Personal Blog of Author Kathryn Thompson
At future outdoor family-friendly events, please keep your beer-drinking to the designated “beer garden.” If this is too much to handle, please remember not to leave your “almost” finished beer cup on a chair for my toddler to find. He is the little pumpkin-headed boy who spent a good portion of the day filling a bucket with dirt and pouring it directly into his mouth. I prefer the dirt to your backwashed yeasty sludge.
Thanks. Have a great night.
He’d probably live in a Happy-Meal box. Laylee says he’s a girl. We say okay. He can be a girl… a girl with a soul patch.
Is it morning yet? Laylee just asked. Nope. It’s still light leftover from today that hasn’t fallen out of the sky yet. You’ve been talking to yourself in your room and singing songs in strange undiscovered Jujubese languages for 1.5 hours. If you do it for 10 more, then it will be morning.
Our playdate was small but enjoyable, carrying an unexpected pirate theme. Magoo started us all off by falling in the drink and threatening to be lost to Davy Jones’ locker. What happened with him was one of the most frightening moments of my life as a parent so far. We were standing next to a large fountain with a pool about 2 feet deep. Magoo had his back to the pool and I watched him fall backwards into the water. He sank down to the bottom and in the three seconds it took me to pull him out, he was completely submerged with barely an entry splash. As I grabbed him, I could see him flailing, his eyes looking at me in panic, not a sound coming from the water. All I can think is, “what if I had turned my back to get a wipe and then looked back and wondered where he’d gone. As it was, it took him a few seconds to catch his breath. How ironic that only a few days ago, I joked on this blog about how it’s possible to drown in a teaspoon of water. WATCH YOUR KIDS BY EVEN THE SMALLEST WATERSOURCE.
After some enjoyable visiting, the kids got antsy for some vittles and we headed off to Mickey D’s where we also enjoyed some pirate-y fun. Noses and ears were pierced… with cardboard.
Strangely, although the happy-meal boxes claim that pirates like to eat fish, you only get a Pirates of the Caribbean game piece if you order beef. I know. Magoo ordered a fillet ‘o fish and they didn’t give him squat. The beef-eaters of the group all collected the same exact game piece which fit together not at all.
Also, what’s the deal with having happy meals based on a movie that none of the kids will be allowed to watch anyway? Captain Jack Sparrow as a stuffed doll? Next they’ll come out with a Tokyo Drift baby rattle for kids under 3.
I can’t mop the floor because the duck-down curls on the back of Magoo’s head are too kissable. I can’t clean the windows or appliances because Laylee has covered them all in “bominals” (One day I hope she explains why she calls them this. However by the time she has the vocab to explain it, she’ll probably call them something lame like “post-it notes” and think I’ve lost my mind.)
It’s very easy for me to freeze in place and ignore the work piling up around me, in the name of being a good mother and spending time with my children. “Some mothers may have a spotless house, but MY children have an enjoyable childhood.” I really believe I did not choose to be a stay-at-home maid, but rather a stay at home mom and that my kids should come first. That being said, children also deserve a reasonably clean and clutter-free environment and they deserve an example of hard work and responsibility. They also have the right to be taught to work themselves and help create the ideal environment they reside in.
Today I tried to figure out why I’m really stuck here, having trouble plowing through the myriad chores that haunt every minute of my day. I do try but not nearly as hard as I give myself credit for. Like Laylee, I think that coloring “bominals”, chilling on the pool deck, having a dance party or playing Pla-To are much more fun than installing towel-rods and dusting cobwebs off the ceiling.
Here are a few of today’s excuses for my lack of productivity:
1. I cannot do the dishes because my living room is too full. We are resurfacing the garage floor so my living room contains a mixture of all things garage and all the boxes that haven’t been unpacked. It’s a TON of stuff. You see, we Mormons are supposed to store things for emergencies. It’s not so much the FEMA-suggested-year’s-supply-of-duct-tape-and-saran-wrap-to-protect-your-home-from-nuclear-explosions-and-possible-terroristic-invasion kind of storage, but more the large-buckets-of-wheat-and-#10-cans-of-Jell-O-powder-so-you-can-eat-despite-nuclear-explosions-or-jobloss-or-famine-and-terroristical-invasion variety. (Note to self – do a Tip Tuesday about emergency preparedness soon.)
