Drops of Awesome

Boys are different than girls. My first indication of this (okay, not my first) was when Magoo started wetting through his clothes but not his diaper. Laylee did not have the gift of aim in her diaper escapades and I am fascinated by this ability.

He is also much more physically strong and active than she was at this age and has far better reflexes. This could possibly be because he was born a toddler.

Example: Yesterday we started him on solids. Unlike the Laylee who took 2 weeks of daily attempts before she would swallow anything, Magoo swallowed his first bite and was eager for more. The problem is, he wants to feed himself.

You’d think I could feed a wee infant without splattering rice cereal all over the state of Washington and I could if it weren’t for his cat-like speed and reflexes. He sits patiently until I get the spoon one centimeter from his mouth and then with lightning speed, he whips his hand up from his lap and grabs the handle of the spoon just as I’m about to insert the goods. Great cunning, he has. (Did Mr. Miyagi talk like this too or was it just Yoda?)

The way he does it, the speed and concentration it takes, reminds me of the Karate Kid catching flies with chopsticks. His eyes, tracking the spoon. Wait for it….wait for it….ah HA!

And maybe he will be good with the chopsticks when he gets to the stage of maturity where children are allowed to play with pointy sticks (I’m not to that chapter yet in the What to Expect series). It’s in his blood.

I spent an entire year of college using chopsticks because I had a roommate who had been a missionary in Taiwan, had zillions of them and we were all too cheap to buy silverware. Pie, ice cream, spaghetti, breakfast cereal, you name it, we ate it with chopsticks (Actually, you don’t have to name it. That’s pretty much all we ate that year.).

DY Daniel-Son is quite skilled with a chopstick himself. He also speaks the Chinese which makes him just about the most attractive chopstick-usin’ white guy around. We took this picture at the beach last July. Your name’s Daniel, there’s a log sticking up out of the ocean, the sun’s setting, what are you gonna do, I mean really?

Now to Magoo I have this to say:
You are adorable and I love and like you with a fervent motherly likishness, but if you keep this up I am just ruthless enough to “sweep the leg,” if yaknowaImsayin…….or at least, strap your arms to your sides with duct tape. Oh, the indignity. When we’re done with that, you can use your pent up energy and frustration to sand the floor, paint the fence and wax my car. It’s the green one in the garage.

We’ve been having a dance party all day because I’m making a mix CD called, “Youmaynotwannalikethembutyoudoanyway Dance Songs.”

This post goes along with Tip Tuesday because you need good dancin’ music to clean anything.

Laylee has been very helpful in the song selection. BeeJees good – Dr. Dre bad. Kelly Clarkson good – Sugar Ray bad, Backstreet and NSYNC both got the thumbs up as well as Carole King and Coolio. She liked Ben Folds but not for dancing. There was a big fat pass on New Order and the Pet Shop Boys. Who can account for 2-year-old taste?

I squeezed in some U2, Dido, and Bob Marley but so far no Beatles tunes have made the cut. She’s ruthless and a very skilled dancer.

We’ve made it through early MJ and on to Lauryn Hill and the Fugees. We were dancing to Killing me Softly when Laylee stopped me for a correction. “NO, he’s saying WOOD!” I say, “I think it says, ‘with his words’.” “No, he says, ‘Killing me softly with his WOOD!’” I don’t think that one’s going on the mix CD.

I would kill for some ABBA, Cake or Vanilla Ice right now. How about some Beastie Boys or Sublime without any nasty lyrics?

She keeps asking for Raffi and I keep telling her, “It’s not that kind of CD.”

In reality, when I actually listen to all the lyrics, Raffi’s probably the only thing that will make it on the CD.

Well, first of all, if the house isn’t clean, I just keep the blinds closed….or post pictures of it on the internet.

If someone is coming over, and I don’t have much warning, here are my top quick fixes for each room of the house:

Living room – Straighten the cushions and slipcovers. Gather up any stray items and shove them in a drawer or closet, hopefully somewhere the guest will not go.

Kitchen – Wipe the counters quickly and scrape/rinse dishes and put them in the sink. I find the kitchen looks pretty clean if the counters are wiped and the dishes are below countertop level in the sink.

Bathroom — Take a piece of newspaper and buff the mirrors and faucets. Shiny faucets distract from whatever’s growing in the sink or behind the toilet. If you have a little extra time, a Clorox wipe on the counter and top of the toilet and a quick swish with the toilet brush are great too. Throw bath toys, etc. in the tub and close the shower curtain.

