Drops of Awesome

Personal Blog of Author Kathryn Thompson

Parenting

One Suck Per Day

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Laylee discovered the word “sucks” this week. She’s known the word for a long time but this week she discovered it in all its frustration-ventilating splendor.

“I forgot my homework at school. That sucks.”

“Oh man. I dropped the spoon on the floor. That SUCKS!”

“It’s bedtime. It so sucks.”

I use that expression sometimes, probably more than I should, but hearing it from my 9-year-old after every third sentence is alarming. It sounds so negative and a bit crass and… well… annoying.

So yesterday when she used it for the third time in as many minutes, I stopped her.

“Laylee,” I said, “You use that word a lot. It’s a strong word and it indicates strong feelings. If you’re using it more than once per day, then you’re not using it correctly. If you use it that much, then it won’t mean anything anymore.”

She furrowed her brow, thinking. And she hasn’t used it since. Because if things can only suck once a day, then you have to be very choosy about how you categorize your disappointments.

If I’d told her not to use it at all, she might have snarked or rebelled, but to tell her she was misusing vocabulary? That gave her pause.

Losing IT

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Sometimes I’m a great mom, times like yesterday morning and afternoon when I walked all over town taking Wanda to the park and the library for story time. Then every once in a while I snap and it’s not pretty. It’s not even homely. It’s bad.

We’ve been stressing out, maybe too much, about where Laylee would take ballet this year. She’s nine and she loves to dance and there are altogether too many things to consider when raising a kid. How do we encourage her passion for dance without pigeon-holing her and cutting her off from all other activities? How will she know if dance is the only activity she loves if it’s the first activity she’s ever kissed? How much is too much?

So, we decided to slow down from her dance school’s 4-hour per week class recommendation and move her to a school in the next town over that offers a slower road to pointe. It was a tough decision and I’m not sure if it’s right, but my head was exploding so I just cried Uncle and paid the registration fee.

But we’re both nervous to try a new place. Will she like it? Will they like us? Will she be challenged enough but still able to have a life outside of dance?

So yesterday, the first day at the new studio, she didn’t get off the bus at her stop. We had to search the bus and drag her out and she came off the bus late and sobbing. SOBBING. Apparently the book she was reading was way sadder than a book should ever be.

“And it just ends like that,” she sobbed, “That’s it. There’s no sequel. It can’t get happy because it’s just over. The end. This is a bad, bad book mom. It started out sad and then got as good as a book can possibly get and then got as bad as a book can possibly get.”

The characters were so real to her and she couldn’t handle the emotion and the betrayal. She was nearly inconsolable and, as an insanely easy crier, I was extremely proud. Her reaction showed compassion and sensitivity and, oh crap, we were gonna be late for our first day of ballet.

So, I drove her home, got her dressed, arranged her hair into a perfect ballet bun, (Doesn’t it feel like that should be spelled B-U-N-N-E?) and told her to grab her shoes. She’d worn her ballet shoes off and on all summer as she stretched and practiced.

“Grab them,” I said.

Blank stare, followed by grimace.

“Are they lost?”

Shrug.

“Look for them.”

Ten minutes later, she informed me that they were really, for real, very truly lost and… oh well.

And. Then. I. Snapped.

She lost her shoes and I lost it. It was nowhere to be found.

We had 2 minutes until we needed to be in the car driving if we wanted to be on time and I started tearing around her room, searching. And she just stared at me. As soon as I was on the case, she gave up. And I lost it a little more.

With her standing there watching, I dumped out her drawers, and her laundry basket and all the one thousand little purses full of nothing that were stashed all over her room. It turned into a full-on tantrum. The shoes! The SHOES! Where were the ever-loving SHOOOOOES! I yanked all the bedding and books and stuffed animals and reading lights and grocery items and 4th grade necessities from her bed while she bawled her eyes out.

I couldn’t stop and I couldn’t calm down.

And I was horrified with myself for acting like a bratty toddler.

But it was like I was outside myself looking in and thinking, STOP, but I couldn’t.