When the end is near and Super Wal Mart’s mighty shelves lay decimated, party at my house, featuring whole-wheat bannock and layered gelatinous salad. Anywho, in honor of your visit during the bird flu pandemic, I have approximately one ton of food and emergency supplies in my front room. (Okay, okay. It’s not ALL food storage. “The Church” did not exactly put a gun to my head at Sam Goody when I was in Junior High, forcing me to buy large volumes of cheesy pop music on cassette which I would still be completely incapable of releasing into the wild at age 27. Those boxes are in there too. And the yarn.)
2. Your piece-of-jerk well-written blogs, your cute kids and your little dog too. Seriously, please stop writing and so help me if anyone else with a great blog leaves a comment here or introduces themselves at BlogHer!
3. Cactus maintenance. I did get them and yes, it is possible to cause their untimely demise. These babies need a tender hand and loving words to really thrive.
4. I cannot do yard work because when I go outside I have to supervise very closely the activities raging on the pool deck. Sometimes I need to plunge myself right into the actual pool to save the children. Did you know you could drown in a teaspoon of water? Yeah. That’s no good.
5. I cannot hang the curtain rods because the cordless drill battery is charging. I am cool because I came into the marriage with our family’s first power tool… the FIRE STORM.
6. Once the battery stops charging, I cannot hang the actual curtains because no one has ironed them, the iron is too high for me to reach and the ladder is upstairs next to the charging battery.
7. I cannot speak clearly because Laylee just stuck a plastic fork in my mouth and I cannot remove the fork because I am typing this entry.
8. I cannot install the new baby gates I ordered because they ain’t arrove yet, and I may never install them because the case-of-bottled-water-reinforced hamper-gate is so attractive sitting in my front entry.
9. I cannot think of a way to finish this post so I will leave you with what I HAVE accomplished.
I managed to hang up the weddage,
the piece of Christmas décor I keep up all year round because I must be some kind of hippy,
the floating book shelf
and the ill-gotten train picture.
I have constructed a slide
and assembled a pool deck.
Now I’m wondering how long “we just moved” is a viable excuse.
It would appear that Laylee has started a blog without telling me. And her subject matter makes mine look like the slow bus of bloggage.
“Mom, I want to blog my Pla-to.”
Oh, really? He’s good, but I prefer Nietzsche.
Today for Tip Tuesday, I’m asking for some creative topics for future Tip Tuesdays. They don’t have to be philosophic masterpiece-type ideas – just things we all have burning questions about.
This post originally appeared on The Parenting Post July 17, 2006
Grandpa forgot his machete so he’s taken to putting on work gloves and attacking the bamboo jungle by hand whenever he gets the chance to sneak away from the millions of house-chores we’ve bombarded him with. The bamboo patch that ate my new backyard is rustic, beautiful, shady, and more than a little frightening. Why would you plant bamboo in a backyard in Washington? Were the previous owners breeding Pandas? How does it continue to grow so fast when it’s packed in so tightly? What on earth could be hiding back there?
I see 5 possibilities:
A. More Roses
B. Snakes
C. A family of gerbils or some other festering disease-ridden rodents
D. More Bamboo
E. A Dead Body
Okay, I admit that chances are it’s not E. Dead bodies are most likely found in swimming pools or lakes after the sun has gone down. On land, you’re much more likely to find critters. I live in constant fear that mice, rats or gerbils will overrun my home. And since they are even smaller than Laylee and Magoo, they’re much more terrifying.
Children and small animals are both much scarier than say, senior citizens or manatees because they’re smaller so they can squeeze into tiny places. You open up the cupboard and there they are “Booga-Booga” eating all your marshmallows.
