December 31, 2010
Given the fact that it's the end of the year, the end of a decade, and the end of a great run through my twenties, I feel like I should do some kind of 'Year in Review' post. But man, that sounds like a heck of a lot of heavy memory-wracking and picture finding, doesn't it?
So, instead of all that clicking around, I'll give you the quick version--the first seven or ten things that pop into my head:
1. Maggie was a tiny baby at the beginning of the year, and now she's walking around getting all attitudinal about things. She has some hair, but not enough for piggy tails just yet. I hope that happens in 2011. Let's go ahead and officially mark that as 2011 Resolution #1: GET MAGGIE SOME PIG TAILS. She started part-time daycare and in August and seems to be having fun. From what I've seen, she likes to swap binkies with the other little girls and whip Barbies around by their hair.
2. James lost four teeth and pretty much all of the curl in his hair. I don't know where it's coming from, but he's a fluent reader--things like, "Hey Mom, the cook book says you're supposed to separate the egg and whisk it all together 'til it's fluffy. You're just mushing it up." He played soccer, he's getting ready to hit the slopes, he's made lots of new friends in Kindergarten, and he thinks he's a black belt ninja. Which brings me to 2011 Resolution #2: CONTINUE TO MAKE JAMES THINK HE'S A MARITAL ARTS MASTER WITHOUT EVER ACTUALLY SIGNING HIM UP FOR KARATE.
3. I was lucky enough to gain a niece and two more nephews this year, which brings the running total to ten. My newest nephew Andrew is four days old. I can't wait to hold that little bugger!
4. I'm working the same job, which is always a good, good thing.
5. Jared's office is pushing along, growing like we want it to. Lots of physician referrals, lots of success stories. There have been some pretty uncomfortable growing pains during the fourth quarter, which is normal and expected, but not totally fun. So I'd have to say that 2011 Resolution #3 goes like this: LOVE THE MAJOR INSURANCE COMPANIES SO MUCH THAT THEY HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO LOVE US BACK. Jared's awesome at what he does, and I'm probably the proudest wife on the block.
6. We have a German Shorthaired Pointer puppy. I hate him. So 2011 Resolution #4 says: BOTTLE UP THE DOG HATRED. NO ONE NEEDS TO KNOW.
7. Jared and I are still married! 2011 Resolution #5: STAY MARRIED TO JARED.
8. I ran two half marathons and two marathons by the time Maggie turned one. I'm proud of that. I'm not sure what next year's running goal will be. Let's say 2011 Resolution #6: KEEP ON RUNNING. HAVE FUN WITH IT. TRY SOMETHING NEW AND MAKE ANOTHER NEW RUNNING FRIEND. I made a few awesome running pals in 2010, and they were far and away the highlight!
9. My bathroom was still ugly in 2010. So 2011 Resolution #7: PAINT THE UGLY BATHROOM...MAYBE...IF I FEEL LIKE IT.
10. And finally, I had the best Christmas ever, getting together with the cousins I love dearly, but don't see nearly enough of. We laughed until the farts were popping out like gumballs. So Resolution #7, which is the most serious of the bunch, goes like this: KEEP IN TOUCH WITH MY COUSINS, VISIT OLD FRIENDS, POP DOWN TO CONNECTICUT FOR NO REASON, HUG MY AUNTS AND UNCLES MORE OFTEN.
All in all, I had a great year and I had a great decade. My twenties didn't come without challenges, but they brought me more than I ever could have imagined. I'm thrilled to be facing a new year.
I know that some of you reading this post had a terrible 2010--the worst of the worst of the worst. If that's you, I wish you nothing but peace, happiness, and perseverance in 2011. I hope each and every one of our lives travels in an upward trend this coming year.
Happy New Year!
A Marriage Tip...Among Other Things
December 30, 2010
I've taken the last day or so to simmer down, and I'm over it. Not my ill-will toward WalMart, just my heart ache/barfitude over the situation. I really do hope the Random Acts of Christmas man magically stumbles across yesterday's post, but if not, maybe one of you guys won't be as quick to take a crap on a good Samaritan as I was. I thought about writing an editorial to my local paper to help me find this guy, but the last thing I want is for 'Jan' to get busted and lose her job. I did, however, send the post to peopleofwalmart.com--I really couldn't fight the urge.
In other news, a few people have asked me to put the 'follow' widget on the side of my blog. I kind of hate that idea, but I guess I'll do it. If you click to follow my blog through the widget, it will automatically dump the link into your Google Reader, or do something else....I have no idea. But please, please click to follow--the widget's so new, and my following looks so weak, and I'm feeling so vulnerable today. I did also add the new 'popular posts' widget--you know, to offset the whole 'not enough people love me' thing.
And finally, Jared and I found ourselves knee deep in a marital spat this morning. Nothing major, just the typical 'You don't know how to love me!...Oh yeah, well your mother told me that you're adopted!' kind of thing. As usual, it ended in the silent treatment....
Me silently making Jared's lunch, Jared silently driving away, Jared silently driving back to get said lunch since I never told him about it because we weren't talking, silently kissing each other good bye and then silently wiping our lips like five year old since we forgot how mad we were at each other.
Don't you even pretend like you're not familiar.
Well today, I'm happy to say that I've found a way to bring the silent treatment to a whole new level: silent phone calls. I know, it's freaking brilliant.
Thirty-or-so minutes ago, my phone rang. It was Jared. "What to do?" I asked myself? "We're not talking."
And then came the moment of inspiration. I answered the call, and said absolutely nothing--just a little throat clearing so he knew I was there.
Ten seconds later he was like, "Hello?"
I cleared my throat again.
Ten more seconds later he was all, "Amy? You there? I think I hear you."
