November 27, 2007
James has a new trick in his repertoire. It's hanging--as in hanging from monkey bars, hanging from towel bars, and unfortunately, hanging from my ponytail.
Trust me, I know what you're thinking..."My two-and-a-half-year-old has been hanging for months."
Sure, maybe your kid has been able to support his own body weight for weeks and weeks, but I can guarantee that your child hasn't inherited the terrible combination of my upper-body strength and my cinder-blockish body density. I swear, if I ever witness James doing chin-ups in phys ed class, I will faint on the spot and choke on my own spittle. His genetic disposition for chin-up ability really is that bad.
This afternoon, I had the wild idea of dress shopping. You see, in three weeks, Jared and I will attend his HOLY CRAP, I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M ACTUALLY DOCTOR LAWSON banquet--at least that's what I've been calling it. It's an evening affair, on the forty-seventh floor of a downtown skyscraper, and it most definitely requires some type of stylish formal wear.
After four stops at four different shopping centers, and seven thousand trips hundreds of different fitting room, I finally found my dress--and let me tell you, it's fabulous. The only accessory that this gown needs is one-hundred-and-fifty-pounds of Amy B. Lawson.
As I walked back to the parking lot, I held the dress in my right hand, and James's hand in my left. We cautiously crossed the street, and when we arrived at the car, I knelt down to James's level, looked him bang in the eye, and said, "You stand right here. Mommy has to hang her dress, and then I'll get you into your car seat. This is a busy parking lot, so DO NOT MOVE."
As I leaned into the passenger side door of my Toyota wagon, I was startled when the alarm on the car parked next to mine began to sound. Approximately one seventeenth of a second after the alarm went off, I heard James beckoning. "Moyee," he said, "Yook at me! Yook at me!"
So I swallowed hard, and turned slowly--afraid of what I might find. And sure enough, there was my son, preforming his brand new trick from the side view mirror of a shiny, black Mercedes Benz. His fingers were desperately clenching the fiberglass, his tongue was hanging from the side of his mouth, and his feet were lifted about two inches above the parking lot asphalt.
"I hangeng," he proudly panted, as the siren wailed in the background.
"Oh @#$% James," I said, as I interrupted the stunt. "We don't hang from luxery vehicles! Now get in the car!" He was strapped safely into his five point harness within three nano-seconds, and we were one the road without so much as a witness.
Looking back on the whole experience, I've got to admit that I'm glad he chose a Mercedes. I'm really not sure that the side view mirror on a Nissan or a Ford could have withstood my child's body weight.