upon its pall

—–

Ooh, Baby

by Michael Fishman

Their bodies they did so adorn
and maybe they watched them some porn
the months they rolled by
nine of them to quantify
and then a little baby was born.

—–

I knew this gal from Fort Worth
she ate pancakes drowned in Mrs. Butterworth
She made me an offer
her body she did proffer
with an end result of her giving birth

—–

“Wanna roll?” she said, and I said “Maybe”.
“Is it safe,” I said, “You won’t give me rabies?”
She said, “It’s OK, we can skip the foreplay
I’m just looking to have me a baby.”

—–

He’s generally a really nice gent
She’s honest and won’t misrepresent.
One fine day they wed
then rushed home and into bed
now they’re counting the days ‘till their blessed event.

—–

The Neon Nose

by Susan

I’ve a birthmark upon nose

and in the dark it glows

I want to remove it

but the doctors say screw it

for when my nose runs I’ll know where it goes!

—–

TBD (terrible birth diatribe)

by Ruth Scribbles

When Chelsea decided to write
She thought “ah me thinks they should fight”
She birth-ed this mess
Named terrible poetic-ick-ness
It’s all just a blather and blight

—–

Borne

by Violet Lentz

Borne more of angst than understanding
Employing methods, far off from upstanding
The young anarchists ploy
Was to seek and destroy
Whilst obtaining all they were demanding

The first threw himself on the tile
At Walmart, in the Christmas toy aisle
He screamed and he pitched
Held his breath till he twitched
As his mother did her best to smile

The second locked himself in the loo
And screamed out, “There’s nothing you can do!
I will not wear that Tee!
Kids will make fun of me!”
Till his mother, her demand she withdrew

Now sister thought herself a bit slicker
She’d not fight mom, instead she’d just trick her
Off to study she’d go
And little would mother know
Till she came home awash in malt liquor!

—–

Untitled piece

by Gary

Boris Johnson was asked how many kids he has fathered
It wasn’t a surprise when the posh fart spectacularly dithered
Rich entitled Eton Boy has had fingers in many pies
Trouble is that people are starting to see through his web of lies
He may well have the last laugh by making us all Brexit buggered

—–

Untitled piece

by The Bag Lady

There once was a pregnant lady

Not happy to birth more babies

A control split the seam

Now she’s just acting mean

Too bad for the coming baby.

No more children said to her hubby

He insists on getting more huggy

So now she is groaning

With birth pain she’s moaning

And here comes a baby so chubby.

—–

Whoops

by Richmond Road

By day she’s disarmingly mild
At night unexpectedly wild
Unpredictability frisky
Ill advisedly risky
So now she’s expecting a child

—–

Thank you all, so much!! I will not be posting a new prompt tomorrow. Please come back at the first of the year (2020) for the next one.

nick-fewings-kmLUcvhqhSo-unsplash

Giselle, Bruce, and Michael: D. Wallace Peach created this graphic that you can use (if you want) for a badge of honor as the winner:

©2019, the respective authors and their poem(s)

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest: Anniversary Edition

Greetings to all: newcomers, oldcomers, midcomers! Welcome to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest #52. For those familiar with math, this means we are at ONE YEAR of terrible poetry.

paul-m-0ALhqKA4XTc-unsplash.jpg

For those still needing some direction on what terrible poetry is, I’ve written a basic outline here. Got it? Great! Let’s move on.

Here are the specifics for this week:

  1. Topic: Birth. Childbirth’s a bit high on my mind, or the birthday of this contest, or …go where the prompt takes you.
    For kicks, let’s also do a limerick.
  2. The traditional Length of a limerick is five lines: AABBA, in anapestic meter.
  3. Limericks totally Rhyme. See the line above this one for direction.
  4. Make it terrible! Seriously; that’s the point of the whole contest.
  5. Keep the Rating PG/PG-13ish (or cleaner).

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (November 22) to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.

If not, and for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. If you use pingbacks by including a link on your blog, leave a comment if that link doesn’t show up within a day.

Have fun!

 

 

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Photo credit: Paul M
Nick Fewings

Just Another Day in the Life?

I’ve been swamped lately. More than usual, I’m afraid.

I …may have taken a bit (a lot) onto my plate -a plate that was a bit (a lot) full to begin with. I believe I did so because I was bored, and/or may have finally had a good night’s sleep.

Besides this lovely blog that I love writing upon and the lovely people whose blog posts I actually do read, I’ve also been attending school. Of sorts. It’s called Pathways, and is like preschool for adults. This quarter (?) is on math (or, maths, for Brits) and has a teensy bit (a lot) of busy work each week.

Add a few life events like almost-everyone’s birthdays, a birthday party, and a baptism this Saturday.

Then sprinkle in a paid job I was doing but (perhaps fortunately) am not any longer.

Plus the children’s school is winding down.

Plus the ever-present duties of house and home (and now yard).

