Drops of a Podcast

Today I had the chance to speak with Dr. Paul Jenkins on his Live on Purpose Radio podcast. We chatted about Drops of Awesome and a little of the background behind it. He’s so delightful to speak to and I love the uplifting nature of his show.

It was my first podcast so I kept thinking I should be nervous, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t nervous before. I wasn’t nervous during. He’s just really easy to talk to. AFTER the podcast I got nervous. I had this sort of, “Oh Em Heck. What did I say?” sort of moment.

With writing, you can always go back and edit.

Speaking on someone else’s radio show? Not so much. I think I said bra about five too many times, but other than that it’s probably okay.

Here’s the link:

Live On Purpose Radio with Dr. Paul – Drops of Awesome-Sauce Style

Posted in Blogging, save me from myself | 4 Comments

And She Shall Never Thirst Again

Happy late Pi Day. I hope you ate pie, you free-as-the-wind-gluten/sugar-eating free spirits of freedom. Can you tell this gluten-free/sugar-free thing is bringing me down, man? It is. But the good news is, I don’t feel a ton better off gluten, so bread may be coming back into my life. And pie. And things that taste good.

Sometimes I don’t post because I have nothing to say and sometimes I don’t post for a while because there’s too much to say and I can’t write it all so I get overwhelmed and watch Project Runway instead. It’s been one of those weeks.

I do have something that needs sharing though. Sharing, but with no visual aids. It’s about Drinking Things.

Wanda is my youngest. She is oh-so-three and she is fascinated by body parts, especially taboo body parts. Bums are raucously funny, for one. For another, she’s fascinated by all my friends who nurse their babies. Milk coming out of their bodies?!!?!?!?1!?! Genius!

Well, she’s never seen me nurse, and if all goes according to the plans that feel right to me and my brain and pelvic region, she never will. But the other day, we were taking a shower together and she looked up and her mouth fell open and she pointed up at me accusingly.

“YOU HAVE TWO DRINKING THINGS!” she yelled, shocked. She could not believe I had been holding out on her. All those times in the car when she asked for a drink and I said, “I don’t have anything to drink. We’ll get some water at home.” All of those times were lies, dangdable, dangdable lies.

She looked up at me skeptically.

“When did you get those Drinking Things?”

“When I grew up big like a mommy, I got them so I could feed my babies.”

“You didn’t let me drink your drinking things. Can I drink your drinking things?”

“Oh, you sure did, but you were too little to remember it. Towel please.”

She then looked down at her own chest, massaging it gently in circular motions, and hung her head. “My drinking things are not big. At all.” She looked like she was going to cry.

I assured her that they would grow someday, and that seemed to satisfy her. Until that night. And the next day. And the day after that. And every time we find her standing naked in front of a mirror inspecting them and lamenting. “My drinking things are still not growing big like a mommy. At all.”

She’s genuinely sad and I’m pretty sure it’s all about hydration. With her own set of Drinking Things, or jugs, as they are called in the vernacular, she could carry around milk wherever she went. It would be so awesome. It would be like me having a cheesecake machine growing out of my hip, only to find out that the dang thing was out of service and no one, absolutely no one, could fix it.

FRUSTRATION! SADNESS!

But she soldiers on. And one day. The Drinking Things will come. And hopefully, by that time, she will find more compelling and efficient ways to meet her liquid dietary needs. Because I’m not ready to break it to her that the jugs don’t come full of milk, chocolate or otherwise.

Posted in fun, fun, fun, Honesty of Children, kid stuff | 6 Comments

A Mysterious Birthday Party

Laylee is TEN! Her oldness and lack of being young astound me. You feel me?

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Laylee’s a book nut, so her birthday parties often revolve around favorite literary masterpieces. A couple of years ago we did a Princess Academy theme and this year it was The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart. If you haven’t read the series, I highly recommend the books. They’re fun, sweet, smart and exciting. Dan actually likes them better than the Harry Potter series.

Book parties work well for me because they’re fun, inexpensive, close to home, and they get all of Laylee’s friends reading something together.

This series is about a secret society of extraordinarily gifted children, recruited by Mr. Nicholas Benedict to save the world. They are fighting against an evil man named Ledroptha Curtain who has built a “Whisperer” machine that controls the minds of all the people it broadcasts to. Much of the work the children do involves solving riddles and puzzles, and escaping the evil 10-men, a group of suit-wearing assassins.

So for our party, I recruited Laylee’s friends to help us build an anti-whisperer (made of spray-painted garbage found in my recycling bin and garage) to stop his evil plot.

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The invitation read:

Laylee is turning 10 and we’re celebrating with an adventure.

Mr. Nicholas Benedict has an important mission that only these girls can complete. I’m afraid to say that the fate of the entire world rests on their shoulders.

They must use their greatest skills, cunning and teamwork to stop the mysterious Mr. Curtain who plans to take over first Duvall and then the world. Mwahaha!

