I’ve been thinking about beginnings—for my novel, a few short stories I’m working on, and anything else I might start were I inspired to do so. What makes a good story beginning? Apparently that is up for debate, as famous story writers over the years have done almost everything to start a story. So I pulled a few of my favourite novels off my bookshelf and took a look at just the first paragraph.
I must be crazy, I tell myself, to stick my neck in a noose on my birthday. My husband, Carl, thinks my gesture is gracious and long overdue, so he kisses my cheek and bows gallantly before opening the door of my ’85 Mercedes roadster. “Knock ‘em dead, dear. I can’t wait to hear all about it.” (The Novelist, Angela Hunt)
The orchestra played a mellow rendition of “Moonlight Serenade” as Cameron Hayes drew in a deep breath and made her move. Seated several tables away from where she stood by the refreshment table, industrialist Donald Farr looked like a benevolent grandfather. The perfectly styled graying hair, the aquiline features, even the crows-feet at the corners of his pale blue eyes made him seem harmless indeed. (Written on the Wind, Judith Pella)
The first time I saw the sin eater was the night Granny Forbes was carried to her grave. I was very young and Granny my dearest companion, and I was greatly troubled in my mind. (The Last Sin Eater, Francine Rivers)
Do you want to read any of those novels now? If so, why? Fred Stenson says, “The beginning must pose a question of sufficient interest that readers read on in search of an answer” (Things Feigned or Imagined). All of these examples pose at least one such question. What is the “noose” she is sticking her neck into? What is Cameron’s move? What’s the next time she sees the sin eater?
It has been said that the opening lines of a book are the most crucial ones, to hook the editor into publishing the book or the reader into buying the book. (With that hanging over a writer, no wonder so many of us get writer’s block and just stare at the flashing cursor on the computer—or do the housework instead of even getting to the computer.) So, as I consider how to rewrite a few beginnings, maybe I’ll go look at a few more successful ones. And maybe you’d like to share what pulls you into a story—what hooks you in the first paragraph?
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Monday, May 26, 2008
Book Review: The Next Level
The Next Level: A Parable of Finding Your Place in Life is the story of Logan Bell’s first months on his new job. He’s hired by Universal Systems, Inc. as their organizational development expert. His job is to analyze the five levels of the company for any problems in organization, and report those to the Director. In the first few levels, Logan quickly identifies the operating principles and the problems with those principles. The last two levels prove a bit harder to analyze, however. In the course of his job, he gets to know the Director and also meets the Shareholder. In the end, he must decide on which level he wants to work.
David Gregory writes a fast, spell-binding parable about life. The parable is easy to figure out, yet also surprising and thought-provoking. Gregory has a deep insight into what he writes about, and asks questions about:
-What is your ultimate purpose?
-How can you know when you are achieving that purpose?
-If you’ve achieved your goals and still aren’t satisfied, then what?
-How does our culture sidetrack you from true meaning in life?
-Do the opinions of our culture—even our religious culture—present in life lead to real fulfillment?
-What would your life look like if you were living out your true purpose?
I heard about this book from Janet, who posted a review and a contest on her blog. I was one of the lucky winners and couldn’t wait to read the book once I received it. Her review describes the book well; the reader is left like Logan, contemplating which level they are on—and which level they want to be on.
(Questions taken from the book's flyleaf.)
David Gregory writes a fast, spell-binding parable about life. The parable is easy to figure out, yet also surprising and thought-provoking. Gregory has a deep insight into what he writes about, and asks questions about:
-What is your ultimate purpose?
-How can you know when you are achieving that purpose?
-If you’ve achieved your goals and still aren’t satisfied, then what?
-How does our culture sidetrack you from true meaning in life?
-Do the opinions of our culture—even our religious culture—present in life lead to real fulfillment?
-What would your life look like if you were living out your true purpose?
I heard about this book from Janet, who posted a review and a contest on her blog. I was one of the lucky winners and couldn’t wait to read the book once I received it. Her review describes the book well; the reader is left like Logan, contemplating which level they are on—and which level they want to be on.
(Questions taken from the book's flyleaf.)