They can also crawl up into your bed at night and kick you in the face or nibble your eyeballs out. Name me one old person or sea mammal who can do that. Yeah, that’s what I thought.
Then there’s the fear associated with speed. Children and rodents are both fast. Cute? Yes. But also scary. That’s why I was horrified by what I found under our old range as we were having it hauled away last week.
If you live in or around the Seattle area or feel like making the trek up here, Karli and I are planning a blogging meet-and-greet/playdate for this Thursday morning at an undisclosed location. We’ve already met some of you, but who couldn’t do with a few more internet girlfriends?
Come and find out if I actually have a body attached to that floating head and if Karli ever wears shoes. If you’re interested, email me and I will send you the details.
We’ll be planning a moms-only dinner for later on in the year so stay tuned.
Well, I try to cover it up most of the time.
We are really working on our religious punctuality right now. We have been really working on it for… going on 4 years. We improve a little and then we improve not so much at all. Then we slide back to “pathetic” on the scale of on-time-itude.
This morning I’m getting dressed for church, pretty much at the last possible second before we have to leave, and Dan looks at me incredulously and asks, “Are you dressing for church or are you getting ready for BlogHer?”
Well of course I was getting ready for BlogHer but I was getting ready for church at the same time, you know? The multitasking. The poor man thought I was trying on all of my carefully layed out conference clothing items for the fun of it right before we had to leave. This is not unfathomable but today I was not guilty of such a crime against punctuality and reason.
Today I wore the black dress I bought for BlogHer to church to test it out for any possible “wardrobe malfunctions.” I am a recently weaned nurser and… well… these things need to be tested when little black dresses enter the picture.
I know what you’re thinking — you test dresses for wardrobe malfunctions by wearing them to church? Yeah. It sounds strange to me too, now that I see it on the computer screen. Never fear. Everything stayed where it was supposed to stay, even with the mega-weaner doing his best to free the entrapped victuals from their black shackles.
Last night I saw a fat woman dancing ballet with her eyes closed in the textured ceiling above my bed. I blinked and she was gone.
I like to get down, especially when I’m driving alone in my car. For that reason, I have not yet burned to the ground the radio broadcasting corporation that took away my favorite Seattle mix station and replaced it with a station called “Movin our-commercials-show-multiple-people’s-butts-shaking-and-bobbing-around-in-circles 92.5-FM.”
The station is REALLY hit or miss. One minute you’ve got some Nelly crap (no, not that Nelly) and the next, you get some sweet eighties dance tune.
On the way to Target this evening, they were playing some steaming-pile song, degrading women in general, yet glorifying those who walk around in daisy dukes and bikini tops… and they couldn’t even turn a rhyme… HELLO!! If you’re gonna rap over a bad generic Hip-Hop track about all kinds of skanky skeez, at least do it with some style. I still won’t listen to you, but at least I won’t call you out publicly on my blog.
So I ended up with Delila who instructed me to “slow down and love someone.” I personally like to love people very quickly because then I have more time to love more people. Please do not connect this paragraph with the skeez mentioned above.
In the parking lot, two girls were standing by their car, huddled up together and looking nervous. One mentioned to the other how fast her heart was beating and I thought, “I wonder if they’re meeting up with their internet boyfriends for the first time tonight. How exciting and scary. Does their mother know?” This line of thought brought to you by my viewing of the movie “Drive me Crazy”, starring that teenage witch girl, a movie which I attended in disguise, lest I be discovered by one of my film friends and mocked for the rest of my college career. Incidentally, this film also started a chain of events which landed me at a Backstreet Boys concert with sparkles on my chest and corn-rows in my hair.
On the way home from Target, I was lucky enough to catch MC Hammer doing his stunning rendition of his original classic You Cannot Touch This on the posterior-shaking radio station. I car-danced like it was my job, and at 9:00 at night, it basically is.