And… they’ll only have 2 hours to do it. We will be going on the adventure rain, snow, or shine so dress appropriately. It is likely the clues will lead us all over town. We will come back to the library at the end for cake, if we make it out alive.

(Please consider reading the first book in the Mysterious Benedict Society series by Trenton Lee Stewart prior to the event, although this is not required.)

-Sincerely,

Number 2

The day of the party, I stood outside of the library to greet the girls, dressed as Number 2 in my mustard yellow clothes and red wig, chomping on a carrot. (Number 2 always nibbles on something because she never sleeps and therefore needs more energy to keep her going.)

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I checked them in on my clipboard and sent them to our base in the library meeting room, where Dan, dressed as Mr. Benedict, greeted them and gave them a briefing on the seriousness of the situation and what would be required of them.

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Periodically, he would fall asleep, as the narcoleptic Mr. Benedict is prone to do, and I would catch him before he hit the ground. Amazing acting skills on that Dan Thompson. He told the girls to start their quest by speaking to the person who gives directions to dead trees.

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The Librarian! She gave the girls their first clue:

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The numbers represented letters and number of words in each line represented a number. So we ended up with a call number that took us to a book about firefighters. The firefighter book had the following clue.

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So we headed to the fire station, where we found a piece to our machine and another clue.

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So, the burned edges work with the fire station clue because it’s supposed to be a relic taken from a burning building. But once I started burning edges, I was physically incapable of stopping so I burned all of them. It gives them a certain mystery and I really really like lighting things on fire.

On the way back to the base to decipher the clue, I realized that the party was going much too quickly so I told the girls I had seen a 10-man near the library and we would need to take the long way around, several blocks out of our way to avoid being seen and possibly captured. We marched all over town before ending up back at the library.

They solved this clue by figuring out the missing words and then using the first letter of each word to form a new word, “GRANGE”.

“THE GRANGE!” they all yelled. “I KNOW THAT PLACE!”

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So we headed to the Grange, all the girls thrilled that they were figuring things out on their own.

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The final clue led us (maybe too obviously) to the giant clock located out front of City Hall.

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Now, at this point, the girls thought I had made up everything about how the 10-men were here in Duvall, following us around, trying to thwart us, but as we headed out the library doors, they saw a suspicious man in a dark suit and glasses standing across the street, right in front of the clock… with a briefcase… and watches on both wrists.

“It’s a 10-MAN!” they squealed and dropped to the floor inside the library.

My friend Mike, an actor who I’d asked to help with the party, was right on time. I told the girls I’d distract him so they could go retrieve the clue. They watched with bated breath as I crossed the street, bumped into Mike and ran off down Main Street, with him in hot pursuit. When we were out of site down an alley, the girls hurried across the street and found the clue tucked under some shrubbery near the clock.

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We didn’t get a picture of Mike chasing me, or even one of the 10-man, but Dan’s cousin Jeanie who was visiting for the weekend depicted it like this:

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The final piece of the machine was the back end of a flashlight. When screwed on, the machine lit up and then we could follow the final clue and celebrate.

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Overall, I think it was a success. One girl mentioned to me that it was pretty embarrassing to be walking around town with me in that wig so I told her to walk further ahead if it made her more comfortable but, for the most part, they completely played along.

The party favors were little red buckets, meant to be similar to the red bucket from the book, carried around by main character Kate, full of supplies that can be used to get you out of any sticky situation. I gave them each a flashlight, a cool pencil, some licorice “rope,” an eraser, and a kaleidoscope, because Kate carries a kaleidoscope that secretly doubles as a spy glass.

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If I had it to do over again, I would have made more clues and made them harder to decipher. I would also have used Morse code. But I can’t really complain. Laylee’s happy with how it turned out, and the world has been saved.

You’re welcome.

Posted in around town, family fun, I can read, kid stuff, scaring the neighbors, What Thompsons Do | 16 Comments

Don’t Be Their Negative Voice

I’m really into giving myself a break lately. This morning there were no clean clothes. Pretty much none. Laundry has not been a priority lately as I’ve thrown myself into several home projects. I redecorated my writing space/office/junk room/guest room from a dungeon of despair into something beautiful and I rewired the lights in my kitchen because, according to YouTube, I am an electrician.

So when everyone was naked and frustrated this morning, I thought, Drops of Awesome. It’s been so long since everyone was naked and frustrated in the morning due to a laundry shortage. I’ve been getting much better at this domesticality thing. I am awesome.

They just sighed and lived. It’s true. All survived. Magoo wore soccer socks. Laylee searched for half an hour and found some cleanish pants and Dan just loved me anyway.

It’s kind of amazing. I could easily have let the experience ruin my entire day or week as I beat myself up, but I didn’t. I don’t like to listen to those voices anymore, the ones that tell me I’m a failure. They’re not productive. And they are jerks.

Here’s the problem. I may not listen to those voices in my own head but it doesn’t mean I don’t dish them out on my husband and kids.