Friday, May 23, 2008
A Story of Forgetfulness
Judges is a story of forgetfulness. Over and over again, the Israelites forget what God did for them in Egypt, forget how He fought for them against all their enemies, forget their promises to obey Him. Instead, they try to be like their pagan neighbours, adopting pagan gods and customs, and then coming under the oppression of those neighbours. And when that happens, suddenly they remember the God they had forgotten, and clamour for His help in overcoming their oppression.
Every time I read this book, I shake my head. How could they forget so easily what God had done for them? And how come God always rescued them as soon as they turned back to Him, when He knew that in a few years, they’d forget Him again? In Judges 10, they’ve turned back to chasing their neighbours’ gods and once again are being ruled harshly by those neighbours. When they cry to God, He tells them what He’s done for them and says, “Go and cry to the gods whom you have chosen; let them deliver you at the time of your distress” (Judges 10:14).
That seems like a good answer. Be tough with them – they deserve it. The Israelites keep on forgetting You, so why should You help them? They’re so fickle they don’t deserve Your attention! Yet in the very next sentence, the Israelites are repenting, putting away their false gods, and asking God again for deliverance. This verse jumped out at me: They “worshipped the Lord; and He could no longer bear to see Israel suffer” (Judges 10:16).
Wow. I read that verse a few times. After everything they had done to Him, after all the times they had turned away from Him, after all the judges He had sent to rescue them… He couldn’t bear to see His people suffer. To me, that captures the heart of God. He created us, gave His Son for us, and just wants to be in a relationship with us. Nothing hurts Him more than when we are hurting, and He’ll do whatever He can to save us. Just as He did for the forgetful Israelites.
Every time I read this book, I shake my head. How could they forget so easily what God had done for them? And how come God always rescued them as soon as they turned back to Him, when He knew that in a few years, they’d forget Him again? In Judges 10, they’ve turned back to chasing their neighbours’ gods and once again are being ruled harshly by those neighbours. When they cry to God, He tells them what He’s done for them and says, “Go and cry to the gods whom you have chosen; let them deliver you at the time of your distress” (Judges 10:14).
That seems like a good answer. Be tough with them – they deserve it. The Israelites keep on forgetting You, so why should You help them? They’re so fickle they don’t deserve Your attention! Yet in the very next sentence, the Israelites are repenting, putting away their false gods, and asking God again for deliverance. This verse jumped out at me: They “worshipped the Lord; and He could no longer bear to see Israel suffer” (Judges 10:16).
Wow. I read that verse a few times. After everything they had done to Him, after all the times they had turned away from Him, after all the judges He had sent to rescue them… He couldn’t bear to see His people suffer. To me, that captures the heart of God. He created us, gave His Son for us, and just wants to be in a relationship with us. Nothing hurts Him more than when we are hurting, and He’ll do whatever He can to save us. Just as He did for the forgetful Israelites.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Drizzly Day
I’m listening to the cars splashing through the puddles in the road. It’s a cool, drizzly day—a Sydney day. I was in Australia during their “winter,” and the coast in particular was rainy sometimes. In Sydney, I got really good at dodging under storefronts down George Street to stay out of the rain. Once I reached the Queen Victoria Building, I’d duck inside and keep dry for that block of the street. It didn’t hurt that the QVB is a beautiful old building, restored as a mall, so there was lots of architecture and stores to look at while I walked.
On one particularly rainy day, however, despite all my attempts at ducking inside shortcuts and under awnings, I arrived back at my hostel looking like my dog after her bath. I had a job interview that afternoon and didn’t want to arrive there wet, so I marched up to the desk and asked about the buses. The fellow was quite happy to explain which buses ran down George Street, and gave me a puzzled look when I asked about the fare. That depended on how far I was going. I ventured back out into the rain armed with some change and waited for the bus. Unlike here, where if you haven’t got the exact change for your ride, you either won’t be riding or will be paying too much, drivers there carried change and only charged you for the distance you rode. So I arrived at my interview safe and dry, but walked back afterwards in the rain (it was a toss-up between the stress of the bus and the wet of the walk).
