Drops of Awesome

Personal Blog of Author Kathryn Thompson

Family Time

Don’t Put the Grocery Money in Your Bra

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At times, I have been known to spend money in a fashion similar to that of an imbibing mariner. This combined with my hatred of budgets and our need to put a new roof on the house has me and Dan taking drastic measures to save money. Each week we withdraw a small amount of cash from the bank to spend on groceries and other non-bill expenses. We spend the money carefully and when it runs out, we’re done. Period.

We’ve been doing it for a few weeks now and it’s amazing how much more aware I am of my usual spending habits when I run out of cash partway through the week and have to stay home to avoid buying the books, pomegranate drinks and “sale items” that seem to leap into my hands whenever I step out my front door.

The second week of our cash diet, Dan came home with a small stack of money. Since I do most of the family shopping, I get most of the cash and it came time for Dan to hand it over. He placed the twenties where any good husband would put several bills he was giving to his main lady friend. I giggled and forgot about it.

At Trader Joes that afternoon, I got up to the register to pay for my groceries and noticed that all my cash was missing from my wallet! Ack. I had just enough left from the first week to pay for my things and then I began to search frantically for the missing money. Up and down every aisle I dragged the kids, combing the ground with my eyes for a flash of non-edible green. NOTHING.

Sadly, I headed out to the car, loaded the kids and groceries and buckled my own seatbelt. Ouch. What was that? My shirt was so itchy. I pulled it away from my chest and looked down. Bingo!

It was a huge relief. I was relieved to have found the week’s money and relieved that Laylee was too young to ask me why I had lost it in such a strange place. I can only imagine the scene at the store if I’d discovered my lost allowance while at the register and dived in to retrieve it. From now on, I think I’ll use a wallet like a normal person.

Tip Tuesday — Picky Spice and Other Instances of Parental Trickery

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Spouses? Spice? Spizals?

This Tip Tuesday is about tricking your kids… in a good way… in a way that helps them become better people because they have no clue what’s really going on with their parents… in a way that masks your neuroses so that they can develop neuroses of their own without having to resort to following in your oh-so-strange footsteps.

Dan hates mushrooms and olives. I, on the other hand, have taste buds. When we were first married, Dan would pick things he didn’t like out of his food, while I sat mortified until I exploded and said that once we had kids he could NEVER NEVER DO THAT AGAIN. I would not raise finicky kids. Period.

This was a sore spot in our marriage. Then we had Laylee. She didn’t talk much, drooled frequently and seemed unfazed by Dan’s mountain of black olive bits. So he carried on. Eventually I could see her eyes beginning to focus, she began speaking in full poetic verse, complete with 5-syllable words in iambic pentameter and I knew it was time but Dan was reluctant to change.

So we developed a system for picky spouses/spice. When I make something that contains a rogue element which Dan finds repulsive, I will dish his portion carefully to avoid giving him too much of the hated item. I will then make some comment about how tasty the mushrooms are and beg him to share his with me… for love… and chivalry.

He always concedes to do so, thus looking like a hero instead of a Picky Mickey. The children see how desirable the item is if I’m begging for it and grow up to be happy mushrootarians. And the peasants rejoice.

I know you all have weirdness. How do you hide it from your little peeps?

The Potty Training Answer Book

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potty bookThis lovely little book about potty training has done a number on me. Just binging up the topic of potty training now that Magoo’s nearing 2 and a half makes me twitch a little. I delight in the fact that he’s not showing the signs of readiness. Rather than looking forward with excitement to that milestone, I find the signs of readiness alarming because I am not yet ready and do not want to deal with training him when he is.

I thought reviewing Karen Deerwester’s book of answers might be thing I needed to push me towards the next big step in Magoo’s development. Not so. She has a very calming and relaxed approach to potty training, describing how each parent should come up with a personal plan for each child to help them become successful, given their unique personality and temperament.

She tells parents to chill out, advice I definitely could have used when I first started with Laylee, convince I should train her the same way I was trained even though we are totally different in temperament. I created an emotional and physical battleground in our little condo that I shudder to remember, so insistent that I be “right” about what her body was doing.

Reading the calming and enthusiastic book actually stressed me out more because of all the questions she addresses. Laylee was never afraid of toilets! Oh no! Maybe Magoo will be. Laylee never pooped in potted plants or behind furniture. Ack! Maybe Magoo will. The advice in the book was good and covered a really wide range of potty training issues. I guess I just don’t want to need all that advice. I’m hoping Magoo will self-train before the age of 12. Here’s to pleasant dreams and happy fantasies!

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Special Parenting Powers

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I will forevermore dazzle my friends at play dates and freshman mixers now that I’ve come up with the best superpowers ever. I want a highly-directional periscopic nose and extendible lips. These are powers I never would have dreamed of until becoming a mother. [read more at Parenting.com]

Real Men Watch Victorian Romance Movies

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And they LIKE them!

Wives and Daughters finally came up in my Netflix queue last week and the first disc in the BBC miniseries arrived by mail much to my girlish glee and delight.

Dan got home from work when I was about halfway through the first disc and after a brief rundown of the major characters and their likeliness to make advantageous matches with each other, he was hooked. WHAT would happen to Miss Molly? What, indeed!

The disc ended at the most cliffhangerish of cliffhangers and we were left wondering whether a girl of nearly twenty would be doomed to remain a spinster, or more importantly, whether the 10 pounds her father provided for ribbons and gowns would be enough to make her quite suitable for the many balls she would attend in the meantime.

I sent the disc back and waited anxiously for the conclusion to arrive in my mailbox. Yesterday it DID! I asked Dan semi-sarcastically if he’d like me to wait so he could watch it with me. He said he really wanted to see what happened and we cuddled up to view the enchanting finale.

As the movie started, Stephanie’s husband who’s staying with us this week got home from work and asked what we were watching. When we told him he said, “Those shows can really hook you in, where you just have to know what happens next.” He decided to keep his distance.

10 minutes later I heard him sigh from the kitchen where he had been eavesdropping, “Oh FINE!” He headed over to the couch, dinner plate in hand, and plunked himself down next to Dan.

They commentated throughout the movie with me and hazarded guesses about what would happen next. They referred to the characters by their names and asked questions like, “Why does he get called ”˜Mr. Osbourne’ when they just call his brother ”˜Roger’?” and, “Wouldn’t that be hard to do in a corset?” They clapped their hands and laughed out loud at the funny parts and they cringed at the DRAMA OF IT ALL.

Dan held me like a baby during the moments of repressed passion and romance, the parts that left me clasping my hands to my tender bosom, whilst tears welled up in my eyes.

It was the best movie-watching experience of my married life. And when it was over and our house guest was safely out of earshot, I turned to Dan and said, “Oh, Mr. Roger. Would you take me upstairs?”

“Nothing could please me more,” he exclaimed and my heart grew three sizes.