The Lawsons did Dallas!

The Headlamp
September 20, 2007

If Jared and I should ever find ourselves in divorce court, vengefully fighting for custody of the blender, it will be for one reason, and one reason only--Jared's headlamp.

In case you're not familiar with headlamps, they're a little flashlight that's attached to an elastic headband. That's one pictured above. The high quality headlamps are very bright, and suitable for activities like cave exploration, coal mining, nighttime hiking, troll hunting, and driving your wife up the freaking wall.

Let me back up for a moment.

Prior to moving to Texas, I was married to a very normal man who had a penchant for outdoor activities. He'd ride his mountain bike, he'd fly fish a couple times a week, and we'd hike on the weekends. We were living in central Maine at the time, in a little college town, and people like us were a dime a dozen. It seemed very common for students to go back country skiing or white water rafting on the weekends. But movies? Those were a little more exotic.

It was fun. My husband was normal.

Then we moved to Dallas, where there isn't a decent outdoor opportunity for at least three hours, and people are really into shopping, eating out, and getting body parts lifted. The change in Jared was immediate, and it was strange. He grew a very scraggly beard, he dressed as though we would be hiking Mount Kilimanjaro later that afternoon, and he began talking about outdoor activities incessantly. It seems to me that Jared felt an overwhelming need to prove his outdoor hard-coreness, and send the nonverbal message of "I will never be like you."

I feel bad for the compassionate souls at church who are unaware of this quirk, and cheerfully strike up a conversation with Jared. I usually watch from afar and mouth phrases to the unsuspecting conversationalist like "STEP AWAY! RUN AWAY!" as their eyes glaze over listening to Jared's detailed diatribe on the subtle differences between the brown trout and the rainbow trout.

This is where the headlamp comes in. I think this small peice of equiptment is one more way for my husband to maintain his image, one more way to remind the Metroplex that he's from Maine. On a typical day, Jared gets home from school and takes off his tie--but instead of slipping into jeans and slippers, he usually walks down the stairs wearing pajamas and a headlamp.

I'm like, "Jared? Why the headlamp? I'm mean....seriously?"

And he'll open the cupboard, flip on the switch, illuminate our food supply and say something like, "Because I can find the beans much faster when I have the proper lighting. You should wear yours, too."

Yes, he bought me a headlamp. We're really cute together.

Now I wouldn't mind this headlamp so much if it wasn't so damn bright. But it is. He turns it on in our dark room and it's like we are standing half an inch from the surface of the sun, with fourteen movie-set floodlights, and a pocket full of magical illumination beans. Really.

When he's doing an activity that doesn't requires constant light, like brushing his teeth or folding the laundry, Jared likes to set the headlamp to its flashing mode. Supposedly, that preserves the battery. Well, thank goodness.

Last night, Jared and I got into a heated discussion while we were lying in bed. It was 11 o'clock, I was exhausted, and our coversation was about medical malpractice lawsuits. We disagreed on the issue, and Jared was INTENSE. He kept looking right at me, trying to make his point, blinding me with his frigging headlamp. I was seeing stars, spots, blurs--you know, the works.

Finally, I had enough. "Jared" I said, "turn the headlamp off. You're blinding me."

"Oh, sorry" he said. "This will be easier on your eyes." And he turned it to flashing mode.

"Jared, tomorrow morning I'm going to chop that thing up. I'm serious, I'm going to find a chopper and chop it up. You've pushed me to my limit."

"Why Amy? It's really cool. I don't understand."

Well, Jared's gone for the day, I'm home, and I know where the headlamp is.

Let the chopping commence!

Let the good times roll....

Let freedom ring.