Finally, after a whole minute, I piped up and said, "I was trying to give you the silent treatment. But you screwed it up."
You should all try it. You can also place silent phone calls, send silent texts, silent facebook messages, the options are endless.
You're welcome.
I've taken the last day or so to simmer down, and I'm over it. Not my ill-will toward WalMart, just my heart ache/barfitude over the situation. I really do hope the Random Acts of Christmas man magically stumbles across yesterday's post, but if not, maybe one of you guys won't be as quick to take a crap on a good Samaritan as I was. I thought about writing an editorial to my local paper to help me find this guy, but the last thing I want is for 'Jan' to get busted and lose her job. I did, however, send the post to peopleofwalmart.com--I really couldn't fight the urge.
In other news, a few people have asked me to put the 'follow' widget on the side of my blog. I kind of hate that idea, but I guess I'll do it. If you click to follow my blog through the widget, it will automatically dump the link into your Google Reader, or do something else....I have no idea. But please, please click to follow--the widget's so new, and my following looks so weak, and I'm feeling so vulnerable today. I did also add the new 'popular posts' widget--you know, to offset the whole 'not enough people love me' thing.
And finally, Jared and I found ourselves knee deep in a marital spat this morning. Nothing major, just the typical 'You don't know how to love me!...Oh yeah, well your mother told me that you're adopted!' kind of thing. As usual, it ended in the silent treatment....
Me silently making Jared's lunch, Jared silently driving away, Jared silently driving back to get said lunch since I never told him about it because we weren't talking, silently kissing each other good bye and then silently wiping our lips like five year old since we forgot how mad we were at each other.
Don't you even pretend like you're not familiar.
Well today, I'm happy to say that I've found a way to bring the silent treatment to a whole new level: silent phone calls. I know, it's freaking brilliant.
Thirty-or-so minutes ago, my phone rang. It was Jared. "What to do?" I asked myself? "We're not talking."
And then came the moment of inspiration. I answered the call, and said absolutely nothing--just a little throat clearing so he knew I was there.
Ten seconds later he was like, "Hello?"
I cleared my throat again.
Ten more seconds later he was all, "Amy? You there? I think I hear you."
Finally, after a whole minute, I piped up and said, "I was trying to give you the silent treatment. But you screwed it up."
You should all try it. You can also place silent phone calls, send silent texts, silent facebook messages, the options are endless.
You're welcome.
Even Jesus has an Issue with WalMart
December 28, 2010
WalMart.
Love it. Hate it. Love to hate it.
I don't know about you, but for me, those very seven letters conjure up so much. So many feelings, so many memories, so much frustration, rage, confusion, and a host of disturbing images that are forever seared into my cerebrum. If you're not sure what I'm talking about, and longing to understand, go ahead and hop on over to People of WalMart--whoa my word.
Whoa. My. Word.
Aside from a cheap eyeliner or two, I can't say I've ever had my ups with WalMart, but I've certainly had my share of downs, and as a result, in April 2010, I made a solemn vow to never step foot in my local WalMart ever, ever, ever again. Click here and here to read the story of the straw that broke the camel's back--you know, I'm the camel.
But from time to time, as we all know, even the most benevolent of nuns has been known to sell her soul to the devil. That's right, eight months later, I broke my vow and I went back. I did it in the name of an iPod Shuffle.
It's embarrassing to admit, but I think I love my iPod more than I love my husband. It's my sanity on my runs, in the car, at work, while I slave around in the kitchen. Its company and support are unconditional. My husband? Well, he only hangs around when I'm being pleasant. Clearly, the iPod wins.
Tragically, I lost my love a few weeks back. I think it happened after a trail run near the local high school. When I piece it all together, I'm quite sure I left it on the roof of my car and carelessly drove away. It's so sad I could cry just typing this--it's cold and alone, probably sitting in a puddle attached to my $23 ear buds that are specially designed for people with completely stupid shaped ears. Ugh, I mustn't go on.
In a moment of desperation, combined with a splash of middle class crunch, I decided I couldn't wait long enough to save up the money for a new iPod Nano. I'd bite the bullet and use a Sam's Club gift card to buy a Shuffle for $40 today.
Except my neighborhood Sam's Club was fresh out of Shuffles.
I didn't want to do it, I really didn't, but I glanced at the back of the gift card and sure enough, it was redeemable at WalMart. So I checked their website, and dang, my local store had plenty of Shuffles in stock--green, orange, and pink. My old iPod was green, so I decided I'd get the green one and pretend it was my Nano's little newborn baby.
At three o'clock, I picked up two hungry, tired kids from daycare and drove twenty miles to the crappiest place on Earth. We parked fifty miles away, and I pushed a cart with a bum wheel through a super slushy parking lot, in ten degree weather. We walked through the doors, were greeted by the same greeter who was there in April, and headed straight back to electronics.
Where were proceeded to find no iPod Shuffles in no colors because WalMart sucks.
But we were there, and I had broken my vow, and since the groceries truly are an arm and a leg cheaper at WalMart, I decided to load up on everything we could ever possibly need. From bags of flour to four pounds of cheese, my cart was completely mounded over. My sweet, little fourteen-month-old was wedged between two gallons of milk and six bags of frozen peas because "I don't care how cold you are! Muscle through it, Maggie! We're gonna save some money, damn it!"
After we packed every cubic inch of the cart with every food item we possibly could, we took one last spin through the electronic section, just to be sure that WalMart still sucked.
Yup, it did. Not a Shuffle in sight.
So we headed to the checkout, where Jan (names have been changed to protect the woman I'm dying to tackle) started to scan my items. When she was on the fourth or fifth item, a 40-something year old man (tall, good looking, great hair, nice jeans, and super fancy ski jacket--not your typical WalMart patron) approached her.
