Drops of Awesome

Personal Blog of Author Kathryn Thompson

world domination

My Self-Imposed Interactive Nanny Cam

by

We miss Dan a lot. You see, he works all day… at an office… far far away from our raucous good times. Sometimes he doesn’t make it home in time for dinner and we think about him and talk about him and set his place at the table just in case.

A couple of weeks ago we finally got our webcam hooked up and working so I decided to video conference him in to our evening meal. We sat the laptop on his placemat and initiated a web call right before we said the prayer. Then we started to eat while he worked, showing him bites of food in an effort to entice him home. It worked. It’s possible he came home because he could no longer get anything done with the sounds of our dinnertime filling his office.

It was so fun to have him “with us” that I’ve been connecting to him with the web cam frequently throughout the day. We’ll say hi and smile and wave a lot and then I’ll leave the camera running as I go about the day. He turns the volume down so he can get some work done and then periodically glances up at us to see what we’re doing. The sound of his fingers hammering away at the keyboard is comforting to me and it feels almost like he’s here with us. The sound of a keyboard is the sound of Dan.

Every once in a while he uses his view of the house to tell Laylee not to eat so close to the computer or to call out to Magoo to stop whatever he’s doing or face the most dire of consequences.

When I’m making dinner, I position the camera in the kitchen so he can have his own personal cooking show if he cares to glance up.

To me, this kind of big brother bonding is AWESOME. However I’ve spoken to a couple of other moms who were not so keen on the idea of having a live video feed of their day being broadcast to their husbands at work.

What do you think? Would you do it? Do you do it?

Biggest Loser – EXPOSED

by

It has come to my attention that the entire Biggest Loser franchise, Jillian Michaels specifically, is not working to help overweight Americans but rather attempting to kill fat people.

I started watching last season when Dan was working a billion hours and there was nothing on TV Tuesday nights and heaven forbid I do anything productive after 8 o’clock at night. I was inspired by the alleged “transformations” of the “contestants.” I even softened my stone-cold veneer for a few moments and cried once or twice…
every episode… for the whole season.

Now I’m somewhat fluffy myself and after watching several episodes while chowing down on my favorite snack foods, the propaganda started working on me. I thought, “I could do that [snarf, snarf, crunch crunch gobble gobble]. They’re so inspir[munch munch]ing! If she could lose that much weight, I could totally [swallow gulp gulp] shed the pounds I have to lose and tone up like a swimsuit model.”

Am I the only one who can’t stop eating while they watch that show?

So I bought the Biggest Loser Fitness Plan book, which was approximately as uncomfortable as purchasing my first box of tampons. You know if someone sees you buying feminine hygiene products they might know you’re a… a… a girl and if you buy a BIGGEST LOSER book, they might suspect you of being overweight because I’m sure they couldn’t tell by the pinchable pudge of your too-loveable-for-a-person-over-the-age-of-2 cheeks.

After doing the workout one time yesterday, I’ve finally figured out their master plot.

It’s true that the producers want to decrease the number of overweight Americans. They plan to accomplish this by convincing us to try the diet and exercise routines, effectually picking us off one by one like puffer fish in a barrel when we can no longer raise our arms or effectively move our legs.

It seems fairly obvious to me at this point that the so called “contestants” are really just smoking hot athlete/models in remarkable stage makeup for a show that is to weight loss what the WWF is to real wrestling. No real pinchable overweight person can live through these workouts.

“Ow!”
~Kathryn Thompson~

Water Torture is for Sissies

by

If you really want to wreak havoc with your mortal enemies’ psyches, pump their house full of rabid fruit flies that have no identifiable nesting ground or food source.

The flies will billow in clouds around their heads driving them to:

-flail their arms around spasmodically
-clap loudly at random times
-hit themselves
-scream at invisible flying specs of annoyance
-repeatedly peek into bowls of apple cider vinegar laced with dish soap and cackle with self-satisfaction
-LOSE THEIR MINDS!!!!!

Bowl of Carnage

Insecure Voter

by

Procrastinator seems like a made up word, like slang for someone who procrastins. It makes me think of the rodenator or a guy who would give me the wink and the gun and call me Kate-inator.

Well I’ve been procrastinatorating filling out my absentee ballot, or to be more exact, I’ve been putting off researching candidates and initiatives so that I’d have a clue how to fill out my absentee ballot for today’s election.

I’m coming to believe it’s impossible to be completely informed about who I’m voting for. I can read the voter information pamphlet, stare into the candidates’ black and newsprint-colored eyes and try to gauge the temperature of their souls. I can get out a magnifying glass and try to determine whether or not they floss their giant banana shaped tooth. It’s also useful to count up the total minutes of conflicting and deceptive TV ads for both sides of each issue, multiply them by 8 and vote for the one with the smallest amount of small print. Sometimes I find useful information online or on local newsgroups or in email forwards Dan gets at work listing the candidates’ bizarre habits and favorite flavors of lip gloss.