On my post yesterday, creatively entitled “Dude.,” Anonymous said “You get a lot of comments, so what exactly are you insecure about?”
I think it’s time I come out with the truth. I am insecure about the fact that although, like the great MC Hammer I am “dope” “on” “the” “floor”, I am not, however, “ma”-“gic” “on” “the” “mic”. There you have it. My rap skills have been slipping lately. We have yet to christen the new house with a real, no holds barred, Daring Family Freestyle Rap Battle.
I feel your collective gasp before it escapes your keyboards and I am ashamed. If I ever find the Karaoke machine in the 6’ high stack of boxes that is my living room, I will remedy the situation. Then? Once I’ve brushed up on my skeelz on the microphonizzle, insecurity… she will be gone. Until then, it doesn’t matter how many comments I get or how many times Laylee bolster’s my confidence with questions like, “Mommy, can you please use some covering-up makeup? You have some red spots on your face,” I will remain insecure.
After reading some of your comments, I asked myself out loud, “Did I ask everyone to come out and tell me how much they like me? Did I sound like I was whining and trying to figure out a way to get more comments?”
Dan says “Yes.”
Apparently this — “It didn’t exactly work that way for me. I’m currently having a hard time getting more weekly hits than Chris’s old blog archives,” sounds very whiny. Reading it over this morning I’d have to agree. What I meant as I was blogging late last night was that my mind is boggled by Chris’s ability to keep readers on an old blog that she hasn’t posted to for weeks. She is a force to be reckoned with.
Um, sorry about that. I usually pick Tip Tuesdays based on things I think we can all relate to or would like advice about. I have gotten several emails from newer bloggers asking me for tips on how to increase traffic to their blogs. I’ve also read several entries from great bloggers who are threatening to quit due to lulls in traffic.
I was hoping we could brainstorm and all learn from each other. Truth be told, I’m continually in shock at how many people read and comment here on a regular basis. I get more feedback from smart funny women than I ever imaged when I started blogging 11 months ago.
Carrie mentioned that it is a good idea “to NOT DEMAND COMMENTS. If you blog to get comments but don’t get any, something’s wrong with what you’re writing. It’s not comment-able.” She’s right. I often read great posts that ARE comment-able but I’m just too lazy to comment or don’t have anything useful to say. I am a major lurker and I think that’s fine.
I’m sorry if I annoyed you guys by asking for comments today. I really thought that having people tell how they got here would be sort of fun and instructive. You are more than welcome to read any time and not worry about commenting. I can take it.
Angela left a comment about bacon, which of course caught my attention immediately. She is a major blogging guru of mine so I’ll repeat here what she said:
“I honestly believe the blog thing is SO hit and miss. When I write about bacon and brown sugar, I get a ton of hits and comments. When I write about my life? Not so much. It’s a strange world out there. (I’m still coming to grips with the fact that people love bacon more than they love me. I smell good too, damnit!)
Then again, I don’t think the traffic and comments are as important as the actual exercise. I’ve made this analogy many times before, but I think it bears repeating: It’s a crime for children to participate in poetry contests. The important thing is that poetry is being written. And some of it is completely amazing. The gold medals and certificates don’t mean a thing, and if a lack of recognition makes one child stop creating, well, it’s a travesty.”
That really struck a chord with me. The exercise really is what’s important, getting my thoughts out there, having a creative outlet and feeling good about what I’ve written. It makes sense and it’s true but it really is hard for me not to wonder or care about readership.
Part of that stems from the fact that I’m working to transition to a professional writing career. If people aren’t reading or commenting, what chance do I have of successfully finding someone to pay me to write?
The past several months I’ve been working on not taking personal validation from how many people are reading and commenting. It’s similar to a struggle I had early on as a mother, where I found myself defining my self worth by how often others told me how cute or polite Laylee was. They’re both roller coaster rides not worth taking.
So what are your motives for blogging? What got you started? (Please feel no pressure to answer these questions. 🙂 )