I heard him say, "Hey Jan, after....[whisper, whisper, whisper]...Okay? Okay?" Then he walked away.
I don't even know how to describe it. Jan had the most horrified look on her face that I think I've ever seen. I had no idea what he'd just whispered in her ear, but according to her expression, it couldn't have been remotely acceptable. He didn't fit the profile of your typical creeper, but she looked genuinely disgusted.
I said, "Are you okay? What'd he just say to you?"
And Jan said, "He's a creep. What a creep. He's just a creep. And a pervert."
So I said, "Are you sure you're okay. He's right over there. Should we tell your manager? Or security?"
"No," she said, "he's just a creep."
Jan continued to scan my items, and when there were three or four left, the man came back. And this time, he wanted to talk to me. Obviously, my guard was up. I didn't know what he was trying to do, but I had my two kids, so I decided I just wouldn't engage him.
He came up to me and said, "Hi!"
I looked at Jan, she gave me a very cautious shake of the head, and I said nothing.
He held out some sort of business card and I simply said, "No thank you."
He politely said, "Are you sure?"
And I said, "No thank you."
He smiled and said, "Really? You're sure?"
This time, I glanced down at the business card and noticed that it was black and said Random Acts of Christmas across the front. I didn't know what to think, so I made eye contact with the cashier one more time, and she shook her head and warningly widened her eyes again.
"No thank you," I said, in the most assertive tone I could muster.
The man shrugged and walked away, looking a smidge defeated. He met up with his wife and two daughters and they walked toward the exit. He looked innocent enough, but the cashier had convinced me that this guy was no good. According to her expression, he pulled that card straight out of his butt, or the card was an evil piece of paper that wanted to beat me up and steal my wallet.
"What a creep," she said again. "Pervert."
"What'd he say to you? I have no idea what just happened," I replied.
"Ugh," she continued. "He wanted to pay for your entire order of groceries. That just didn't seem right to me. What a disgusting creep!"
Did you catch that? HE WANTED TO PAY FOR MY ENTIRE $150 ORDER OF GROCERIES. It was exactly what the card said it was--a Random Act of Christmas.
"He what?" I asked, thinking maybe I had misheard.
"He wanted to pay for all of your stuff! What's he trying to do?"
He was trying to be nice. That's what he was trying to do.
I silently took my receipt and pushed the cart with the bum wheel past this really weird middle-aged couple that was chopping their daughter's hair off with a jack knife (seriously, what the hell WalMart?). I trudged the fifty miles back across the slushy parking, feeling like an absolute turd for treating a random good Samaritan like a creepy pervert--you know since the WalMart employee told me that's exactly what he was.
I went home, and before I took the groceries out of the car, I Googled "Random Acts of Christmas." Go ahead and try it. He was a nice guy, who had worked up the courage to do a nice thing for a total and complete stranger. I so wish I had taken him up on it.
I wish I could find this guy.
I just want him to know that if he prayed to find the right person, he succeeded. He has no idea how much we could have used a cart load of groceries right now. Even though I completely ruined it for him, I want him to know how grateful I am for his kindness and generosity, and for trying to help a frazzled mother on a really tight budget.
And more than anything, I want him to know that WalMart sucks so much. Not only have they managed to find another creative way to crap on spirit of Christmas, but they took it a step further and told me that my Christmas Angel was a "creepy pervert." Completely not cool.
Honestly, I want to find this guy--not for the groceries, just so I can explain how it all went down, say sorry, and tell him how much I hate that store. I don't usually ask my readers to link to my posts, but if you're willing, today's the day. If we find him, I'll do a really awesome giveaway in his honor.
He was maybe in his forties. He was tall, had a sweet ski jacket, two daughters, one wife, and goes to a nice church that challenged him to commit a Random Act of Christmas. He didn't look like he was from Maine, but he was in the Augusta WalMart around 5 o'clock, hanging around the actual creepy people who decided to lop of their kid's hair with a leatherman (really, that was one of those cerebrum-searing moments that I'll carry to my grave). Maybe he was taking his family on a ski trip?
Will you give me a link and help me find him? I'll swear I'll host a kickasstic giveaway to celebrate.
I'm telling you, I can't rest until I can look this man in the eye, thank him, and testify to him that WalMart has managed to ruin the whole "Peace on Earth Good Will to Men" thing.
I've said it once and I'll say it again--WalMart sucks.
Now where's m'damn Shuffle?
WalMart.
Love it. Hate it. Love to hate it.
I don't know about you, but for me, those very seven letters conjure up so much. So many feelings, so many memories, so much frustration, rage, confusion, and a host of disturbing images that are forever seared into my cerebrum. If you're not sure what I'm talking about, and longing to understand, go ahead and hop on over to People of WalMart--whoa my word.
Whoa. My. Word.
Aside from a cheap eyeliner or two, I can't say I've ever had my ups with WalMart, but I've certainly had my share of downs, and as a result, in April 2010, I made a solemn vow to never step foot in my local WalMart ever, ever, ever again. Click here and here to read the story of the straw that broke the camel's back--you know, I'm the camel.
But from time to time, as we all know, even the most benevolent of nuns has been known to sell her soul to the devil. That's right, eight months later, I broke my vow and I went back. I did it in the name of an iPod Shuffle.
It's embarrassing to admit, but I think I love my iPod more than I love my husband. It's my sanity on my runs, in the car, at work, while I slave around in the kitchen. Its company and support are unconditional. My husband? Well, he only hangs around when I'm being pleasant. Clearly, the iPod wins.
