Drops of Awesome

Personal Blog of Author Kathryn Thompson

Archives for November 2009

Magoo Likes to Talk

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Magoo loves his new book, Night Creatures, a Scholastic book order pick that teaches about all things nocturnal. With its help, he’s busily categorizing everyone and everything as either nocturnal or diurnal. Charles Ingalls from LHOTP is like a night creature because he sometimes works all day and then sleeps in late on Sundays so he’s unable to make it to church.

He told me that I’m nocturnal as well. “You’re nocturnal b’guzzz you get up in the night and FEEED the baby.” Somehow “feed” came across as something very creepy and vampire-like.

He’s blown away by the radness that is breastfeeding. He wants to watch. He wants to help.

So Mr. Personality was watching me pump milk for Wanda the other day, Wanda the blessed saint of taking a bottle perfectly on demand but taking the breast on demand as well, when he noticed that one breast was not producing as well as the other.

“Umm… Mom. That one doesn’t do very much milk from it.”

Then with a look that showed he suddenly realized that what he’d said might be offensive to my left breast, he backpedaled by adding, “But you’re, well, you’re kind of like the best mom ever.”

He is completely enamored with the breast pump.

“Do you know why it’s so cool mom? It’s so cool because it’s like a machine… IN A BAG!”

Yes. It’s exactly like that.

The day before Thanksgiving, Magoo was going on and on about what he’d get in his basket the next day. “I hope I get the same stuff as last year, chocolate, a rubber snake, lots of candy.”

“I think you’re talking about Easter. Thanksgiving doesn’t have any presents. We just eat turkey and are thankful for stuff.”

“Oh. Well, can I have the turkey leg then?”

“We don’t usually eat a whole turkey leg. We just slice it up and eat the slices.”

“Then what do we do with its big brown head?”

“We (“we” meaning the farmers and turkey hunters who sell their products to the grocery store) cut off its head, pluck its feathers and cook just the body.”

“Eeewwww! That sounds really gross… But I like it.”

Lego Batman

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Any advice for the little video game addicts in our lives?

“These goals are lofty and I sometimes fall short, but the hardest of all has been weaning Magoo off the virtual world where he lives with a Wii-mote in his hand, fighting bad guys and knocking their Lego pieces to bits. He loves Lego Batman more than he loves food, more than he loves his red socks, more even, I suspect, than he loves his parents. Lego Batman is always there for him. Lego Batman is his best friend. ”

[Please keep reading and leave comments at Parenting.com]

Dumpster Diving for Love

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Yesterday we decorated for Christmas. It’s not officially December but the last of the mashed potatoes and stuffing were gone and it seemed like something I could do with a clean conscience and only moderate disapproval from my mother. She’s a December 1st hardliner. I prefer to sort of go with the flow, like the one time in college when my roommates and I decorated for Christmas on Halloween night. When we figured we wouldn’t get any more tick-or-treaters, the pumpkins came down and the Christmas palace went up. It was a good couple of months. I think Delilah would approve.

When we got through all the boxes of green and red green-and-red-ness this year, I realized that the one thing missing was my favorite decoration in all the world, a garland of tiny mittens I’d made shortly after Dan and I were married. I copied the design from a Pottery Barn catalog, sewing the tiny mittens out of fleece one by one and then loosely embroidering Christmas designs on them, snowflakes, Christmas trees and such. I love them and they are gone. I frantically searched every box, only to realize that I’d gotten rid of a box of unwanted decorations the week before.

D.I. (sort of a Mormon Goodwill) keeps a trailer outside our church building for donations to be dropped into. Last week I took a load of several boxes, including the old Christmas decorations, and dropped them off in the back of the nearly empty trailer. So at church today, I opened the trailer to look for my long lost teeny weeny mitten garland, only to find the thing brimming full of junk. The trailer was about 20 feet long and completely filled with bicycles, dishes, electronics, clothes, beds, board games, and actual garbage.

