Personal Blog of Author Kathryn Thompson
Meta – Sorry about the confusion with new comments. I set things up so that the first time you make a comment, I have to approve it. That should keep the spammers out since I will never approve them and regular commenters will only have to be moderated once.
Mumps – If, like me, you laugh out loud when you read The Daily Mumps, you may just feel an inward chuckle with my mad photo-captioning skills over at Parenting.com today.
The Daniel, he is a mastermind. Sometimes his genius frightens me. I design my blog. I rejoice. I change the wrong semicolon in the code. I weep. Daniel whips out his little black box (he calls it a “command” “prompt”) and VOILA! A new home for Daring Young Mom.
He has spent hours and hours of work and I have spent hours and hours of play making this all possible. I know there are still weird bugs and things that have to be tweaked.
Please let me know if you have problems with anything on the site. I am mostly responsible for the code and I know nothing about code. He has spent scads of time cleaning up my messes and he’d love more to clean up, so give him a challenge. I dare you.
Is it slow to load? (Please don’t respond to this if you’re still using your grandma’s 386 with 16MB of memory. I love you but cannot accommodate you on this site. Let me know and I’ll send you a plain text email of my posts.)
Do things go wonky in your weird-open-source-Macish-save-the-world-from-software-monopolies browser? (I would like to try to accommodate you. Feel the love man and pass the tie-dyed onesies.)
Do you think my floating head is too pretentious now on its framed cushion of velveteen fabric?
How can I better serve you on this blog? Need a new shoe-lace or just a hug? Please, let me know your wants and needs and I will try to address them expeditiously.
Sam Jackson may be fighting Snakes on a Plane but I’m fighting my own battle down here on planet earth….
Children hear what you say and understand more than you know. And it’s not just words. They soak up the smiles, the disappointment, the tone, the indifference, the excitement. They are surrounded by your attitude and it becomes a part of who they are.
Yesterday was a bad day. It was a terrible horrible no good very bad day. When I’m having a bad day, …
As witnessed Tuesday, laying in the grass in my back yard.
If we cut down the grass, we cut down on the possibilities for exploration.
In an attempt to up the morbidity level of this blog, I feel it is my duty to inform you that Jack Again, our latest attempt at pet ownership, has very little time left on this earth.
Magoo’s linguistical skills are growing and with them, his obsessive compulsive behaviors. He. Must. Act. Out. The. Words. As. He. Says. Them. He must. He will. He shall.
When he says:
Gick: he must kick something.
Dat: he must go to Dad or grab whatever “dat” he is pointing to.
Jeez: he must eat some cheese or say a silent prayer to the Savior, whose picture he is pointing at.
Deeks: he must get a reply of “you’re welcome.”
Engh-engh-engh-engh: he must repetitively whine this syllable until I lose my ever-living mind.
Now his latest word is “shish,” which means in any language “little fishy”. Magoo loves the shish. He adores the shish. He wants to clutch the shish from its watery enclosure, squeeze it lovingly until its eyeballs pop out, throw it on the floor and march off in search of more Jeez. He’s very hungry and also religious.
Now that he’s learned to climb up on a chair, he is frequently seen pushing one around the house, in search of prey. Nothing is really safe unless locked away. And what’s the point of having a shish if it’s locked away so no one can see it?
I’m afraid for you, little shish. You are still so small and have so much potential for… um… swimming and such.
And they will. They’ll lie through their teeth. It’s considered wrong to speak ill of the dead and a person’s death brings all kinds of healing and magical forgetfulness dust.
When Aunt J was dying, she looked over the wonderful things that were going to be said about her, picked out a specific item and said, “Don’t LIE.”
Driving home today from the funeral of a fabulous and not-possible-to-exaggerate woman, I could not stop crying. I was not sad about her death. Her husband passed away 28 years ago and she was more than ready to join him.
I was sad about my death. No, it’s not imminent. Not that I know of.
There’s just so much more I’d like to be and do before it happens. I want them to be able to tell the truth. So from the tears comes this partial list, a list of the truths I hope to cultivate:
She was kind.
She was the wife her husband wanted and the mother her children needed.
She not only loved people, but she showed that love in a way they could understand.
Her hands were worn in service.
She had her priorities straight.
She knew her limits but stretched them slightly every day.
She didn’t let her desire for appearances outweigh her children’s need for adventure.
She did not waste a breath speaking ill of other people.
She didn’t take the last cookie.
She greeted rather than waiting to be introduced.
She asked people to sit down.
She actively listened.
She remembered.
She helped people discover their beauty.
She left places more beautiful than she found them and people happier than she met them.
She was humble and confident.
She generated, rather than consumed, peace.
Hurricane season is almost upon us. There are readers of this blog living in earthquake, tsunami, tornado, winter storm, bird flu pandemic, country music infestation, and even war zones.
All kinds of disasters are going on throughout the world and all we can really do is prepare the best we can, pray hard and then go on living like we mean it.
Who knows if the next terror attacks will involve spit-wad activated nuclear bombs contained in pocket PCs? Not me. I most definitely do not know, homeland security personnel reading this blog. Please do not shut down my site.
We can’t know everything but we can plan for the things we do know are likely to happen. Here are a few random tips for emergency preparedness. Please share yours in abundance.