In about the middle of my holiday there, I spent a week in Katoomba with a Danish friend I’d met. We were looking forward to exploring the Blue Mountains, until we woke up to drizzling rain. All right, we decided, we’d go caving. Crawling around the Jenolan Caves, twisting through holes just as big as we were and crawled down corners nicknamed “the Toilet Bowl,” kept us out of the rain. But the next day again dawned drizzly. We weren’t going to be stopped by that, and set out for a trolley tour. Halfway through, we found the Prince Henry Cliff Walk. Well, we’d brought our rain jackets and rain hats, and surely there’d be enough trees there to keep the rain off. Have I mentioned that wet dog look before? Five kilometres in the rain requires an extremely waterproof jacket. Back at the hostel, though, others that we’d talked to the night before had just spent the day sitting around waiting for the rain to stop.
In Adelaide, just before I came home, I discovered what an empty beach is like. Even the seagulls looked wet. But I only had a week there, and I wanted to see the city before I left. While I was growing up, my parents had never let rain get in the way of our family holidays; and so I also didn’t let it stop me from seeing what I wanted to see in Australia. And now, as I listen to the rain outside, it brings back fun memories of things I’ve done on rainy days.
On one particularly rainy day, however, despite all my attempts at ducking inside shortcuts and under awnings, I arrived back at my hostel looking like my dog after her bath. I had a job interview that afternoon and didn’t want to arrive there wet, so I marched up to the desk and asked about the buses. The fellow was quite happy to explain which buses ran down George Street, and gave me a puzzled look when I asked about the fare. That depended on how far I was going. I ventured back out into the rain armed with some change and waited for the bus. Unlike here, where if you haven’t got the exact change for your ride, you either won’t be riding or will be paying too much, drivers there carried change and only charged you for the distance you rode. So I arrived at my interview safe and dry, but walked back afterwards in the rain (it was a toss-up between the stress of the bus and the wet of the walk).
In about the middle of my holiday there, I spent a week in Katoomba with a Danish friend I’d met. We were looking forward to exploring the Blue Mountains, until we woke up to drizzling rain. All right, we decided, we’d go caving. Crawling around the Jenolan Caves, twisting through holes just as big as we were and crawled down corners nicknamed “the Toilet Bowl,” kept us out of the rain. But the next day again dawned drizzly. We weren’t going to be stopped by that, and set out for a trolley tour. Halfway through, we found the Prince Henry Cliff Walk. Well, we’d brought our rain jackets and rain hats, and surely there’d be enough trees there to keep the rain off. Have I mentioned that wet dog look before? Five kilometres in the rain requires an extremely waterproof jacket. Back at the hostel, though, others that we’d talked to the night before had just spent the day sitting around waiting for the rain to stop.
In Adelaide, just before I came home, I discovered what an empty beach is like. Even the seagulls looked wet. But I only had a week there, and I wanted to see the city before I left. While I was growing up, my parents had never let rain get in the way of our family holidays; and so I also didn’t let it stop me from seeing what I wanted to see in Australia. And now, as I listen to the rain outside, it brings back fun memories of things I’ve done on rainy days.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Lookin' At You Lookin' At Me
Around the time she was two months old, Sunshine started smiling. Not just the little random “gassy” smiles she used to do in her sleep, but a real I’m-smiling-at-you-because-I’m-happy smile. She seems to know the perfect time to smile, too; like when I’m exhausted in the early morning, and changing her wet diaper to try to get her back to sleep, and after looking at me for a minute she gives me a big, sweet smile, as if to say, “Thanks, Mommy, I love you.”
Then she discovered she could smile at herself. My husband and I had gone past the university to take care of some things, and Sunshine needed changing. I headed for the washroom, which of course didn’t have a baby change table (apparently university students don’t have babies). There was, however, a narrow makeup ledge in front of a mirror. I sat Sunshine down there and held her in front of me while I rummaged through her diaper bag for her change pad, diaper, and wipes. Sunshine stared at this little person in front of her in the mirror. Then she smiled. Then that was so funny that she laughed. It was the first time I’d heard her laugh, and we spent the next ten minutes playing in the mirror, smiling and laughing at ourselves.
Last week, we went out for dinner. Sunshine slept through the first part of dinner, but about the time that our fajitas arrived, she woke up. I fed her while eating with one hand and while I did that, a little girl in the booth behind me started making faces at my husband. When Sunshine finished eating, he told me to put her up on my shoulder. The little girl got a shocked expression, but Sunshine was delighted to see someone there, and gave the girl a big smile. For a few minutes, Sunshine smiled and the little girl gooed baby talk to her.
