Drops of Awesome

Personal Blog of Author Kathryn Thompson

Parenting

I Don’t Need to Be the Biggest Loser, Just the Loser with the Biggest Thumbs

by

I’m a little bit sick still in my throat but I’ve been working out anyway. Somebody came over and left a crusty comment about how I should be working hard instead of railing on a reality TV franchise and I just want to tell you all that there is such a thing as humor and that I am working hard and I feel at least 1.7% better about the health of my body after one week of serious exercise. Yipee!

For those of you who asked, the book I’m using is The Biggest Loser Fitness Program intermediate routine #1 with cardio on my off days. I’m also supplimenting with Super Paper Mario for the Wii for thumb strength and map-reading skills. For those of you who didn’t ask, that was probably too much information.

While I’m doing all the working out, Laylee is occupying herself well. The latest is up at Parenting.

Bunks, Thugs and Harmony

by

Bunkbeds at Costco were ripe for the picking and who am I to argue with purchasing furniture when it’s in season? About a year ago they had them in stock and I wasn’t QUITE quick enough snatching one up. When I went back they were gone and we haven’t found a set as nice for as reasonable a price since so I’ve been laying in wait, checking back every week or so for the past 12 months, comforting myself for the fruitless trips by purchasing books and artichoke dip.

Dan brought home the impossibly large boxes and stashed them in the garage while I made the rounds of every store in the known universe looking for twin mattresses. I settled on some basic foam mattresses from IKEA because I’d like to keep our retirement savings intact and also eat Swedish meatballs at least once a year. I could not BELIEVE how much most stores were charging for basic twin mattresses. In this case “basic” means spring mattresses where you can practically see the springs poking through the thin layer of foam and plastic on top. You can certainly feel them if you make the mistake of laying down on one of those torture devices. For that price I could get two comfortable, if less than durable, foam mattresses and several meatballs WITH SAUCE at IKEA! The “spring” mattresses at ye olde mattress warehouse may have been durable but I’m pretty sure the kids would be praying for them to self destruct after the first five minutes so I decided to go with my “durable crap is still crap” philosophy and purchase the less durable, less crappy crap.

They’re actually quite comfortable.

After we got the beds up, visions of blissful childish room sharing danced in my head and I couldn’t help letting them try sleeping in them together the first night. We told Magoo that if he got out of bed, he’d have to go back to the crib in his room. Five minutes went by before we heard footsteps running down the hall. We found him spinning in circles around the living room with his head thrown back in the heady winds of freedom, a maniacal laugh escaping his lips. The laughing stopped when we tossed him back in the brig.

The second night he kept mumbling to himself about, “I no get out of m’bunk bed. I stay in m’bunk bed.” And he did. For hours he laid in bed talking to himself. We eventually found him sound asleep with Laylee spooning up next to him, a blanket covering them both. My heart nearly exploded. There’s nothing I love more than to see my kids be sweet to each other.

m'bunk beds


When I asked her about it in the morning, Laylee said that it was lonely way up there on the top bunk and each night this week she’s waited for Magoo to drift off before sneaking down the ladder, adjusting his blankets so he’ll be warm enough and climbing in for a snuggly sleep. This is why I became a mom.

Of course they’ve also been waking up earlier than usual and when one wakes up, they both get up and wreak havoc. Dan found them yesterday morning camped out on the kitchen floor with spray whip cream, chocolate chips and a whole package of sandwich cookies from which the frosting had mysteriously been licked. Some of the frosting was found on Dan’s computer and the doll house was full of chocolate chips. The two of them argued over which kid had thought of which little bit of naughtiness and luckily Dan got mad at them so I didn’t have to. I could focus my energy on the sweetness of their bonding.

I told him how much I love that they’re becoming best friends. “They do everything together now,” I grinned.

“Yes,” Dan smiled dryly, “Sort of like a gang.”

Herod and I — We’re Jerks

by

We’re trying to fight the media-oric power of Santa’s publicity machine and teach Laylee and Magoo that Christmas is actually a religious holiday with fun attached as a festive bonus. Some days we win and sometimes the kids get all “Manger, what? Maybe I’ll care if you tell me it was full of liquid sugar.”

So tonight for family night I asked Laylee to tell us all the Christmas Story minus the reindeer, elves and abominable snow people. She asked me for a refresher and using the Little People as props, I took her through the basics.

When we got to the sinister part where Herod told the wise guys to come and tell him when they’d found Jesus because he wanted to worship him too, Laylee went into full panic mode. “I don’t like this part. I hate this story. He wanted to hurt the baby! I don’t like this part. I don’t want to tell it.”

She completely lost control and started shaking and bawling. Holding her in my arms trying to comfort her fear, I told her it was okay because he didn’t get to harm the baby. God protected Jesus and told the wise men what Herod had up his sleeve. She didn’t care if the baby got hurt or not. It was enough to know that someone was evil enough to want to do it. It was too scary.

We’ve talked about this story a bazillion times before and she’s never been bothered by it. When we get to the Herod part, she usually flinches, gives little smile and shakes with pretend fear and a look that says, “Phew! That was close.”

What was different today?

Adult things. I’ve been talking about hairy scary adult things for days, flooding, sadness, homelessness, despair, destruction, death and loss. To her I explained the disaster in a way a 4-year-old could understand. I gave her the Bambi version. “Bambi. Your mother can’t be with you anymore.”

Then I proceeded to watch news footage, talk on the phone with friends and family and cry about what I’d seen. “Bambi. Your mother can’t be with you anymore.

“Hey Thumper, don’t tell Bambi that his mom was brutally murdered by a faceless thug with a shotgun. They’re everywhere these days. It makes me cry just thinking about it. Bambi will likely be the next to go but don’t tell him. It may stress him out.

“Like I told you B, your mom’s gone on a long vacation but everything is juuuust peachy.”

I got her calmed down with sugar cookies, something I never thought I’d hear myself say, and I now pledge to be more protective of her innocence. She’s a baby in a world that wants her to grow up way too fast and she’s not deaf and I am not equipped with a soundproof telephone booth in which to cry and muse about the horrors and tragedies of this world in her presence.

She seemed to bounce back quickly, although her mental state is altered to the point that she’s now convinced she’s a feline and will only answer to sentences that begin with the word “Meow.” But then I’m not sure that particular disorder has anything to do with me, floods or evil biblical kings. She may just be four.

Going Crazy

by

Things are pretty crazy here and there’s no real reason why. I need to do some shifting and reorganizing and maybe think about exercising a teensy bit of self control and time management. Maybe I need the Fly Lady. Maybe I need Lara. (Does anyone know what’s happened to the Lazy Organizer? Her site’s down all the time.) Maybe I just need to go to bed.[read more at parenting.com]