Drops of Awesome

Personal Blog of Author Kathryn Thompson

Archives for February 2007

Tip Tuesday — Faeries (A Contest)

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Laylee’s birthday party is coming up soon, really soon. Like, how soon? Is it today mom? Is it lasterday? Does it touch today? When is it? Very very soon.

For some reason she only wants to invite people who are at least a year older than she is, she wants the party to be about faeries and beyond that she doesn’t much care. This is good because although I care deeply about 4-year-old faerie birthday parties, I care more about saving money to replace my roof.

So, I’m planning to do things on the cheap…er…on the creative. I’m going to tell faerie stories, read faerie facts, sing faerie songs. We will play “pin the wings on the faerie” and then go out in the yard and build faerie houses out of sticks and tree branches. There will be a faerie cake and faerie bingo. I’m thinking about ripping out the children’s teeth, forcing them to take naps and then putting quarters under their pillows. Too much?

I need to do something for treat bags and here’s where you come in. I don’t want to give the kids a ton of cheap junk. I can’t afford to buy them a ton of expensive junk. I want the bags/favors to be themed, having something to do with, say, faeries. I’m open to giving them each one decent gift or bag of goodies.

Whoever gives me the best party favor/bag idea for these little 4-year-olds will receive a Daring Young Mom T-shirt (sizes M-2XL available).

I’d love activity and game ideas as well. Seriously, ya’ll, I need your help.

It Still Kills

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Last week I ran out of deodorant. Yes sir, I did and I wore Dan’s for 3 days and I totally smelled like a dude. Three years ago I bought a billion sticks of my beloved Dove anti-perspi/deo and I assumed it would always be there. Suddenly last week, it was gone. I’d blown the whole wad and not even realized it was dwindling.

So after 3 days of wondering why Dan hadn’t left for work yet, I headed to the grocery establishment. One certain flavor of Dove was on clearance for “immediate sale” so I stocked up. There is a reason it was marked for immediate sale at half the manufacturer’s suggested retail price. It smells like… Well, the best I can say about it is that it smells slightly better than B.O. So for the next 4 sticks-worth, I’ll be using much of the fruity lotions to balance out the de-stenchifying stench.

razor doveEach stick has one of these on the top, for freshness and to administer torture. If you buy 4 sticks at once, I would suggest putting the unopened deodorants away in a far away cupboard. You should not trust yourself to remember which one has the razor blade removed and attempt to apply it hastily in the dark, rubbing as hard as possible so you’ll use it up faster so you’ll feel justified buying a new scent.

You’re the One that I Want

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Today I was driving past a construction site, listening to “Mick” Hammer sing Can’t Touch This on the radio (no relation to Mick Jagger). One of the workers, a portly older gentleman in a khaki Carhartt jumpsuit and white hardhat crossed the road in front of my car and sped up a little to get out of my way.

His fingers were spread wide apart and the bounce in his step matched the beat of the music. He looked like he was doing jazz hands in some sort of blue collar early nineties rap musical. I wonder if he knew he’d just been cast.

What Shall We Do?

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I cannot get that song out of my head.

What shall we do with the drunken sailor?
What shall we do with the drunken sailor?
What shall we do with the drunken sailor?
Early in the morning.

It was dorky enough to be singing folk songs in unison with perfect diction, wearing white tuxedo shirts and bow ties. Did the choir director really need to insist that they pronounce it “er-LIE in the mor-ning?” That was 18 years ago and it still lingers in my brain.

Well, ear-lie yesterday morning, Magoo woke up with the mangy raging vomit. Things appear to have died down but we’re staying home until we’re sure no one’s contagious. The worst part of a barf-o-rama are the hours after the eruption, the hours when he thinks he’s fine and he’s hungry and why are you not feeding him cottage cheese on a slice of lemon because as he said previously, HE’S HUNGRY, you miserable torturous mutha! He will tell you exactly where to shove the crackers and soda you have the nerve to offer him. You may not understand his directions, but he will certainly tell you.

And then he cries and you comfort him and he pushes you away because he thinks you’re making a mockery of his pain.

Tip Tuesday — No Place Like Home?

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I went to public school. I liked public school, minus the years of purgatory generally referred to as Junior High. Would someone please tell me next time before I decide to exhibit my keychain collection in the school library in between the guy who collects bugs and the girl who collects miniature plastic unicorns? It won’t turn out well. I will not make new friends. The 13-year-olds who say, “Wow, cool collection!” in a mock-nasal tone are not being sincere. They think I’m a tard-loaf who should pack up my 50-ton plastic glasses and tin-laced smile and head back to the band room. I will cry… every day… for 3 years.

Now I’m getting Laylee ready for preschool which is, in essence, in fact, so-called because it is indeed a “pre” school, if you will. PRE-SCHOOL??? Nu-uh. I am so not ready for this. Many of you have given me great advice about finding a preschool and several have suggested that I consider keeping Laylee home. This is something I think about all the time, not in terms of preschool but as a possible long-term educational solution.

When I was young, homeschool kids were stereotyped as fundamentalist weirdos who stayed home to avoid getting beat up. We thought of them as strange, socially inept and clueless about the world around them. I suspected they were all anarchists or at the very least unfamiliar with or opposed to standard social and hygienic rituals.

I’m not sure I knew a single homeschooled kid because they were probably chained up in a basement somewhere without deodorant, memorizing nuclear equations and weaving baskets with their own ankle-length hair.

In the 15 years since I started high school, things have changed drastically in the homeschool community and in people’s perceptions of homeschooling. I personally know several outstanding women (some even in real life — gasp!) who have made very educated choices to keep their children out of the public system.