Tragically, I lost my love a few weeks back. I think it happened after a trail run near the local high school. When I piece it all together, I'm quite sure I left it on the roof of my car and carelessly drove away. It's so sad I could cry just typing this--it's cold and alone, probably sitting in a puddle attached to my $23 ear buds that are specially designed for people with completely stupid shaped ears. Ugh, I mustn't go on.
In a moment of desperation, combined with a splash of middle class crunch, I decided I couldn't wait long enough to save up the money for a new iPod Nano. I'd bite the bullet and use a Sam's Club gift card to buy a Shuffle for $40 today.
Except my neighborhood Sam's Club was fresh out of Shuffles.
I didn't want to do it, I really didn't, but I glanced at the back of the gift card and sure enough, it was redeemable at WalMart. So I checked their website, and dang, my local store had plenty of Shuffles in stock--green, orange, and pink. My old iPod was green, so I decided I'd get the green one and pretend it was my Nano's little newborn baby.
At three o'clock, I picked up two hungry, tired kids from daycare and drove twenty miles to the crappiest place on Earth. We parked fifty miles away, and I pushed a cart with a bum wheel through a super slushy parking lot, in ten degree weather. We walked through the doors, were greeted by the same greeter who was there in April, and headed straight back to electronics.
Where were proceeded to find no iPod Shuffles in no colors because WalMart sucks.
But we were there, and I had broken my vow, and since the groceries truly are an arm and a leg cheaper at WalMart, I decided to load up on everything we could ever possibly need. From bags of flour to four pounds of cheese, my cart was completely mounded over. My sweet, little fourteen-month-old was wedged between two gallons of milk and six bags of frozen peas because "I don't care how cold you are! Muscle through it, Maggie! We're gonna save some money, damn it!"
After we packed every cubic inch of the cart with every food item we possibly could, we took one last spin through the electronic section, just to be sure that WalMart still sucked.
Yup, it did. Not a Shuffle in sight.
So we headed to the checkout, where Jan (names have been changed to protect the woman I'm dying to tackle) started to scan my items. When she was on the fourth or fifth item, a 40-something year old man (tall, good looking, great hair, nice jeans, and super fancy ski jacket--not your typical WalMart patron) approached her.
I heard him say, "Hey Jan, after....[whisper, whisper, whisper]...Okay? Okay?" Then he walked away.
I don't even know how to describe it. Jan had the most horrified look on her face that I think I've ever seen. I had no idea what he'd just whispered in her ear, but according to her expression, it couldn't have been remotely acceptable. He didn't fit the profile of your typical creeper, but she looked genuinely disgusted.
I said, "Are you okay? What'd he just say to you?"
And Jan said, "He's a creep. What a creep. He's just a creep. And a pervert."
So I said, "Are you sure you're okay. He's right over there. Should we tell your manager? Or security?"
"No," she said, "he's just a creep."
Jan continued to scan my items, and when there were three or four left, the man came back. And this time, he wanted to talk to me. Obviously, my guard was up. I didn't know what he was trying to do, but I had my two kids, so I decided I just wouldn't engage him.
He came up to me and said, "Hi!"
I looked at Jan, she gave me a very cautious shake of the head, and I said nothing.
He held out some sort of business card and I simply said, "No thank you."
He politely said, "Are you sure?"
And I said, "No thank you."
He smiled and said, "Really? You're sure?"
This time, I glanced down at the business card and noticed that it was black and said Random Acts of Christmas across the front. I didn't know what to think, so I made eye contact with the cashier one more time, and she shook her head and warningly widened her eyes again.
"No thank you," I said, in the most assertive tone I could muster.
The man shrugged and walked away, looking a smidge defeated. He met up with his wife and two daughters and they walked toward the exit. He looked innocent enough, but the cashier had convinced me that this guy was no good. According to her expression, he pulled that card straight out of his butt, or the card was an evil piece of paper that wanted to beat me up and steal my wallet.
"What a creep," she said again. "Pervert."
"What'd he say to you? I have no idea what just happened," I replied.
"Ugh," she continued. "He wanted to pay for your entire order of groceries. That just didn't seem right to me. What a disgusting creep!"
Did you catch that? HE WANTED TO PAY FOR MY ENTIRE $150 ORDER OF GROCERIES. It was exactly what the card said it was--a Random Act of Christmas.
"He what?" I asked, thinking maybe I had misheard.
"He wanted to pay for all of your stuff! What's he trying to do?"
He was trying to be nice. That's what he was trying to do.
I silently took my receipt and pushed the cart with the bum wheel past this really weird middle-aged couple that was chopping their daughter's hair off with a jack knife (seriously, what the hell WalMart?). I trudged the fifty miles back across the slushy parking, feeling like an absolute turd for treating a random good Samaritan like a creepy pervert--you know since the WalMart employee told me that's exactly what he was.
I went home, and before I took the groceries out of the car, I Googled "Random Acts of Christmas." Go ahead and try it. He was a nice guy, who had worked up the courage to do a nice thing for a total and complete stranger. I so wish I had taken him up on it.
I wish I could find this guy.
I just want him to know that if he prayed to find the right person, he succeeded. He has no idea how much we could have used a cart load of groceries right now. Even though I completely ruined it for him, I want him to know how grateful I am for his kindness and generosity, and for trying to help a frazzled mother on a really tight budget.
And more than anything, I want him to know that WalMart sucks so much. Not only have they managed to find another creative way to crap on spirit of Christmas, but they took it a step further and told me that my Christmas Angel was a "creepy pervert." Completely not cool.
Honestly, I want to find this guy--not for the groceries, just so I can explain how it all went down, say sorry, and tell him how much I hate that store. I don't usually ask my readers to link to my posts, but if you're willing, today's the day. If we find him, I'll do a really awesome giveaway in his honor.