Some of the changes as she grows are so small – just a smile when she sees me – yet they are the most rewarding. And the new solution for a grumpy baby? Some playtime in front of the mirror.
Then she discovered she could smile at herself. My husband and I had gone past the university to take care of some things, and Sunshine needed changing. I headed for the washroom, which of course didn’t have a baby change table (apparently university students don’t have babies). There was, however, a narrow makeup ledge in front of a mirror. I sat Sunshine down there and held her in front of me while I rummaged through her diaper bag for her change pad, diaper, and wipes. Sunshine stared at this little person in front of her in the mirror. Then she smiled. Then that was so funny that she laughed. It was the first time I’d heard her laugh, and we spent the next ten minutes playing in the mirror, smiling and laughing at ourselves.
Last week, we went out for dinner. Sunshine slept through the first part of dinner, but about the time that our fajitas arrived, she woke up. I fed her while eating with one hand and while I did that, a little girl in the booth behind me started making faces at my husband. When Sunshine finished eating, he told me to put her up on my shoulder. The little girl got a shocked expression, but Sunshine was delighted to see someone there, and gave the girl a big smile. For a few minutes, Sunshine smiled and the little girl gooed baby talk to her.
Some of the changes as she grows are so small – just a smile when she sees me – yet they are the most rewarding. And the new solution for a grumpy baby? Some playtime in front of the mirror.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Back to the Country
Earlier this week, I dropped my husband off at work, pointed my car west and drove out of the city. I knew where I wanted to go: a natural area a few kilometres away from where I grew up. I had planned to start strollercize that morning, but the class got cancelled, so I thought I would go to a park and walk there with Sunshine instead. Now that I was trying to decide which park to go to, however, none of them jumped at me. I wanted out of the city. Somewhere with no traffic, fewer people, and more wildlife.
The parking lot was almost empty when I pulled up. Midday there aren’t many people at the natural area, but on the weekends and in the evening it is busy with walkers, joggers, and bikers. I loaded Sunshine into her stroller and while it bounced over a trail that was rougher than I remembered, she smiled and waved her arms. When I found a bench overlooking a small pond, I stopped to change and nurse her. The wind blew ripples in the deep blue water and rattled the cattails on the edges, while across the pond a green mist of early spring leaves covered the trees.
When we went on, a biker passed us, and I remembered times that I’d ridden these trails with my friend. Mom and I had also often skied them in the winter – this was where I’d learned to love cross country skiing and decided I wanted to try downhill skiing. As a family in the summer, we’d come here to walk or to train for an upcoming hike. Now here I was with Sunshine, who was starting to get tired of all the bouncing in her stroller. So I found another little area overlooking a marshy area, and we sat down in the grass.
I felt like a Thoreau sitting there, listening to the chorus of frogs reverberating from the marsh and watching some ducks wagging their tails as they paddled about their own private puddle. It made me realize how much of spring I’ve missed by living in the city. Like stepping outside the door to hear the frogs singing on a bright spring morning, and knowing that winter was gone for good. Walking past one pond and hearing the sudden silence and imagining the hundreds of invisible froggy eyes fixed on you, waiting for you to pass so that they can go on singing, while in the distance other frogs kept up the chorus in their ponds. Seeing the first fuzzy pussywillows growing by the road while we were walking, and begging Mom and Dad to let us pick just one branch to take home with us, so that we could pet the pussywillows and marvel at their softness.
It reminded me of seeing the stars back at Christmas. My husband and I were staying at my in-laws’ farm in the foothills, and we’d just returned there late at night after visiting in the city. As I stepped out of the van, my eyes were pulled upwards, to the darkest sky and the brightest stars I’d seen in a long time. I stood there with my mouth open, just enjoying it, and realizing that I hadn’t seen that in a whole year – since I had moved into the city. That was when I truly realized the beauty of the night sky and how I’d taken it for granted before. During my travels in Australia, I’d been dumbfound when one Belgian fellow I travelled with was so astounded by the stars in the Outback; he’d never seen stars before, because the light pollution in Belgium is so bad.
When I left the natural area, I drove through the winding back roads that I had once known so well to my old home. I stopped to visit some friends, and listened to their youngest boy’s tales of catching tadpoles and watching redwing blackbirds. And as I drove home I realized that I’m tired of the city. I knew when I moved that it was only temporary and for the convenience, while my hubby and I were working and going to school there. But now this country girl is ready to get back to the country.