At this point, I have a really favorable opinion of homeschooling but I’m not sure what we will do when the time comes.

I know it’s true, as Abby commented on my preschool post, that “there’s no place like home” and honestly that’s what scares me about not putting my kids in school. There is no place like home and if I don’t let my kids experience the world, will they be in for a junior-high-style emotional butt-kicking when they turn 18 and head off to college?

Will it just be delayed reality-shock, aggravated by years of hanging around with their mom, polishing the key chains and learning in an environment tailored specifically to them? As much as it sucked to be tormented for three years in Junior High, I learned a lot about myself through those experiences, only some of it from reading nasty things people wrote about me on the bathroom wall.

On the other hand, I don’t want to thrust my kids into the deep end with the sharks if they can learn quite nicely at home with me in a warm and safe environment and still find a way to adjust well and become fully functioning members of society.

Do you homeschool your kids or send them to public or private schools? What is your reasoning for this? I’d like to know more about why you do what you do to help me make my post preschool decision.

Harder to Transcribe

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Conversations with Magoo are a little harder to transcribe so I thought I’d just share some of his speech with you via video-blog. He’s learning to mimic well and even uses some words in context. At this point drinks are still “geeks” and he has erased the word “yes” from his little lexicon. In place of “yes” he says “please” or “fweeee”. EVERY. TIME.

Some things to notice – The giant curls sticking out of his head, the way he says “Whaaaaa?” like an annoyed teenager when he’s busy and I try to get him to face the camera, the look on his face when I take the phone away.

If you’re my mom, you may enjoy this video. If you’re someone else, I’ll get back to work and write something for you tomorrow.


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More Convos With Laylee

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This afternoon I was trying to take a wee nap. What better time for Laylee to engage in some fascinating discussion?

Laylee: The monsters are keeping me awake.
Me [lobbing an imaginary can with my eyes still closed]: Spray them with this Monster Spray.
Laylee: Okay, I sprayed them and it killed them and now they’re DEAD.
Me: That’s kind of harsh. Usually I just spray them and it makes them sneeze so they leave my room.
Laylee: Well they’re really annoying and I want them to be dead. So I spray them and then they die. Then I throw them out in the forest with the lions and they eat them and then they poop them out in the toilet and flush them away. I don’t like monsters.

When I relayed this conversation to Dan, he remarked that she has quite a vivid understanding of the circle of life, or, I might add, the digestive system.

Laylee: I just said a little prayer and Jesus said it’s time for us to play a game.
Me: Maybe if He said that, He’ll play a game with you. I’m sleeping.
Laylee: Nope. He says He wants you to play it. He’s tired.

I know He is, but what am I?

I Washed the Spider Out

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When we moved into this house, it was with the understanding that the mangled filthy mini-blinds would vacate immediately, if not sooner.

I could have cleaned them 7 months ago but I knew we would be replacing them AT ANY MOMENT so I didn’t bother.
My solution has been to keep them up at all times so I don’t have to constantly be faced with the previous owner’s dinner splatter from the great spaghetti adventure of 1991.

Consequently, the squirrels in the forest behind our house are constantly faced with me shlepping around in my bathrobe. But dude, they’re naked and I don’t think I’ve ever seen them putting on deodorant. So why don’t they get some blinds and stop yelling at me?

Our heating bill for the last 2 months indicates that any measure we could take to reduce energy consumption would be for the benefit of society and may keep us from losing the farm. So we’ve decided to close the blinds at night to help keep the heat in.

It’s actually working but tonight I closed them too early. I sat at dinner, staring at a flat spider body, pressed perfectly between the metal blinds like a daisy in a poetry book, only spookier and less appetizing. I stared at it for 10 minutes before I got up to get a paper towel. The spider is gone now and I’m even thinking about taking some Pine-sol and a blow-torch to those things.

Considering that we’re now counting all of our expenses in terms of hours of preschool, making do with the blinds we have may be our ticket to Laylee’s pre-K education.

Tip Tuesday — Just a Smidge Country

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I grew up hating country music. HATE. I’m not sure why except that hating country music was the cool thing to do and since I was not cool, I spent a lot of time doing the things that would supposedly transform me into that enviable chilly state.

No one probably cared that I didn’t listen to country music but I knew that if I was ever shoved into a junior high locker and forced to admit ever listening to the detestable stuff, I could answer “NO! Take off, eh?” with a clear conscience.

When I moved from Canada to Houston my junior year of High School, I was slowly exposed to country music by friends and more importantly boys. I liked boys who liked country music, who went to rodeos for more than the funnel cake, who knew what FFA stood for. I needed to speak their language and during that time became familiar and somewhat in like with a few big country artists.

When I left Texas, my interest dwindled and I’ve become indifferent to the twangular style of music. Lately I’ve been trying to expose the kids to a bunch of different musical styles. Laylee still loves Bob Marley but I’ve been having trouble finding something that really moves Magoo. He will not dance. This week I was playing the second movement of Verdi’s Requiem when Magoo started going nuts, rocking out, bopping and laughing hysterically. There’s nothing like Funeral music for dead poets to encourage this younger generation to get their freak on.

Anywho, it’s a bit disturbing. I don’t think it should take tympanis and operatic solos in a minor key to get Magoo dancing. So today I played some Garth Brooks and he appeared to like that too, if cautiously.

I’m ready to get my feet wet again in the world of country. What should I start with? What are the must have artists and songs to bring a recovering Backstreet Boys and Tchaikovsky fan into the world of belt buckles the size of your mamma?