He was maybe in his forties. He was tall, had a sweet ski jacket, two daughters, one wife, and goes to a nice church that challenged him to commit a Random Act of Christmas. He didn't look like he was from Maine, but he was in the Augusta WalMart around 5 o'clock, hanging around the actual creepy people who decided to lop of their kid's hair with a leatherman (really, that was one of those cerebrum-searing moments that I'll carry to my grave). Maybe he was taking his family on a ski trip?
Will you give me a link and help me find him? I'll swear I'll host a kickasstic giveaway to celebrate.
I'm telling you, I can't rest until I can look this man in the eye, thank him, and testify to him that WalMart has managed to ruin the whole "Peace on Earth Good Will to Men" thing.
I've said it once and I'll say it again--WalMart sucks.
Now where's m'damn Shuffle?
A Zillionteen Hundred
December 28, 2010
After a Thursday off from work, Christmas over the weekend, and the first blizzardy wallop of the season, I'm completely confused as to what day it is. It kind of feels like Monday and Friday humped and had a strange and confusing baby called Plurshday. So really, Happy Plurshday you guys!
I don't know about you, but I had a really great Christmas. James is still buying the Santa story hook, line, and sinker, which made Christmas morning a jillion times more magical for all of us. When I walked around the corner into the dining room at 6:45, he was standing in the middle of the living room facing the tree. I peered in, trying my best to maintain my fly-on-the-wall-ness, and I could see his hands shaking from excitement. Honestly, they were shaking so hard he could barely hang on to his stocking.
Cute freaking overload.
Aside from a fabulous vacation, or a new car, or plastic surgery, or free groceries for a year, or instantly bigger boobs, it was the best present any mother could ever wish for.
Maggie got a baby doll, and I'm thrilled to say that she's already whipping it around my the ankles and tossing it down the laundry chute. Have I written about how much I love it when little girls commit inadvertent acts of physical abuse on their baby dolls? Because I do. Nothing, and I mean nothing, makes me smile so much.
We were on a tight holiday budget this year, so Jared got a book about fish--I know, how lame. Anyone else would have cried, but thankfully, Jared gets all starry-eyed when he glances at a picture of a trout. I got some new cake pans, some measuring spoons, and a really huge ass. I'm trying to return the ass, but I have no receipt and it's turning out to be pretty complicated--I'll probably bake a red velvet instead.
James told me, that on a scale of one to ten, he'd give this Christmas a zillionteen-hundred. Funny, because that's the same number I picked!
After a Thursday off from work, Christmas over the weekend, and the first blizzardy wallop of the season, I'm completely confused as to what day it is. It kind of feels like Monday and Friday humped and had a strange and confusing baby called Plurshday. So really, Happy Plurshday you guys!
I don't know about you, but I had a really great Christmas. James is still buying the Santa story hook, line, and sinker, which made Christmas morning a jillion times more magical for all of us. When I walked around the corner into the dining room at 6:45, he was standing in the middle of the living room facing the tree. I peered in, trying my best to maintain my fly-on-the-wall-ness, and I could see his hands shaking from excitement. Honestly, they were shaking so hard he could barely hang on to his stocking.
Cute freaking overload.
Aside from a fabulous vacation, or a new car, or plastic surgery, or free groceries for a year, or instantly bigger boobs, it was the best present any mother could ever wish for.
Maggie got a baby doll, and I'm thrilled to say that she's already whipping it around my the ankles and tossing it down the laundry chute. Have I written about how much I love it when little girls commit inadvertent acts of physical abuse on their baby dolls? Because I do. Nothing, and I mean nothing, makes me smile so much.
We were on a tight holiday budget this year, so Jared got a book about fish--I know, how lame. Anyone else would have cried, but thankfully, Jared gets all starry-eyed when he glances at a picture of a trout. I got some new cake pans, some measuring spoons, and a really huge ass. I'm trying to return the ass, but I have no receipt and it's turning out to be pretty complicated--I'll probably bake a red velvet instead.
James told me, that on a scale of one to ten, he'd give this Christmas a zillionteen-hundred. Funny, because that's the same number I picked!
The Annual Christmas Letter
December 23, 2010
Dear Real and Virtual Friends,
As another year draws to a close, I feel the pressing and urgent need to draft the Annual Lawson Family Christmas Letter. I must apologize for not popping a handcrafted card in the mail, but with filling the role of what some like to call "Super Mom," where's the time? Also, I do hope you'll forgive me if I sound haughty or pretentious, but what can I say? 2010 was an excellent year in this neck of the woods.
(As always, click on the pictures for a close-up view.)
Lately, we've been packing our days with all kinds of Christmas cheer and service to others. We built our very first gingerbread house, and as a result, our home is simply bursting with the Ho Ho Happy Holiday feeling! I sure hope yours is, too!
Unfortunately, the dogs have been after the gingerbread house non-stop. According to James, they've managed to gnaw everything that's not peppermint flavored right off that sweet little cottage. Every time I ask a question like, "James, what happened to the gumdrop roof?" he's kind enough to track down Gracie and spank that geriatric greyhound for her misdeed. What a helper!
This year I made my first go at baking cinnamon rolls, and what an adventure it was! All it took was four hours, my mother-in-law dropping off some flour, my friend swinging by the grocery store while Maggie napped, a trip to Rite Aid (behind a woman with many coupons and an argumentative a feisty spirit) and every dish in my kitchen. Oh, and I missed Maggie's first steps while I was kneading. I think it's fair to say that homemade cinnamon rolls aren't the simplest way to get fat, but they sure do smell good!
