‘Weather’ the Weather

It’s raining.

Storms are coming, if the oppressive humidity is any indication.

Today is definitely . . . “one of those days”–either by virtue of the forecast, or sheer coincidence. And by “one of those days,” I mean a day where you have anxiety dreams until 10 am, and then find yourself standing in your front room eating a slice of questionable ice cream cake that has been in the freezer for the better part of a year.

As I’m wont, I find myself thinking about a book today. I think about this book a lot–but then, I spend many of my waking hours thinking about books. And for the most part, I don’t own the books I own because they are entertaining or attractive (though they are those things, too, of course); I own them because they feel like extensions of me.

A lot of times, when I’m feeling a particular way, I can pull a book off my shelf that articulates what’s inside my head better than I could do so myself.

And today, that book is Grumpy Pants by Claire Messer.

I discovered this book in my first year at the Bookstore, and perhaps a big part of the reason it stuck with me (aside from my vulnerability to cloudy moods) was its illustrations.

I had just taken a class on various printmaking methods during my last year of college, and the pictures in Messer’s book looked to me like some sort of traditional block print; in an industry increasingly dominated by digital illustration, this little tale stood out to me as a rare treat.

The copyright page doesn’t offer any official information about the medium of Grumpy Pants’ artwork–but a little digging on Tumblr confirms that Messer largely works with linocut and other printmaking methods. Grumpy Pants is also a title where the endpapers shine (I have a type, okay?!), and where the simplicity of the line and the limited color palette exude a warm charm.

In many ways, Grumpy Pants feels like a spiritual sister to When Sadness is at your Door; the line between sadness and grumpiness is often blurry, after all–and both titles share a minimal sensibility in everything from aesthetics to narrative.

When the story opens, our protagonist Penguin is in a very bad mood. We aren’t told what may have caused this very bad mood, and evidently little Penguin himself doesn’t even know. We simply find him stomping home through grey clouds and rain, hurting without explanation.

When Penguin gets inside, he attempts to strip off his sadness, starting with his “grumpy coat” and “grumpy boots;” but even after he removes all his wet clothes–right down to his “grumpy underpants”–and tries to literally shake the grumpiness away, it’s as strong as ever.

In the end, it isn’t until Penguin takes a deep breath and dives into his ice cold bath (a detail children are sure to find delightful) that his very bad mood begins to abate. In fact, the less he focuses on the grumpiness–and the less he struggles to actively fight it off–the better he feels.

As he engages in a bit of self-care by donning his favorite pajamas, sipping a “steaming cup of hot chocolate” (see what I mean about that hot chocolate when you’re feeling down?), and reading his favorite book to himself, Penguin visibly cheers up on the page.

Once he’s nice and clean and calm, Penguin snuggles up in bed, content that “all the grumpiness had been washed away,” and confident in the promise of tomorrow. 

The audience is treated to a last humorous detail on the closing page–a washing machine set to the “grumpy wash” cycle (which is a cycle I’m sure actual parents would pay good money for if someone were to invent it right now.)

Like Penguin’s, my “very bad mood” today persisted despite my best efforts to “shake it off.” But now that I’ve had a warm shower (remember, I’m not a penguin), put on my comfiest sweatpants, enjoyed some lemon ginger tea, and read Grumpy Pants one or five times, I can attest to the power of a “grumpy wash” in resetting yourself mindfully.

Since the rain is sure to be back sooner than later, Grumpy Pants is a book that can’t miss if you’re hoping to give yourself or your loved ones a little comfort.