Bedroom — Make beds — even if you just sort of smooth the covers and throw the bedspread and pillows on top. Also, clear off the dresser tops (this can be done in a one-handed sweeping motion).

Den — Since this is where I throw all our junk in a quick cleanup situation, I won’t venture to offer hints there.

Solarium, Game Room, Mudroom, Bonus Room, Theatre, Conservatory, Music Room, Library, Pantry, Basement, Pool Room, Attic, Toy Room, Room for Warming Up Cheese (look at the second comment) — Sorry, I’ve got nothin’.

If all else fails (or they appear suddenly), just light a match…. and get a candle going. At least it will smell clean.

How do you trick people into thinking your house is clean when it’s not?

How do you clean it quickly and efficently when you have very little time?

I’m not quite sure what to do with them.

I attended BYU film school in the late 90s and early 2000s and then worked for a couple of years supervising the Media Department of the local public library where all us film geeks came to get our fix. (It is an amazing library with a HUGE film collection, the perfect job for a film/English graduate who loves libraries.)

Consequently, I have several friends and acquaintances who were involved in the making of a certain teenage cult classic that came out in the summer of 2004.

Long story short, I ended up with several cookies, bearing the faces of the film’s main characters. According to a very reliable source, the cookies were part of a gift basket given to the film’s director by a major motion picture studio when the distribution deal was signed.

I’m not sure what to do with these. They’ve been sitting in my closet in a bubble envelope for over a year. The ink on the frosting is darkening and turning a greenish color. A few characters are crumbling (luckily Kip, LaFawnduh and Pedro are still intact. Phew!) and they’re way past the edible phase.

When I got them, I laughed for about an hour but couldn’t bring myself to eat them.

So they went in the closet.

Now I’m de-junking my house and I keep coming back to the envelope, unsure what to do.

In reality, they are just a crumbling pile of flour and sugar.

Symbolically, they’re the piece I got of all the adventures my friends are having out in the industry “making a go of it” while I make my living as the mother of two awesome kids.

I spoke to one of these friends a couple of days ago, who’s been encouraging me to get involved in my craft out here in Seattle.

So today I made first contact with a man I’ve been planning to film a documentary about for over a year. We’ll see how that turns out. I’ll keep you posted.

But back to the cookies. What should I do with them? I know there is some fanatical fan out there somewhere who’d be willing to pay mega bucks for them. After-all, people are bidding like crazy to buy things like Brittany Spears’s chewing gum.

But I can’t bring myself to sell them either. Then I’m just a sellout, capitalizing on my friends’ success and pretty much an all round dork. I also don’t like the idea of being sued by Fox.

I guess they’ll stay in my closet until I can think of something to do with them or until I finish my film. Maybe then I’ll be able to let go.

Hello, Daring Young Mom!

I got my stuff today and I’m lovin’ it. The shirt is thin (as the shop said it would be) so I think I will be layering.

The logo is a bit stiff. I chose this printing option because it is supposed to last longer and they say it will soften with washing.

It’s so flippin’ cute, Dan will have to pry it out of my cold dead fingers to get it into the washing machine.

But then there should be plenty of water available to wash it in because now that I have this hat, I’ll never need to shower or brush my hair again. Small piggies sticking out the back should work nicely.

Our church starts at 9:00am and in our congregation if you get there only 5 minutes early, you’re already late. You’re doomed to sit in the folding chairs at the back of the chapel with all the other parents of small children. The children then, unrestrained by a wooden pew with parents at both ends, escape and create a subculture of mass chaos that’s really hard to control.

We try REALLY hard to get there early so we can maintain some semblance of worship on Sunday mornings. This sometimes means that instead of fixing Laylee’s hair at home, I bring a brush and do it out in the foyer. Sometimes, instead of feeding Laylee at home, we bring her some cheerios in a bag and a sippy-cup of milk and call it breakfast.

This morning, I woke her up and told her it was Sunday morning and asked her what she wanted for breakfast. She said, “I would like some Cheerios in a bag …to go.”

To go? I promise we do not eat at fast food restaurants that often. So we packed up the breakfast and headed out. We were only 2 minutes early but I spotted the very front pew available.

We laid Magoo on a blanket in front of us with some toys where he proceeded to roll around and then get up on his hands and knees and growl (yes growl — like a leettle tiny tiger) at each deacon as they passed by with the sacrament bread and water. I think he was guarding our territory.

When we picked Laylee up from Nursery at the end of our meetings, her teachers told me how cute it is that she says “like” all the time. Example, “What animal is this Laylee?” “It’s, like, a parrot.” Yes, so cute. I, like, swear I don’t talk like that.