Looking back, it's clear that Jared had the biggest year of all us Lawsons. He scored the deal of the century on a free, propless bass boat. So what if it doesn't run, isn't she a beaut?! ? We love it so much that we decided it could sit in the driveway alllllll winter long. I don't know about you, but I think the SS Lawson looks magical with a light dusting of fresh, fluffy snow!
And speaking of magical, we have a new addition to the family! His name is Coach, and I must say, every time I catch sight of the little bugger, my heart wells right up with joy. Doesn't yours? As far as I know, my husband doesn't have a uterus, but if he did, believe you me, he'd let that testicle-clad german shorthaired pointer nestle right up in there. Those two I'll tell ya, they're thick as thieves!
As I alluded to earlier, I'm still topping the charts as Mom of the Year! Not only am I working a job and keeping the house, but this year I've been blessed with the opportunity to enrich the lives of other peoples' children, too. Every morning at 6:05, I'm graced with the smiling faces of ten teenagers who are eager as all getout to learn everything there is to know about the Gospel. Oftentimes, I'm able to add another snippet to my morning routine by bringing a carload of these always-respectful teens to high school. Fun!
I ran two marathons this year, and continue to get progressively slower. What can I say? I always like to leave a teeny bit of room for self improvement. And that doesn't just hold true for running--2011 will be a year to make strides in my laundry management skills, too. The way I see it, the laundry chute is just filled with opportunity. Everywhere I turn, there's something to look forward to!
Maggie turned one in the fall and she's a smidge behind on all of her developmental milestones, but she sure is cute! The kid grunts like a caveman and slithers around like a snake wearing princess pajamas, but she's excellent at using a straw. She also loves bananas and smiling, and I'm pretty sure she'd sell her soul for eight ounces of chocolate milk.
Somewhere along the line, James's excessive television watching paid off, and now I'm proud to say that he's a fluent reader at five years old--the best in his class. Between you and me and the bathroom wall, this early reading of his is a starting to become a serious issue. Now, instead of the having the freedom to say things like, "Jared, look at me one more time and I swear I'll F-L-A-T-T-E-N-Y-O-U-R-P-E-N-I-S," James is asking questions like, "Mom, what does the word lubricate mean?" What will we do?
He played soccer this fall and scored three goals for the opposing team. He also made his bed one time in September. What a kid!
We were able to take a fantastic family vacation this past August...to my parents' house...where we slept in their barn. We also took several trips to Sam's Club so we could save money by purchasing paper products in bulk.
All in all, we had an excellent 2010 and hope that you did, too.
Merry Christmas to You and Yours!
The Lawsons
Dear Real and Virtual Friends,
As another year draws to a close, I feel the pressing and urgent need to draft the Annual Lawson Family Christmas Letter. I must apologize for not popping a handcrafted card in the mail, but with filling the role of what some like to call "Super Mom," where's the time? Also, I do hope you'll forgive me if I sound haughty or pretentious, but what can I say? 2010 was an excellent year in this neck of the woods.
(As always, click on the pictures for a close-up view.)
Unfortunately, the dogs have been after the gingerbread house non-stop. According to James, they've managed to gnaw everything that's not peppermint flavored right off that sweet little cottage. Every time I ask a question like, "James, what happened to the gumdrop roof?" he's kind enough to track down Gracie and spank that geriatric greyhound for her misdeed. What a helper!
I ran two marathons this year, and continue to get progressively slower. What can I say? I always like to leave a teeny bit of room for self improvement. And that doesn't just hold true for running--2011 will be a year to make strides in my laundry management skills, too. The way I see it, the laundry chute is just filled with opportunity. Everywhere I turn, there's something to look forward to!
Maggie turned one in the fall and she's a smidge behind on all of her developmental milestones, but she sure is cute! The kid grunts like a caveman and slithers around like a snake wearing princess pajamas, but she's excellent at using a straw. She also loves bananas and smiling, and I'm pretty sure she'd sell her soul for eight ounces of chocolate milk.
He played soccer this fall and scored three goals for the opposing team. He also made his bed one time in September. What a kid!
We were able to take a fantastic family vacation this past August...to my parents' house...where we slept in their barn. We also took several trips to Sam's Club so we could save money by purchasing paper products in bulk.
All in all, we had an excellent 2010 and hope that you did, too.
Merry Christmas to You and Yours!
The Lawsons
Self Expression
December 20, 2010
Yes, it's Sharpie. He wanted to look "fiercer for longer."
Welp, mission accomplished, my friend!
Just in case you ever wondered, Windex kind of takes permanent marker off of faces.
Phrase of the Week
December 15, 2010
Thanks to Chelsea, the Lawsons did Dallas! official phrase of the week is:
FART STUCK SIDEWAYS
Please refer to the comment portion of the previous post for clarification.
Thanks to Chelsea, the Lawsons did Dallas! official phrase of the week is:
FART STUCK SIDEWAYS
Please refer to the comment portion of the previous post for clarification.
Time Out!
December 15, 2010
You know what? I love so many things about my husband Jared. He looks great in plaid, he sings like an angel, his naked butt looks just like the David's, and so on and so forth.
Not to make you super jealous or anything, but I honestly can't remember if this is a picture of the statue or Jared getting into the shower:
Either way, don't you just want to cradle those things in your hands?
Of course you do.
Shapely rear aside, I have to admit that for every fifty things I adore about Jared, there seems to be one or six that I'm almost incapable of handling. For example, Jared gives too many damn time-outs. If time-outs were rainbow sprinkles, we'd be a happy, happy family.
According to my observations, moms around the world have somewhere between forty and fifty parenting tricks tucked away for any given situation. Men? They have one.