The parking lot was almost empty when I pulled up. Midday there aren’t many people at the natural area, but on the weekends and in the evening it is busy with walkers, joggers, and bikers. I loaded Sunshine into her stroller and while it bounced over a trail that was rougher than I remembered, she smiled and waved her arms. When I found a bench overlooking a small pond, I stopped to change and nurse her. The wind blew ripples in the deep blue water and rattled the cattails on the edges, while across the pond a green mist of early spring leaves covered the trees.
When we went on, a biker passed us, and I remembered times that I’d ridden these trails with my friend. Mom and I had also often skied them in the winter – this was where I’d learned to love cross country skiing and decided I wanted to try downhill skiing. As a family in the summer, we’d come here to walk or to train for an upcoming hike. Now here I was with Sunshine, who was starting to get tired of all the bouncing in her stroller. So I found another little area overlooking a marshy area, and we sat down in the grass.
I felt like a Thoreau sitting there, listening to the chorus of frogs reverberating from the marsh and watching some ducks wagging their tails as they paddled about their own private puddle. It made me realize how much of spring I’ve missed by living in the city. Like stepping outside the door to hear the frogs singing on a bright spring morning, and knowing that winter was gone for good. Walking past one pond and hearing the sudden silence and imagining the hundreds of invisible froggy eyes fixed on you, waiting for you to pass so that they can go on singing, while in the distance other frogs kept up the chorus in their ponds. Seeing the first fuzzy pussywillows growing by the road while we were walking, and begging Mom and Dad to let us pick just one branch to take home with us, so that we could pet the pussywillows and marvel at their softness.
It reminded me of seeing the stars back at Christmas. My husband and I were staying at my in-laws’ farm in the foothills, and we’d just returned there late at night after visiting in the city. As I stepped out of the van, my eyes were pulled upwards, to the darkest sky and the brightest stars I’d seen in a long time. I stood there with my mouth open, just enjoying it, and realizing that I hadn’t seen that in a whole year – since I had moved into the city. That was when I truly realized the beauty of the night sky and how I’d taken it for granted before. During my travels in Australia, I’d been dumbfound when one Belgian fellow I travelled with was so astounded by the stars in the Outback; he’d never seen stars before, because the light pollution in Belgium is so bad.
When I left the natural area, I drove through the winding back roads that I had once known so well to my old home. I stopped to visit some friends, and listened to their youngest boy’s tales of catching tadpoles and watching redwing blackbirds. And as I drove home I realized that I’m tired of the city. I knew when I moved that it was only temporary and for the convenience, while my hubby and I were working and going to school there. But now this country girl is ready to get back to the country.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Vitamins
Faith. That’s a topic that hasn’t appeared here much lately.
It’s a topic that hasn’t appeared much in my life lately either. I commented to one of my readers that what I post here reflects what’s going on in my day-to-day routines. And faith, it seems, has gotten shoved to a very small corner. Mass on Sundays. A few quick prayers during the day. Some short reflection as I read the devotionals posted on various blogs I follow. A glance at my Bible, sitting in the stack of books by the chair where I nurse Sunshine.
That stack includes my Catechism, which I still mean to finish reading someday, and the novel I’m currently reading. I told myself that since I’m home with Sunshine all day, I’d be able to get back into a regular devotional habit. Hasn’t happened yet. It’s easier to reach for the novel than for my Bible. I make excuses – the Bible is awkward to hold because of its weight and thin pages, and harder just to leave off mid-paragraph when Sunshine decides it’s time to stop eating and get burped or changed.
Once in a while my husband asks me how I’m doing at my daily devotions. I’ve mentioned my grand intentions to him. And my failure to act on them. He’s better than I am at remembering to pray each night and keeps encouraging me in my faith walk.
Years ago, I heard someone compare reading a Bible to taking vitamins or eating oatmeal or peaches and cream. At first, reading your Bible is like taking vitamins – you have a daily dose because it’s good for you. Then it becomes more like eating oatmeal – nourishing, but not very tasty. Finally, reading your Bible becomes like eating peaches and cream – you can’t wait to get to it.
So if you’ll excuse me, I need to go take a vitamin.