We left shoeless and we still can’t find them. I knew she was devestated on the drive, but still I lectured her. She went to her first class crying.

I can count on one hand the number of times in my life that I was doing something and I could tell it made someone feel small and I did it anyway. I hate those times. I want to yank them from the record and start fresh.

But my apology can’t erase this one, the time I forgot who I was because… shoes. Laylee will remember this. She may talk about it at family reunions or tell her kids. I hope that when she does, she will add in the part about how I apologized and maybe how she learned that being a grown-up doesn’t mean being perfect. It means putting the room back together better than it was before while talking about our lives and giving periodic hugs. Being a grown-up means knowing when you’re wrong, feeling utterly crappy about it, fixing it as best you can and doing better.

Turning the Car Around

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“If your kids fully know that you’re completely unwilling to follow through on your threats, there’s no way they’ll trust you or do what you ask. I know this with my head but my heart and my laziness sometimes have a hard time laying down the smack. I give too many “chances” and then get frustrated when they whine and beg for ‘one more chance, just one more chance.'”

[Read more at Parenting.com]

Unwritten House Rules

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If you observe my children, you’ll start to think we have a series of very interesting rules in place in our home.

#8. Refuse to eat food that is more than five minutes old because it is “leftovers” unless it’s more than two days old and you find it on the floor.

[Read more at Parenting.com]

Working from Home

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I’ve been home with my kids from the time Laylee was born eight years ago. For the most part I’ve loved it. As with any occupation, it has its rough moments, but overall I couldn’t have asked for a better gig.

The thing about mothering is, it’s more of a calling than a job so being free to pursue it full time is kind of a joyful thing, even at the worst of times. Loving and nurturing another person is a pretty sweet way to spend your days, even if the person is sticky and periodically obnoxious. I’m sticky and obnoxious sometimes too.

But the Thompsons are slowing down (or stopping) in our child production and the kids are getting older. I’ve been taking on more writing work, most notably my new job writing the Mom Congress education blog over at Parenting.com. My novel’s actually still coming along too. I can’t wait for you to read it.

Today I was typing a post about technology in the classroom while sitting on my front porch while Wanda napped and Magoo rode his bike up and down our long driveway. I would periodically pause to chat with him about form or speed or his need for goggles or a light for when he’s riding on the street at night, which is SOOOOOO likely to happen in this lifetime. Then I’d go back to writing.

Sometimes I write with Wanda on my lap, inserting creative punctuation and closing windows while I’m reading them. I stop to drive a carpool, change laundry loads, pick up from the bus or snuggle on the couch and read a board book over and over and over again.

Right now I have so much to learn about education that I’m spending hours every day just reading articles. Hopefully when I’m a little more experienced, I’ll be able to cut that down.

Probably the hardest part about working from home is knowing when to cut myself off and just be at home. Since home and work are the same place, the line is blurry. There are times when I’m working on the novel and Dan goes to bed without me or I’m reading a particularly dense article and I snap when the kids need my help with something.

I’ll figure it out. Even with things as they are, I’m feeling pretty blessed. I’m doing what I love while being with the people I love and I’m getting paid to do some of it. This is a good situation.

Are any of you working from home? Tell me about it.

Do I Look Busier to You?

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So I said I was lost in fiction, working on a novel I plan to finish by this summer. This is true. Then I started blogging more here because I have so many words inside me that I need to get out.

I still blog Wednesdays at the Parenting Post because it is for fun.

And starting today I’ll be blogging all education all the time over at Parenting.com’s Mom Congress blog. I love Mom Congress. It’s Parenting’s education advocacy initiative. Each year 51 moms from across the United States are selected to come to Washington, D.C., talk education policy and GET IT DONE. These are strong, powerful women who are passionate about making a difference in education.

I’m really excited to glom on to their hard work and initiative and learn and contribute what I can. If you have any great ideas for topics I can cover in education, I’d love to hear your thoughts. It would also be lovely to have some friendly faces come visit me over there on my first day.