1. Keep an axe under your bed — Now that you’ve sent me your addresses for those removable tattoos, I may be coming for you. If you’re one of the lucky few who did not give me your street address, you still may want to keep that axe or hatchet handy. If you live in an earthquake zone, there’s a good chance that during the quake your doors will shift, making it either impossible to get out of your bedroom or to get into other rooms in your house. If you’re in an earthquake zone, you should also keep a pair of old shoes (for broken glass) and a flashlight under the bed. This is one of my favorite tips because it’s really easy to do and very practical. Just make sure the hatchet is safe from your kids.
2. Have a single emergency contact — Often in times of emergency people are not able to call into or within the disaster zone but some calls can be made out. Designate one person living in another state to be your main contact. Then if your family is separated in an emergency, you can each call that one person and tell them your whereabouts and they can let you know if they’ve heard from the other members of your family. We emailed all of our family on both sides and told them to contact Dan’s mom in Utah if there was ever an emergency in Seattle. She will be the one person who knows what’s going on.
3. Have enough food and water on hand for at least 3 days but hopefully as much as a full year in case of emergency. Make sure this food is usable (no cooking required unless you have a stove and fuel available) and something you will and can actually eat.
4. Find out about your city and county emergency procedures.
5. Go to the Red Cross and FEMA websites to find tips. They also have print materials they can send you free of charge. The LDS provident living website also has some great ideas for getting started with food storage, including tables to guide you on how much basic food to store.
6. If “they” say evacuate and you have the time and means to evacuate safely, JUST DO IT.
This is just the tip of the ice berg. Share all your great ideas and links and we will revisit this topic again.
I just write it up over at Parenting.com.
This post originally appeared on The Parenting Post on August 13, 2006.
I offer this wisdom up to ye of the Internet as a warning and a safeguard against wasted tax dollars and, even more importantly, total personal humiliation.
If something embarrassing happens to me, I have the ability to step back and say, “Hey. It’s not so bad. At least I’ll have something to blog about tomorrow.” When the following story happened several months ago, I was unable to say that. I swore I would never blog this, but time heals all wounds, so here goes:
As Laylee was heading out of the bathroom following her nightly tubby time, I turned off the light and shut the door behind her. As usual, I did not shut my mouth. I was blabbering on and on to Dan about some scintillating detail of my day and he was paying attention, not a bit.
Me: Blah blah and then I said, “If she’s gonna wear green lederhosen to MY playgroup, then she’s just gonna have to handle the — ”
Dan: Laylee!
Me: I know. She’s right there. Anyway —
Dan: Her fingers!
Me: What about them?
You see, Dan was too concerned about the fact that I had slammed Laylee’s fingers in the door hinge and was holding it closed to care about my excessively diverting story. Laylee was too busy administering the silent scream to actually make a noise out loud.
I looked down at her beet-red face. I looked at the door. Something started to register. Uh, I should probably do something. What was it? Ah yes, open the doooooor.
When we pulled her fingers from the hinge, one little knuckle was smooshed flat. The silent scream suddenly became less silent and Dan and I did something we’ve never done before. We both came unglued simultaneously. Not good.
In our angst, we decided to dial 9-1-1. Yeees! They’re EMTs, the knowers of all knowledge. They can tell us whether to take her in to the ER or not…if they can hear us. The silent scream was becoming less and less silent by the minute.
So I did the honors. William Shatner and his crazily beshadowed Rescue 9-1-1 eyebrows had taught me exactly what to do.
EMT: 9-1-1. Can I get your address please?
Me: 555 Daring Cross Road, Small Town Seattle
EMT: What’s your emergency?
Me: Well, I’m not sure it’s an emergency. We wanted to call and ask you. My daughter slammed her fingers in the door and one of them looks kind of smooshed.
EMT: A unit has been deployed.
Me: NO. Seriously? Oh, my gosh. Please call them back. We were just calling to ask your advice.
EMT: The unit is on their way.
Me: For real. It’s not that bad. Please don’t send a unit.
EMT: You called 9-1-1. We need to deploy.
Me: Please don’t let them turn their sirens on.
EMT: Have a good night.
Oh, crap! A few minutes went by, during which Dan got Laylee calmed down and her miraculous spongey kid finger started to re-inflate. It was beginning to look slightly pink and a little swollen and Dan was holding it over her head while she whimpered softly.
BAM! CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP. They knocked once and marched right in like it was an emergency or something, two EMTs and a firewoman.
After assessing the situation with coy smiles back and forth, one suggested that he guessed he could make a splint. He’d just need to go out to “the rig” and get some tongue depressors.
Yes, he really said “the rig.”
I told him not to trouble with said “rig” because I had popsicle sticks in the craft drawer he could use. A splint was made. They were delightful visitors and Laylee had the grandest time meeting all of them and thus putting off her bedtime.
As they left, I asked if they needed our insurance information and the largish man in the gigantic boots and plastic yellow pants winked and said, “No charge.”
Moral of the story — if you squish your kid’s finger, toe or other minor appendage, no blood is showing, and their heart is still beating in their chest, call the nurse’s hotline at your pediatrician, but leave Bill Shatner and his posse alone. They have serious work to do and they WILL deploy a rig on you.