It’s a topic that hasn’t appeared much in my life lately either. I commented to one of my readers that what I post here reflects what’s going on in my day-to-day routines. And faith, it seems, has gotten shoved to a very small corner. Mass on Sundays. A few quick prayers during the day. Some short reflection as I read the devotionals posted on various blogs I follow. A glance at my Bible, sitting in the stack of books by the chair where I nurse Sunshine.
That stack includes my Catechism, which I still mean to finish reading someday, and the novel I’m currently reading. I told myself that since I’m home with Sunshine all day, I’d be able to get back into a regular devotional habit. Hasn’t happened yet. It’s easier to reach for the novel than for my Bible. I make excuses – the Bible is awkward to hold because of its weight and thin pages, and harder just to leave off mid-paragraph when Sunshine decides it’s time to stop eating and get burped or changed.
Once in a while my husband asks me how I’m doing at my daily devotions. I’ve mentioned my grand intentions to him. And my failure to act on them. He’s better than I am at remembering to pray each night and keeps encouraging me in my faith walk.
Years ago, I heard someone compare reading a Bible to taking vitamins or eating oatmeal or peaches and cream. At first, reading your Bible is like taking vitamins – you have a daily dose because it’s good for you. Then it becomes more like eating oatmeal – nourishing, but not very tasty. Finally, reading your Bible becomes like eating peaches and cream – you can’t wait to get to it.
So if you’ll excuse me, I need to go take a vitamin.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
First Mother's Day
These are the flowers my hubby got me for Mother's Day—yellow for Sunshine and mums for me. It was strange on Sunday having people say "Happy Mother's Day" to me and standing up in church for the blessing for moms. This is a holiday that I've spent all my life celebrating someone else on, and now suddenly it's celebrating me too. Anyways, happy Mother's Day to all the moms reading this, especially Janet, Dana, and Nat!
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
WFMW: Disposable Diapers Don't Work!
Several people asked us during my pregnancy whether we were going to use cloth or disposable diapers. We didn’t really have an opinion either way; I sort of said disposables, because we live in an apartment with a Laundromat and there was no way I was plugging loonies all the time to wash cloth diapers. I considered checking into a diaper service, as that’s what my parents had used with me, but didn’t get around to that until an acquaintance gave me a recommendation. Even then, we hoed and hummed, and checked prices (finding the diaper service cheaper than disposables) before finally signing up the week after Sunshine was born.The diaper service drops off our supply of cloth diapers and picks up the dirty ones every week. We have a few disposables on hand for when Sunshine goes through more diapers than the service provides (which she usually does).
When she was about a month old, we went away for a weekend, and decided to use disposables rather than packing all the cloth diapers there and the dirty diapers home. A friend had given us a bag of disposables, and I packed those and three onesies and three sleepers for Sunshine – she usually went through that many in a week, so I figured that was safe for a two-day vacation.
In the first evening at my grandparents’, Sunshine pooped out of her diaper and I had to change both her onesie and her sleeper. The next morning, my husband had loaded the car up for us to leave when Sunshine noisily filled her diaper. He went out to the car to get the diaper bag and I started changing her, only to discover she’d once again pooped out of her diaper. My hubby went back out to her clean clothes, and we finally hit the road. When we got to my sister-in-law’s that evening, Sunshine was wearing only her sleeper because she’d—you guessed it—pooped out of her diaper again and dirtied her onesie. And soon after arriving there, she dirtied her sleeper too. I wrapped her in a blanket and went in search of the laundry machine.
By the time we arrived home, I was firmly in favour of cloth diapers. Just tonight, she pooped out of a cloth diaper for the third time since she’s been wearing them. Maybe that brand of disposable diapers just didn’t fit her, but whatever the reason, she dirtied more clothes in a weekend than she usually does in a week. But that wasn’t the end. A few days after that, she became very fussy and developed a red bottom. My mother-in-law diagnosed diaper rash and sent our husbands off to get some cream. In a few days the rash was gone and Sunshine was much happier, and her mommy was even more in favour of cloth diapers.
So disposable diapers don’t work for me. Depending on where we move in September, I’ll be either changing diaper services or buying a stock of cloth diapers and learning how to wash them myself. One thing I find ironic… when I was born, my parents priced out the Laundromat, diaper service, and disposable diapers, and found that the diaper service was the cheapest. That hasn’t changed!
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