Out at the car I asked her what we should make for lunch when we got home, as if I didn’t already know. “Um, like, a peanut butter sandwich.”

“Like, totally! Do you, like, want that to go?”

Laylee just went into my room and came out with 3 books, one for each of us to read. For Dad, she brought “The American Chess Player’s Hand Book.” Good choice. For herself, she brought, “The Little Giant Encyclopedia of Superstitions.” Okay, she wants to know that eating chicken gizzard makes you more beautiful, that it’s unlucky to cut a loaf of bread from both ends and what the left over glumps of cocoa at the bottom of her cup mean.

For me, she brought this (a relic from our pre-married past that I can’t bring myself to get rid of):

“This is for you to read NOW mommy!”

What the heck? I’ve had two kids. I have a happy and fulfilling love life. Is she hinting at something or did she just like the picture of fluffy blue pillows on the front?

Maybe she just wants a sister. It will take more than a book to make that happen in the near future, sweet pea.

What I would really like to do is apply for a job at working for the New York Times Style Section. Now that I’ve made my photo retouching debut, working on the Tina Turner image, (WHAT? That wasn’t real? I know, my skills are quite excellent and my work exquisite.) I think I’m ready for more challenging work.

Okay, I have an option for those of you who have expressed interest in the DYM shirts. I can get a discount on any item if I order 15 or more at one time.

So, if you want the jr. pink ringer t-shirts and don’t care how long it takes to get them, email me your order with size preference (Kathryn at daringyoungmom dot com) and when I get enough to place a bulk order, I will take your payments through paypal and send the shirts to you directly. The price would be $15 total (instead of $17.99 plus shipping and tax).

For the license plate frames, I can do the same thing for $11 total (instead of $12 plus tax and shipping).

Let me know.

Well, sort of. Currently the Woob is in the possession of one adorable two-year-old with the nickname of Laylee.

My mom made me the blanket when I was an infant and I carried it everywhere. It was originally made with two layers of fuzzy flannel and had a large duck embroidered in one corner. From age 3-12, the blanket was an actual need. I was terrified to go to bed at night and needed the blanket to comfort and protect me. I slept with it up through high school. At that point, it was more to be quirky than from actuall need.

The duck is gone.

Layer number 2 is gone.

Most of the blanket is gone.

All that is left is a small transparent rag that has been re-hemmed about a hundred times by a woman with the nickname of — My Mommy. I took the Woobie to college — not because I still needed it, just to have something familiar around. Sheesh!

Now when I’m allowed to use it, I roll it up and sleep with it over my eyes like a mask. I did this a lot after Magoo was born and I was struggling for every moment of sleep.

Last night, we found Laylee asleep on the floor with the Woob wrapped tightly around her like a little cocoon. It made me feel so warm and fuzzy and glad to see it passed down. You know you can never force them to form an attachment to anything. We certainly didn’t encourage her love affair with Ducky.

My friend recently used the word gelatinous in her post. I love that word. My favorite use of that word is found here. Please go look. It’s worth it. I promise. Make sure your sound is turned on before you click on the link.

Well, I don’t know if that’s exactly what they’re doing, but there’s surely some major commotion down there.

I love hockey. This was something DY Dad discovered about me 2 months after we were married when I made him watch Olympic hockey with me while wearing my Calgary Flames Jersey and periodically crosschecking him with our broom. When some kids started playing roller-hockey on an outdoor basketball court near our house, I made a point of showing them to Laylee and telling her all about the one true sport.

In an effort to tire her out one afternoon before naptime, DY Dad took her to the outdoor court and taught her a “racing game” which involves running lines back and forth across the court. The only thing that sets this apart from forced drills is that when you get to one end of the court, you touch the post and say, “Marks, get set, GO!” before running the next length.

We have all grown to love this game, especially right before naptime. However yesterday as we were playing it, she said, “This is so fun! I LOVE HOCKEY!”

AAHHH! NO! She thinks bedtime-wear-out-tactic is the beloved sport?

A closer “game” would be if I ripped off my gloves, pulled her pink bunny shirt up over the back of her head and body-checked her into her toddler bed, while Dan tried to pull us apart and sent me to the penalty box.

*I chose to use “deke” because it was always my favorite hockey term. I love the sound of it. “What a great deke” sounds so much cooler than, “What a great fake.”

deke or deking:
a decoying or faking motion by the puck-carrier; the art of making a defensive player think you are going to pass or move in a certain direction when you are not. There are shoulder dekes, stick dekes, and head dekes.