Oh ye who put the pee-stained 80-year-old pillow in the trailer – REALLY?! That’s a “donation”? I’d like to donate something to you sometime.

But I really wanted the mittens so as my family headed into church, I pulled off my high-heeled boots and began making my way cat-like through the rubble of useless goods, over desks and through piles of suspect garbage bags. After sifting through boxes for 15 minutes, I gave up and made my way back out to the parking lot, defeated and drowning my sorrows in hand sanitizer.

During our church meeting Laylee sat quietly drawing pictures of each of us, Wanda with her little lips, huge cheeks and Mohawk, Dan with his pointy pin-head and glasses, Magoo with his fat head and me with my gorgeous eye-lashes, ravishing smile and meticulously placed zits. She was all about accuracy, studying my face carefully and then adding dots one at a time in the correct constellations on my forehead, nose and cheeks.

When I told the teenage girls I teach about my lost garland, one of them sincerely offered to go back into the D.I. trailer abyss and dig for me. I thanked her but told her it was hopeless. When Dan offered after church, I caved and accepted his willingness to gallantly risk his life for my handy-crafts. It takes a real man to dig through other people’s garbage in a church parking lot, while his friends and neighbors walk by giving him odd looks. I’m sure more than a few of them were wondering whether things had gotten so bad that we had stooped to stealing from the donations trailer. I stood guard while he navigated his way through the junk. No dice. I mean, there probably were dice in there somewhere, but no tiny mittens.

All I can do now is hope we find them somewhere in our garage, a location that somewhat resembles the D.I. trailer at this point, except all the donations have come directly from me and my rabble.

You Better Watch Out

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You better not cry and all that nonsense because Santa’s kicking the cruelty up a notch this year. I opened my mailbox earlier this week and what to my wondering eyes should appear but the Franklin Covey Holiday Gift Guide – 2009 edition.
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I was intrigued. The cover stated that Franklin Covey had an array of gifts for both the nice among us AND the naughty. I thought they just sold planners and stuff made out of leather. Well, Boy Howdy was I wrong.

The first few pages do show planner after planner in various sizes and varieties. BUT, when you get to page 7, you find the truth. Can you handle the truth kids?
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That’s right. If you don’t behave yourself this year, you may end up with a $50 red pen in your stocking and there won’t be anything you can do about it. It’s Franklin Covey’s answer to coal for Christmas of ’09. Stick that in your smoking device, light it and inhale.
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Unplanned Emergency Drill

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If it’s unplanned, some people might call it an “actual” emergency but no one died so I’d like to refer to it as a drill.

Monday night we were staying up a little late to watch our new favorite show Castle and I told Dan I could smell something coming in the house from the garage. We went out to investigate and found that the super strong smell was filling the entire garage and we couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Having never been trained as a general contractor or a disaster-sniffing K9, I had no idea what the smell was or where it was coming from.

It could have been a gas leak, a motor failure, burning electronics, or maybe even a can of rancid food that had exploded in our storage shelves. Dan and I sniffed our way around the garage and even aired it out to get a better feel for source. In the end we decided that it was probably a furnace issue, turned off the furnace for the night and Dan headed inside to bed.

Now here’s how I know someone was looking out for me. I suddenly felt an urge to rearrange things in the garage, the garage that I’d let fester for months, the garage in which it was 11 o’clock pm and I had a sleeping baby in the house where I should have been sleeping as well. I just had a feeling I should move some stuff around.

As I walked by the electrical box, I heard a skittering sound. Thinking it was likely a rodent of some sort, I decided to stay away from that part of the garage but a few minutes later I noticed a swollen, bulging, water-soaked cardboard box on the shelf next to it. When I went to investigate, I found that one of our water bottles had a slow leak and had made a bit of a mess on the shelf and I decided I’d rather clean it up sooner than later.