There’s really no way to know absolutely what the best choice will be in every single race. For initiatives I usually vote for the side that’s supported by the groups I trust most on that particular issue. It’s not foolproof but it’s worked for me so far.

Well I completely forgot about the ballot as it was sitting on top of the fridge in my basket of things that are so important for me to do that I hide them in a basket on top of the fridge where I will never think of them or ever do them. As I was leaving a friend’s house this evening, she reminded me to vote. For what? So You Think You Can Dance doesn’t start again till the summer. Oh, that one democratic election thingy.

“Well,” I told her, “I haven’t missed voting in an election since I turned 18. I guess I missed this one.”

But on the way home, I was overcome with guilt. If I didn’t vote and the public school initiative didn’t pass, what would I tell Nancy my PTA-volunteering, public school-lubbin’ friend? I must vote in every election. What if the lady who loves mint-apple lip gloss got to be on my city council? I could not abide it. So I pulled out my information packet, did some speedy research and voted to the best of my abilities.

Laylee was concerned.

“Why are you boating?”

“I’m VOTing to help decide who gets to be in charge of our country.”

With wide-eyed concern she protested, “But I don’t want ANYONE to be in charge of our country. I just want it to be America so we can have our America flag.”

I tried to explain that America is still American, even if someone is the boss of it.

I don’t think she bought it.

My Responsibility

by

There’s a small local bookstore in my neighborhood. I like books. I like supporting the town. So I shop at this bookstore.

The books are used. Sometimes I have to settle for Olivia Saves the Circus instead of the original Olivia, but they’re both cute, they cost less than three dollars and I’m giving my money to members of my community, rather than some faceless chain store.

Once when I was looking at books and Magoo went on a crazy 2-year-old rampage, one of the store owners brought over some toys and played with him until I was ready to check out.

They have an unlisted phone number and no computer. They take cash or checks only. They keep an index card listing of the books you’d like to purchase so that if a copy comes in, they can give you a call. The store smells like my grandma’s basement, not really in a good way. I love this bookstore.

Then a couple of days ago a friend who recently moved to the area said, “I know you like that bookstore but I just don’t feel comfortable going in there with my 3 kids. They have a big bumper sticker right on the door that says ”˜Reproductive Responsibility — 2 is Enough!’”

I was dumbstruck. Nah! She must be mistaken. I’ve been in there tons of times and I’ve never seen that. She was pretty sure she’d seen it. So I took a peek the next time I was driving by. Sure enough, right at eye level, just above the OPEN sign is a good sized sign proclaiming that I should stop having children to save the planet.

responsibility

I came home really upset. What right do they have to tell me how many kids I should have? Who are they to judge the reproductive choices of everyone on the planet? I was offended and I told Dan that I simply wouldn’t shop there anymore.

As usual, he remained calm despite my 28-year-old rampage and waited for me to join him in his happy place. Then he said something about how we choose not to live in a cave somewhere because we want to be part of a community and learn to get along with people who think and believe differently than we do. The owners of the bookstore are kind people and they’re our neighbors.

So now I’d at least like to talk to them about the sign. But what do I say?

First I want to ask them to explain their position. Then I want to explain mine.

I have the right to choose how many children my family can love, nurture and provide for. I have a religious belief that God created the earth with resources enough and to spare and that having and lovingly raising children is a spiritually fulfilling and earth-building endeavor. If we’re running out of resources, then we should be wiser about how we use them, not be controlling how many of us get to use them. If all the caring and educated people in the world start limiting their offspring in order to save the planet, won’t the very people who are the least well-equipped to care for and teach children become the ones who are having the most of them?

I feel like I need to say something if I’m gonna keep shopping there, especially if we decide to have another baby. Putting my personal feelings and religious beliefs aside, I just don’t think it’s their right to judge anyone else for their decision. I also don’t think it’s appropriate to place a sign like that prominently at the entry to your place of business.

Tip Tuesday — Picky Spice and Other Instances of Parental Trickery

by

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?

Lunch Engine Optimization

by

Peanut butter and jam sandwiches on bread with pink jelly, sugar sauce that tastes like candy, creamy brown sauce, squishy homemade pastry and proteinI hear a lot of people talking shmack about Search Engine Optimization, the art of getting your website as high in the search results as possible on Google, MSN, Yahoo or Hakia.

There are many ways to do this. One is to creatively add popular keywords all over your site, in your post titles, your categories and tags, anywhere that would be picked up by a search engine. If you say “Purple Manatees” 400 times on the front page of your website, chances are you will rank pretty high on an MSN search for purple manatees. If you say “purple manatees” 400 times AND “large redish-blue sea creatures that are also known as cows of the sea, who live in the ocean in salt water and swim like fishes even though they’re mammals who are larger than PARIS HILTON or BRITNEY SPEARS,” you really broaden the search results people can use to find your site.

