Personal Blog of Author Kathryn Thompson
Tonight as I was kissing my little Magooly man-child through the bars of his wooden prison I wondered, “At what point must he be liberated, free to (heaven have mercy!) roam the estate at night while we’re sleeping?”
I don’t think the time is now, but the fact that I’m asking the question makes me think the time is soon… and I fear for all our lives.
I have it. [read more]
I stay home with my kids. The decision has less to do with the fact that I have the option of wearing pajamas all day and more to do with the fact that I vainly think I can give them the best care out there. It may not be the most mentally stimulating, educationally sound care out there, but I think it’s the best because I love them more than anyone else on the planet. I also play Milli Vanilli and flail my limbs around the living room like an epileptic sea anemone daily. Name me one daycare that does that. Exactly my point.
Today Laylee asked, “Why don’t mommies go to work like daddies?”
Me: Some mommies do go to work.
Laylee: Why don’t you?
Me: Because we’re so lucky. I get to be with you all the time.
Her faced looked more like she’d just eaten a buttered-popcorn flavored Jelly Belly than that she felt like the luckiest girl in the world to have me all up in her grill all day long.
Me: If I went to work every day, then you’d have to go to a babysitter instead.
Her face lit up. Babysitters = no rules, endless movies and painted toenails for 4 year olds.
Me: Not all babysitters are that fun. I love you more than any babysitter could and so you’re just so lucky to be with someone who loves you all day long.
Laylee: If you die, can I go to work with Dad and drink chocolate milk all day?
Me: Nope. Dad’s not allowed to have kids at Megacorp all the time. If I die, you’ll have to go away to a babysitter all day [the thought crosses my mind that she’s seen daycare centers around here and they look like magical playlands. Dude. I almost want to go to one.] AND they won’t love you like I do and you’ll be so sad.
She begins to tear up because, dude, what a jerk am I? I suddenly envision what will happen if I ever do go back to work after, in a moment of pride, having built daycare up in her mind as a heartless Dickensian depository for unwanted children.
Me: Or we could find a really nice babysitter or Daddy could go live near Grammy or Grandma and you could stay with them during the day.
Laylee: Yay! I wanna do that.
Me: But if I die you’ll miss me so much.
Laylee: Not really cause you’ll just get resurrected someday and I NEVER get to see Grammy and Grandma. I wanna do that.
Me: No.
On one hand I’m pleased that she’s expressing a belief in the ressurection. On the other hand, how do you continue to play play-doh with someone who’s just expressed that they wish you dead? I ask you — HOW? She doesn’t even know the rules of play-doh. And her hair looks funny. And if I’m so disposable, maybe she can find someone else to fix it for her.
It’s raining in Seattle so why don’t you head on over to the Parenting Post and share the funny questions your kids have asked you?
Today I did something I should have been doing consistently for just years now. I “let” Laylee help me clean the house. This was rare and precious both because I was actually cleaning the house and because I let Laylee be a part of it.
Usually I try to plan activities to keep her busy if the cleaning bug bites me but today she asked meekly, “Mom. Could I please help you scrub the kitchen floor?”
“Um. Sure.”
“Oh THANKS! Will you please save me some of the really sticky parts.”
The really sticky parts are vast and the grid pattern makes it easy to section off the floor into sticky chunks for easy division of labor. I got out a couple of rags so we could do the job Cinderella-style. When Laylee would get up to rinse her rag she would charge me forcefully with the task of saving her sticky squares so she could do them when she got back.
And she did… beautifully. She is a natural at slave labor and she begged for more. So I let her scrub the outside of the fridge and promised that she could scour something tomorrow. She asked me to never clean without her and I made a binding promise. (Future Laylee if you’re reading this, you now know you have no one to blame but yourself.)
In her prayer at bedtime, she thanked God for the chance she had to clean the floors with me and get all the crayon out of the grout. And pieces of my soul floated heavenward and were enveloped by the laughing moon.
Magoo is obsessed with all things Cars. When we arrived at Costco tonight, he saw the pizza stand and yelled, “FOOD! CA-CHOW!” and I loved him well, even though he doesn’t yet pray with fervent thanks for the opportunity to give me spa pedicures on demand. I’ll keep working on that. Maybe by the time he’s 4…
Were you wondering how much of a dork I am? I will tell you how much of a dork I am. At the park today I saw a woman reading the August issue of Parenting Magazine and I wrestled with myself about whether or not to approach her. Periodically they reprint small blurbs from my blog and I happened to know off the top of my head that there was a picture of Laylee’s fuzz-ball hair on page 32. What’s the point in being minimally famous if you can’t tell complete strangers that you are?
So as we pushed our kids on the swings, I nonchalantly said, “My daughter’s picture is in there on page 32.” And she gave me the best response ever.
“Oh!? Is she the hair?”
Yes! Laylee “the hair” Daring. It’s her new mafia name and I couldn’t be prouder.
You can never always sometimes tell what will make a day magical for your kids. [Read more]
“I grab the produce quickly, not taking the time to pretend I know what makes a watermelon good, and I rush back to hug him dramatically. ‘OH BABY!’ I fake-sob…”
I’ve decided to keep my baby. Read more at Parenting.com.
My kids think I’m a little slow and with my left eyelid swollen up like a kalamata olive today, I may look a little dim but I’m actually quite a smart lady.
So my blogging slump is largely due to the week being dominated by my total lerve of So You Think You Can Dance. I so very much enjoy that show. Jeana can mock if she wants but I’m working out and when I get back in shape I will totally learn how to dance and win the whole taco on that show.
Laylee and I may audition together since she’s so good already and it may take a couple of years to lose these extra couple hundred pounds. This spare tire is throwing off my center of gravity on my pirouettes.
And I’m not only striving to out-dance Laylee. I’m also working on out-whining her…