So I spent the next several minutes mopping up the water, long enough to hear that the skittering sound was coming from inside the breaker box which was crackling and popping and giving off a burning smell but no visible smoke.

Looking down around the breaker box I noticed that directly in front of it was our kerosene heater full of fuel, a box of Duraflame logs and our wood supply. It was a perfect stack of kindling and accelerants. Nice. I called Dan out to have a look while I moved the flammables away from the fire hazard.

He went inside to turn off our computers before turning off the electricity to the house and my job was to stay by the box in case it burst into flames. And what was I to do then? Stop them with my laser vision? I had no idea because we couldn’t find our fire extinguisher. We both totally knew where it was. Only problem being – neither of us could actually locate it.

When I talked to my sister about this on the phone the next day, she said she totally knew where hers was. A minute later, she started grumbling, “It’s not there.” It took her several minutes to track it down, by which time her house would have burnt to the ground. So I encourage each of you to go today and find your fire extinguisher and give it a little pat so that you know that you really know where it is. And while you’re at it, check the expiration date.

Anyway, when we got the electricity turned off, I still wasn’t feeling safe enough to go to sleep while my children slept above that box. So we called the fire department to make sure we were okay. They jumped in the rig and stopped by with their giant red truck, their heat-detecting gun and their big huge pants. The box was still hot but not sparking and they told us we’d be fine and to call an electrician in the morning.

I just feel so blessed that we were able to figure things out in time to not be burnt to a crisp in our beds. If we hadn’t stayed up late… if I hadn’t smelled the smell from the garage… if I hadn’t decided to rearrange things when I should have been sleeping… if that bottle hadn’t leaked, drawing my attention to the breaker area, who knows what would have happened to us? I know Heavenly Father is protecting and looking out for my family and that’s a very comforting feeling.

We had one night without power and the next day, Dan was able find an honest and capable electrician who fixed things up to the tune of less than $200. Wild, wild night.

I Never Eat Boogers

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I don’t even like them.

Okay. So I’ve never even tried, not even as a child, not one booger Sam I Am but I just know. I would not eat one in a box or wearing sox or while writing with chalks. There was never a time in my whole wide life that I wasn’t repulsed by the sight of some young buck slurping his own secretions. From my earliest memories I’ve known that doing so was sick and wrong.

And so today I sat in discussion with one of my children, locked in eye contact when the individual-in-question pulled a nugget from its cavern and shlumped it into their mouth without batting an eyelash.

Gah!

“You are a Thompson!” I wanted to shout, “Thompsons are anti-boog-ites. Thompsons know right from wrong. Thompsons will now all go and rinse their mouths out with disinfectant, gargle, rinse with bleach and repeat.”

I did make the individual-in-question rinse and gargle before we could continue talking. I did extol the virtues of a booger-snack-free lifestyle. What more can I do? I can’t rinse and gargle mental images away. That one will always be burned in my memory.

This is How We Roll

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After less than two months, Baby Daring, aka Wanda, aka Baby Dolly, aka Baby Lolla, aka Princess Lolla Dolla, has effectively killed off any future attempts at tummy torture time.

Around our house, this is how we roll.

She doesn’t need to be coaxed by a crazy lady with a squeaky high pitched voice but I think she likes to be and I’m happy to provide that service.

I’m not sure why I’m giddy about my almost 2-month-old being able to roll over every time I put her down. My other kids didn’t do it until 3 months of age and with Magoo, I dreaded those milestones because they meant he would get into stuff sooner. For some reason, watching her do this tickles me to no end, except for the part where she smooshes her face into the mirror and cries. That is obviously totally un-fun and also un-funny. The rest is gold.

When she was in utero and she made my abdomen feel like a rubber bag full of ninjas, I sort of had a feeling she’d be a mover and a shaker. I was right. I wonder how long until she’ll be able to fix her own breakfast and get dressed on her own. The other kids can. She just needs to show a little initiative.