A couple of nights ago, I was going over homework with Laylee. It was sloppy. It wasn’t her best effort. She could do so much more. I was being kind and constructive. I was trying to help her improve by pointing out every little imperfection. Halfway through the session, she got tearful and angry.

“Tell me what’s wrong, honey,” I prompted her.

She couldn’t talk. She was too upset. I told her to breathe and get back to me when she was ready. Half an hour passed and she tearfully and sincerely told me, “You are disappointed in everything I do.” She proceeded to list everything she felt she was doing to disappoint me and my heart broke a little. Tears came to my eyes.

I am not disappointed in this little girl. I am, in fact, in awe of her. So I feel like it’s my job to push her to fulfill her potential. And looking into her vulnerable, tearful face, I felt devastated. I’m not a John Gottman groupie, but I do believe in ratios, and as I thought about it, I really couldn’t think of many ways I’d built her up in the past couple of months. I would give myself at least a 5:1 negative to positive interaction ratio.

“You got ninety on this test. What happened here?” (pointing to the missed question)

“Were you paying attention?”

“This isn’t your best work.”

“Why is the milk out?”

“Whose shoes are these and why are they in the living room?”

“I’ve asked five times. Seriously. Set the table. How hard is this?”

“Your teacher says you’re reading when you’re supposed to be doing math.”

“You know better than that.”

“Oh, and I love you. Have a great day.”

“Why didn’t you brush your hair?”

I imagine that my kids’ negative inner voices sound a lot like me, nagging them.

I hugged Laylee. I apologized. I told her that if she thought I was disappointed in her, then I was not doing my job as a mother. Then I told her all the ways I was proud of her.

This was a Drop of Awesome. Just a drop. I can do more and I will. In that moment, that was the drop I could give. But, in that moment, I also decided that the next time I had the choice to correct her for something that did not matter, I’d hug her instead and offer to help.

So, the rest of the whole wide afternoon, I was not a nag. I was an encourager. I am an encourager. That’s who I am now. It’s on my radar. Am I perfect at it yet? Heck-to-the-ask-my-kids-NO.

Having a negative inner voice is super destructive. Having a negative outer voice, that’s embodied by your mom, who’s supposed to love you no matter what? Probably not helpful either.

Posted in aspirations, get serious, parenting | 13 Comments

Love Songs For Jerks

Yesterday, I tried to get romantic. It’s Valentine’s week and I was feeling lovish so I got out my Nashville soundtrack CD, cued it up to what is currently my favorite love song and left it in Dan’s car so he’d hear it when he headed to work in the morning.

I worried that he’d get in the car, think, This is not Jazz. Why is this not jazz? and turn it off, so I told him to listen to the song I’d cued up because it contained a special message.

When I said I love this love song, what I meanter say (channeling Hagrid here) was that every time I listen to it, I cry and I want to tell Dan to quit his stupid day job, come home and hold me. HOLD ME!

So I waited to hear back from him. Did he love the song, even though it had lyrics and a discernible melody? Did he feel the same as I, perhaps even wiping away a phantom tear of romantic ecstasy?

His responding text said, “Um… I hope you pressed the button one too many times. It was about how you can see through my lying cheating ways… :-)

Now, I like to mess with Dan. It brings me pleasure. He plays along. I call it flirting. RE: he is my boyfriend.

There was the time I put pigs’ feet in a prominent place in our kitchen cupboard and waited to see how long it would take him to notice them.

Then there was the time I went out to his car every night for weeks and tuned his radio to the Mexican Mariachi band station at a deafening volume so that he’d enjoy turning on his car for his commute in the morning.

But this time I was sincere, and very romantical… But I did press the button one too many times. What I wanted him to hear was this:

What he got was this:

Not quite as Valentinesy. I’ll make it up to him soon. I’m making him the best, weirdest belated Valentine’s day present ever. I will keep you posted.

Posted in he's so fine he blows my mind, save me from myself | 2 Comments

Worst Haircut in the World

hair3Magoo’s hair had sprouted into this huge, massive muffin puff that could look cute and current, if every hair were arranged just so. BUT. If one hair were arranged not so? Bam. Street urchin.

So tonight I decided to de-urchinize him. I’d never done a real boys’ haircut with shears myself, or even a Pinocchio’s haircut. But still I pulled out the scissors. I was super nervous and he could smell my fear. The scent of my fear became the seed of his terror and he began to tremble exceedingly.

He did not want me touching his luscious locks, not even coming near them. And eeehhheeeheeee. Stop! The water spritzer tickled. And the scissors hurt his hair as I cut. Actual pain. Apparently, he is a mutant with living hair.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “I won’t give you a mullet.” Although I wasn’t sure what I would give him. I was just cutting things and spritzing and cutting more things and combing like a hair stylist might do if she were in my kitchen of a Sunday evening.

“What’s a mullet?”

“It’s the worst haircut in the entire world.”

Without missing a beat, he grimaced and said, “You mean like Dad’s?”
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“Please blog that,” was all Dan said as he left the room.
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Posted in he's so fine he blows my mind, kid stuff | 10 Comments