For some dads it's yelling, for others it's intimidation, some guys are straight-up push-overs, and then you have my husband's breed--the time-out issuer. This time of year, he'll occasionally venture into Santa related threats, but nine times out of ten, he opts for the time-out.
Now don't get me wrong, I truly believe that time-outs are one of the most effective parenting tools on the planet--but my husband, I kid you not, doles time-outs for things like dawdling.
For example:
JARED: You're not ready for church yet? What have you been doing?
JAMES: Sitting here on my bed, playing with my toes.
JARED: But we're late!
JAMES: But I don't like church. It's better when we're late.
JARED: Time out!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
...and now we'll be five and a half minutes later. That's exactly why I like to use the 'threats of eternal damnation' parenting trick when James is reluctant to go to church.
Or here's another one:
JARED: Get in the car, it's time to go to Sam's Club.
JAMES: I don't want to go to Sam's Club, I just want to sit here.
JARED: We need forty rolls of toilet paper. We're going to Sam's Club.
JAMES: But I really just want to sit here.
JARED: Time out!!!! Sit here for five and a half minutes and think about this!
Mmm yeah. You know what he's thinking? He's thinking, "Ha! Foiled again, you fool!"
I saved my favorite for last:
JARED: Bed time!
JAMES: No thanks.
JARED: BED TIME.
JAMES: I want to stay up for a few more minutes.
JARED: Time out! Sit in the living room for five minutes!
What ever happened to the good old fashioned If you don't get in bed this minute I swear you'll have to sleep standing up in your closet followed by a long, rabid hissing noise? That's pretty much my specialty.
So tell me, what's your husband's one and only discipline technique?
You know what? I love so many things about my husband Jared. He looks great in plaid, he sings like an angel, his naked butt looks just like the David's, and so on and so forth.
Not to make you super jealous or anything, but I honestly can't remember if this is a picture of the statue or Jared getting into the shower:
Either way, don't you just want to cradle those things in your hands?
Of course you do.
Shapely rear aside, I have to admit that for every fifty things I adore about Jared, there seems to be one or six that I'm almost incapable of handling. For example, Jared gives too many damn time-outs. If time-outs were rainbow sprinkles, we'd be a happy, happy family.
According to my observations, moms around the world have somewhere between forty and fifty parenting tricks tucked away for any given situation. Men? They have one.
For some dads it's yelling, for others it's intimidation, some guys are straight-up push-overs, and then you have my husband's breed--the time-out issuer. This time of year, he'll occasionally venture into Santa related threats, but nine times out of ten, he opts for the time-out.
Now don't get me wrong, I truly believe that time-outs are one of the most effective parenting tools on the planet--but my husband, I kid you not, doles time-outs for things like dawdling.
For example:
JARED: You're not ready for church yet? What have you been doing?
JAMES: Sitting here on my bed, playing with my toes.
JARED: But we're late!
JAMES: But I don't like church. It's better when we're late.
JARED: Time out!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
...and now we'll be five and a half minutes later. That's exactly why I like to use the 'threats of eternal damnation' parenting trick when James is reluctant to go to church.
Or here's another one:
JARED: Get in the car, it's time to go to Sam's Club.
JAMES: I don't want to go to Sam's Club, I just want to sit here.
JARED: We need forty rolls of toilet paper. We're going to Sam's Club.
JAMES: But I really just want to sit here.
JARED: Time out!!!! Sit here for five and a half minutes and think about this!
Mmm yeah. You know what he's thinking? He's thinking, "Ha! Foiled again, you fool!"
I saved my favorite for last:
JARED: Bed time!
JAMES: No thanks.
JARED: BED TIME.
JAMES: I want to stay up for a few more minutes.
JARED: Time out! Sit in the living room for five minutes!
What ever happened to the good old fashioned If you don't get in bed this minute I swear you'll have to sleep standing up in your closet followed by a long, rabid hissing noise? That's pretty much my specialty.
So tell me, what's your husband's one and only discipline technique?
A Holiday Update, Lawson Style
December 7, 2010
So our new dog--you know, the German Shorthaired Pointer with the balls still attached?--is so going to hell. Earlier this morning, I caught him gnawing on the Holy Family, and I don't care who you are, that's just not right. Thankfully, he wore himself out whipping The Virgin Mary around by her feet, so he's sleeping now.
The good news is, he's unconscious and I don't think he's chewing on anything valuable at the moment.
The bad news is, I'm afraid to fart even an SBD, in fear of waking him up.
Between the paper shredder with testicles, the two footed one who drew an enormous monster on my upholstered living room chair with a ballpoint pen by accident, and the one who can barely pee in the potty, my life feels like a sink full of dirty dishes. You know--filthy, disorganized, overwhelming, and so on and so forth.
Right now, Maggie's the only one left on my 'nice' list. And believe you me, she's freakishly adorable. If I didn't have to risk waking up the polka-dotted dog with nuts, I'd totally post a picture. Trust me, you'd be completely jealous of her giant teeth. They're kind of like a mix between boat oars and Julia Roberts--they're kind of awesome.
Oh, waitwaitwait, I just pulled this one from my mom's facebook profile:
It's my mom with all her grandkids. I took it on Thanksgiving, and honestly, it's the best I could do.
Well, actually, maybe this one's better:
See what I mean though? She's even cute when she's busy hatin' on her Grandma.
So far, I've bought Maggie two sets of Elmo pajamas, a talking tea set, and a baby doll for Christmas--I'm really hoping she swings the doll around by the arm and drops it on its head over and over in public. I don't know why, but I think it's the cutest thing ever when little girls commit acts of abuse and neglect with their baby dolls. They're like, "LOOK! I'M A MOMMY!," while they bend their baby in three pieces and stick a bottle in its eye. I swear, it never fails to make me smile.