Plus caring for an at-home dice business that I don’t think I’ve ever talked about.

And, just for kicks, throw in a planned visit from our relative who has 8 children….

Yeah.

I’m not actually the Supermom sort. I’m not the Superanything sort; really, I’d settle on an edible chocolate ribbon for Best Example of a Flawed Human Being.

But I’m toast. Overwhelmed. Exhausted. Even a bit ill.

I can’t help but look around at other people and wonder how they do it, especially those who work as full time teachers at my kids’ school and have children of their own. I asked one of their Vice Principals that question in jest. She laughed and said her kids tease her for running their house like her classroom.

-But that may be the answer I seek.

So, for reals, how do you run your household? Do you schedule the hours? Minutes? Especially when you have a job and/or children, was it all set up? Outlined? Assigned?

I really do want to know.

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—————-

I sort of wrote things this week, and here they are:
Wednesday, May 8: Questioned the legitimacy of personality tests and their appeal in “Are We Our Personality Types?

Thursday, May 9: “The Cure for Depression: Never Give Up, Never Surrender,” the final suggestion in a series originally posted over at The Bipolar Writer Mental Health Blog.

Friday, May 10: Winner of the Weekly Terribly Poetry Contest. Congratulations to Michael Fishman!

And posted “Should You Have Kids If You Have a Mental Illness?” over at The Bipolar Writer Collaborative Mental Health Blog (now say it ten times fast).

Saturday, May 11: Announced the 25th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. The theme is an elegy to your most commonly misplaced household item. PLEASE ENTER!

Sunday, May 12: “Gramma Dear,” a poem about my grandmother, in response to Carrot Ranch‘s prompt.

Monday, May 13: An inspirational quote by Mel Robbins.

Tuesday, May 14: Nothing.

Wednesday, May 15: Halfwayish through the month!

I also posted a bit at my motherhood site. I’m pretty sure I need to stop trying to keep that one afloat and have downgraded to a free plan again.
Anyway; I wrote “Take Time for You. Ish” and “Happy Mother’s Day?

 

Photo Credit:
Andrew Neel

Christmas Musings

I am the fifth to admit that I overdo things. That’s better than last, mind you, though not as good as third might be.

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I delude myself that I am simple, efficient, and practical. I only own a Pinterest account because I had a writing job that involved saving pictures for crafting articles. I eschew the latest fashion or home-decorating trend. My children receive rules and guidelines but no sort of life-planned-out Supermom schedule. And, despite being in this Stay At Home Mom profession for over a decade, I do a terrible job at housekeeping in general.

I’ve decided I’m trying to get fired -but that’s a side topic for another post.

Back to fifth place: I’ve had a busy two weeks. In fact, we need to go back at least three months because events then affected the crunch of now.

Not that I voluntarily hurt my tailbone in a really really really bad way. I did, however, schedule a surgery on November 6. I also neglected to remember that Thanksgiving was on the fourth Thursday and would therefore arrive not-too-long-after that surgery. Then, I forgot that we all usually attend The Festival of Trees… which precedes a holiday most of the world celebrates… and that led to a service project for the boys’ principal, an annual Christmas newsletter to be sent with cards, decorating for Christmas, a son’s birthday party (with a theme and guests), and cookie-making and distribution.

Congratulations on getting through that last paragraph. You can rest, here, with me.

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Even though I do not re-label juice boxes for birthday themes, I tend to take on a lot at one time. I also have a high standard of perfection. Maybe I think things are more exciting that way?

I mean, I not only did everything in that too long; didn’t read paragraph, I also have been trying to uncover the house from the molding lump it degenerated into whilst I was recovering/ignoring it. Add shopping for presents and food, plus wrapping all the gifts for everyone, and my cup runneth over six feet below the surface of the well.

I mean… I spray-painted Costco milk boxes to look like Minecraft blocks. My Christmas newsletter was a paragraph for each of seven well-known poems, incorporating bits of A Visit from St. Nicholas AND news about each family member. My cookies were all from scratch.

Maybe I really am one of those Supermoms, just one who sometimes wears pajamas in public ’cause I love my comfort.

Maybe everyone overdoes his life, and it’s not just me.

…Tell me it’s not just me?

 

This week in review, because I’m taking tomorrow and the next day off. So, there!
Wednesday, December 19: Down-Home Marital AdviceWhat’s your take?
Thursday, December 20: The day my kids got out for Christmas Break. So… I got the days mixed up and posted The WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. Congratulations to Molly and Gerard!
I also apologized for messing up, in The Most Sleep-Deprived Time of the Year.
Friday, December 21: Skinwalkers, XLVI.
Saturday, December 22: Christmas Cookie Limericksterrible rhymes about my baking exploits.
Sunday, December 23: This post.

I also almost thought about planning on the possibility of catching up on my Reader’s Feed. If you see that I left a comment way back on December 12, then I finally have. My apologies if you’ve felt slighted in the meantime.