I’ve never really done this, but I hear the key is to use terms that a lot of people search for and to use as many different terms as possible.

Today I noticed that although I don’t do this on my website, I totally do it to get my kids to put the lunch I’ve made high on their personal search results page. Laylee wanted peanut butter and Magoo just wanted some BREAD!

Instead of — “peanut butter sandwiches,” I made, “Peanut butter and jam sandwiches on bread with pink jelly, sugar sauce that tastes like candy, creamy brown sauce, squishy homemade pastry and protein.”

That way, if they’re searching for peanuts, butter, jam, sandwiches, bread, pink things, jelly/jello/gelatinous anything, sugar, sauce, brown items, things that squish, homemade things, pastries, or vital protein-type nutrients, my PB&J creation will match their search perfectly.

Tomorrow I may whip up some “Kraft macaroni and cheese, slightly overcooked but almost al dente, pasta noodles with orange cheesish sauce, made with milk (an ingredient also found in ice cream), butter, unknown chemicals, saturated fat, refined carbohydrates, fun, slurpable goodness and joy.”

the reasons: cilantro, blue sky, Dan greeting me in the morning with an invitation to go clothes shopping

Seattle Mom Blogs

by

Seattle Mom BlogsJenny, Eve and I stayed up WAY too late in Chicago and came up with all kinds of ideas. We decided to make up songs and sing in an atonal vibrato. We decided to jump from bed to bed wearing capes. And we decided to set up a community to encourage and promote moms who blog in the Greater Seattle Area.

If you’re a mom who blogs from anywhere in or around Seattle, please join us as we try to connect, support each other and undoubtedly take over the world.

Seattle Mom BlogsAnyone is free to go over and nominate one of your favorite posts for the month. The post does not need to be by a Seattle blogger. The nominator does not need to be a Seattle blogger. However, only the academy of Seattle bloggers will be able to vote on the winner. We’d love your nominations!

Big Fat Harry Plot

by

glasses-kidsJ. K. Rowling is trying to take over the world through social isolation, lack of personal hygiene and sleep deprivation. With half the world’s population starved for quality sleep, unshowered and refusing to talk to even their closest friends, Ms. Rowling is poised to take over the muggle world.

I finally finished last night and I can now speak to people again and even use the interwebs, no longer afraid that someone will drop a spoiler disguised as a “review”. When people at church told me they’d finished it, I would walk away from them quickly before they could utter another word. I did not want to hear, “It was so awesome” or “It didn’t quite do it for me” because then I’d know something and I wanted a blank slate experience. I can now go to sleep sometime before I’m supposed to wake up and I may even shower later.

Did I like the book? If you’ve already finished it and you’d like to continue this discussion via email, I will be happy to share my humble opinion.

Raging on the Road to Pass the Time

by

On long cross-country drives, it is not unusual for me to find my Newman, that innocuously evil nemesis who seems intent on ruining the flow of my driving or simply driving me insane.

Their driving travesties are honestly not that bad when compared with say, global terrorism or Barney, but they’re just annoying enough to make me slam back a diet cherry coke, ask incredulous questions to no one in particular and tense my hands in the 10 and 2 position to make the steering wheel feel my pain.

This last trip I did not run up against the ever-heinous long-term-blinker addict. However I did experience a touch of the exasperated-that-I’m-only-going-10-over-the-speed-limit-elaborately-gesticulating-tailgating-headlight-flicker-er, and the you’ll-thank-me-for-my-high-beams-in-your-rearview-mirror-when-you-eventually-go-blind-and-don’t-have-to-watch-The-Fantastic-Four-Part-15-a-couple-years-from-now-ite.

However, the most annoying this trip was the woman who graduated from the driving school where they preach vehemently against conformity such as the use of cruise control or any kind of control over the speed of your vehicle. It must be a large and successful driving academy because I come across its students with frequency.

Why it should bother me that a person passes me only to slow down to below the speed limit so I can pass her at a steady 70 miles per hour, only to have her blow past me like I’m a pylon 2 minutes later, pull back in front of me and slam on her brakes, I’ll never know.

But she is my nemesis and I feel that she must be stopped. After about the 3rd time she passes me, my patience begins to fail. I say things like, “Ratchin fratchen fruggen!” and grip the wheel more tightly. Eventually I begin the drinking and in a battle of wills, I vow to maintain my speed of 70 or veer off the road in the attempt.

It is a standoff. I with my cruise control and she with her blatant spedometeric insanity.

I know I should be worried about much more important things but in a several hour drive with a little boy who points out every rock, tree, blade of grass, speck of dirt, piece of water and cow we pass and repeats his observations frantically until they are acknowledged with a respectful level of frenzied excitement, little things tend to catch my attention.

Is it illegal to ram someone’s taillight to silence their eternal turn signal or is that just considered a public service?