I love having a girl!
So our new dog--you know, the German Shorthaired Pointer with the balls still attached?--is so going to hell. Earlier this morning, I caught him gnawing on the Holy Family, and I don't care who you are, that's just not right. Thankfully, he wore himself out whipping The Virgin Mary around by her feet, so he's sleeping now.
The good news is, he's unconscious and I don't think he's chewing on anything valuable at the moment.
The bad news is, I'm afraid to fart even an SBD, in fear of waking him up.
Between the paper shredder with testicles, the two footed one who drew an enormous monster on my upholstered living room chair with a ballpoint pen by accident, and the one who can barely pee in the potty, my life feels like a sink full of dirty dishes. You know--filthy, disorganized, overwhelming, and so on and so forth.
Right now, Maggie's the only one left on my 'nice' list. And believe you me, she's freakishly adorable. If I didn't have to risk waking up the polka-dotted dog with nuts, I'd totally post a picture. Trust me, you'd be completely jealous of her giant teeth. They're kind of like a mix between boat oars and Julia Roberts--they're kind of awesome.
Oh, waitwaitwait, I just pulled this one from my mom's facebook profile:
It's my mom with all her grandkids. I took it on Thanksgiving, and honestly, it's the best I could do.
Well, actually, maybe this one's better:
See what I mean though? She's even cute when she's busy hatin' on her Grandma.
So far, I've bought Maggie two sets of Elmo pajamas, a talking tea set, and a baby doll for Christmas--I'm really hoping she swings the doll around by the arm and drops it on its head over and over in public. I don't know why, but I think it's the cutest thing ever when little girls commit acts of abuse and neglect with their baby dolls. They're like, "LOOK! I'M A MOMMY!," while they bend their baby in three pieces and stick a bottle in its eye. I swear, it never fails to make me smile.
I love having a girl!
Canine Jewels
December 1, 2010
In my opinion--and I'm pretty sure I'm right, since I heard it from the pulpit back in 1988--dog testicle are one of the most disturbing sights which the human eye can gaze upon. Cat balls are even creepier.
Sure we've all seen our fair share of cellulite wrapped in spandex and unflushed toilets at the neighborhood WalMart, but there's something about a canine nut sack that shocks me every time. Men wear pants for a reason, but male dogs? They just lets those good flap in the wind, bounce when they run, sprawl out when they lounge around.
It's not right.
Based on my strong and steadfast feelings surrounding male dog genitalia, I never even began to imagine that one day, I'd have a set of dog testicles living under my roof. But somehow, fate screwed with my plans, and they're chillaxing on my throw rug right this very minute.
It's true. And I'm absolutely sure that Bob Barker* is rolling over in his grave--Coach isn't neutered.
Go ahead and lecture me in the comments if you must, I'll forward them along to Jared--the junk preserver of the family. But before you get all fired up, rest assured that Coach isn't roving the neighborhood solo, hittin' it up with the bitches (that's the technical term for female dog, ya know). He practices abstinence.
Anyway, I wouldn't want you to misinterpret that disclaimer as a show of support. Make no mistake about it, his dog balls are DISGUSTING. Last night, while I was cooking dinner and he was lying on the kitchen floor, I had to cover them up with a paper towel. Otherwise, I would have been forced to make a dramatic scene to my husband--and dramatic scenes never go over so well in this house.
I guess we're keeping his testicles around so he can do a better job catching turkeys. Something like that. And Jared says that when he gets a little bit older, we can whore him out for cash, too. I hate that idea. I also hate pimp n' ho halloween costumes, so my feelings don't surprise me.
Long story short, my dog has balls and I can't stop looking at them.
*THIS JUST IN: Bob Barker's not dead after all! Hallelujah!
In my opinion--and I'm pretty sure I'm right, since I heard it from the pulpit back in 1988--dog testicle are one of the most disturbing sights which the human eye can gaze upon. Cat balls are even creepier.
Sure we've all seen our fair share of cellulite wrapped in spandex and unflushed toilets at the neighborhood WalMart, but there's something about a canine nut sack that shocks me every time. Men wear pants for a reason, but male dogs? They just lets those good flap in the wind, bounce when they run, sprawl out when they lounge around.
It's not right.
Based on my strong and steadfast feelings surrounding male dog genitalia, I never even began to imagine that one day, I'd have a set of dog testicles living under my roof. But somehow, fate screwed with my plans, and they're chillaxing on my throw rug right this very minute.
It's true. And I'm absolutely sure that Bob Barker* is rolling over in his grave--Coach isn't neutered.
Go ahead and lecture me in the comments if you must, I'll forward them along to Jared--the junk preserver of the family. But before you get all fired up, rest assured that Coach isn't roving the neighborhood solo, hittin' it up with the bitches (that's the technical term for female dog, ya know). He practices abstinence.
Anyway, I wouldn't want you to misinterpret that disclaimer as a show of support. Make no mistake about it, his dog balls are DISGUSTING. Last night, while I was cooking dinner and he was lying on the kitchen floor, I had to cover them up with a paper towel. Otherwise, I would have been forced to make a dramatic scene to my husband--and dramatic scenes never go over so well in this house.
I guess we're keeping his testicles around so he can do a better job catching turkeys. Something like that. And Jared says that when he gets a little bit older, we can whore him out for cash, too. I hate that idea. I also hate pimp n' ho halloween costumes, so my feelings don't surprise me.
Long story short, my dog has balls and I can't stop looking at them.
*THIS JUST IN: Bob Barker's not dead after all! Hallelujah!
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