tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310199902024-03-12T21:12:18.996-06:00The Lawsons did Dallas!Where new friends are silver, old friends are gold, and virtual friends are the source of self-esteem.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.comBlogger833125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-22675645795097168962013-04-17T17:23:00.000-06:002013-04-17T17:33:21.105-06:00Weird Shaky Legs<span style="font-size: large;">April 17, 2013</span><br />
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So I was there, and it was pretty awful. Kind of still in shock, actually. I have this weird tingly feeling all through my legs that just won't go away.<br />
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When I finally got home, my husband was all, "You need to go for a run. Go. Get out. You'll feel better." Finally, I said, "Shut up and stop telling me what to do." Then I sat on the couch and ate an Almond Joy.<br />
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Today I finally had the umph to check my cell phone--18 voice mails and 90 texts.<br />
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So yeah--I'm talking about The Boston Marathon. This year I was a watcher, not a runner.<br />
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I went down to Boston on marathon morning with my friend Brianne. We went to watch her husband Seth run the race. I've got to say, that since Christmas, Brianne's been more patient than St. Benedict--putting up with a husband who's been pulling doubles, running 100 miles a week, and eating nothing but kale, oatmeal and ice cubes.<br />
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As a sidenote, it's so SO strange being friends with these two. On one hand, I'm like, "Dude, Brianne, let him run. Running's so awesome and you should do it, too." And then on the other hand, I'm all, "Hey you. DoucheBag. Stay the eff home and eat some frigging pizza with your wife."<br />
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<i>Clearly</i> a complicated dynamic for a girl like me.<br />
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So. Anyway. Brianne took two-year-old Abe down to the race, and I took James. Honestly? We had a pretty great day for a while:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brianne and Abe at mile 25.5</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James playing his Nintendo DS while the <br />
greatest female runners in the world pass by.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James playing his Nintendo DS while the <br />
greatest male runners in the world pass by.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spotting his family</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After a 2:48 marathon PR</td></tr>
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Seth managed a hu-uge marathon PR, and I was feeling wicked happy for the whole family. Seth did what he wanted to do, Brianne could stop being a running widow for a little while, and Abe could just keep being cute about the every stinking thing he does.<br />
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I snapped this picture in the lobby of The Marriot at Copley Square right when they all found each other. Then we went up to Seth's room so he could grab a shower and Brianne and I could eat a ginormous canoli from The North End.<br />
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Yeah. Still thinking about it.<br />
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When we got up to the 17th floor, the room was packed with all kinds of ridiculous runners who put up times like 2:22 and 2:30. Clearly, I felt slow and fat and happy because I had a canoli in my mouth and they just had 6-pack abs. I could see the finish line from where I was sitting, so I just chewed, swallowed, and daydreamed that it would be me out there next year.<br />
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After Seth got out of the shower, we headed down to get some lunch before Brianne and I left to get back home. We're pretty major Maine girls, and Maine girls aren't widely known for doing particularly well in large, chaotic crowds. We like a more provincial life, so just as soon as we ate too many onion rings, we were ready to split for the Great North Woods.<br />
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We got to the lobby of the restaurant (about 1,000 feet from the finish line), and the place was a total and complete madhouse. It was wall-to-wall packed with runners and families and people who just love food. We found out that it'd only be a 25 minute wait for a table, so we decided to stay put.<br />
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And then, I saw something that I'll never ever EVER forget.<br />
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Next to the restaurant, in a mall kind of place, people were straight up flooding out of the building. There was a huge set of stairs, and everyone was just running for it. Brianne and I looked at each other, and we had no idea what was happening, or what to do. None. We both thought there was a gunman mowing people down, and we weren't sure if we were safer inside or outside. Somehow, for some reason, we ended up outside.<br />
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When we got outside, I was feeling ready to get shot. I took James, tucked him into the corner of a building and stood in front of him to block him from whatever was about to happen.<br />
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He was behind me being a fresh little 8 year old (<i>OW Mom! You bumped my he-ead! Why would you push me like that?! Mo-ove!</i>), and I was taking it all in. I wasn't praying, my heart wasn't racing, I wasn't crying--I just stood there, figuring out our next move. People were running in every direction. Everyone seemed to be checking their phone, trying to make sense of whatever the hell was going on. Some people were yelling things like, <i>Bombs!</i> and <i>Explosives!</i> and <i>Get out!</i><br />
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We decided we'd get to our car and get out of Boston as fast as we possibly could. While we were trying to get our bearings so we could get to the parking garage, I called Jared to see if he knew what was happening. He had no idea. Couldn't find anything on-line either. We hung up, and right then, a Boston Police car skidded up next to us. The cop jumped out, left the door of his cruiser wide open and he hauled ass toward the explosions.<br />
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After that, the rescue vehicles started pouring in. Ambulances fire trucks, police cars--they were parking completely haphazardly all through the streets. At that point, we knew we weren't finding the car. Not a chance. So we headed in the other direction<br />
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My phone rang and it was my sister--she lives in Quincy, just South of Boston. She was super panicked and kind of screamed, "<i>WHERE ARE YOU?!</i>" I told her we were in Copley Square and she told us to run. Just run. Bombs were going off in Copley Square. So we should run.<br />
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I looked at Brianne--who hates to run, Seth--who'd just run 26 miles, James--my pretty whiny 8 year old, and Abe in the jogging stroller. I said, "Guys, we need to run." So we did.<br />
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We ran until we hit Symphony Hall and no one even thought about complaining.<br />
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Once we got to Symphony Hall, the chaos was dwindling, so we walked for a while. While we were walking (we didn't know to where--just that we were walking away), a lost runner, still in her foil cape thing, came up to us looking for Coolidge Corner. We had no idea. We just couldn't help.<br />
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The rest of the group sat down on a bench, while I ran around, scouting the best route to get out of the city. Seth and James were talking, and according to Brianne, it went like this:<br />
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Seth: Well this'll be a good story to tell your friends.<br />
James: If I live that long.<br />
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It felt like there were helicopters everywhere, flying really really low. We walked past the Museum of Fine Art, past a park with people playing basketball, and past a church with the letter X in it's name.<br />
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Finally we got to an intersection that I thought my sister might recognize. We saw a sign for Simmons College, a Sign for Emmanuel College and a street sign that said Fenway. We sat down, stayed put, and waited until Katy could get to us and bring us back to her house.<br />
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I never imagined I could be so happy to squeeze 6 people and a BOB stroller into a tiny PT Cruiser.<br />
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We took the back roads to Katy's house, where we were fortunate enough to see a hooker with historically huge hair. Then we stopped at Panera around 5:30. Brianne couldn't eat, James hadn't eaten since 6:50 in the morning, and Seth hadn't eaten since he finished his race at 12:45. I ordered the spinach power salad, which, I should note, has fare more fried onions than you'd ever expect.<br />
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When we got to Katy's we made a plan. Brianne and I were gonna rent a car to get home (we REALLY wanted to go home), and Seth was gonna head back into the city to try to get the car from the garage in Copley Square.<br />
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Katy dropped him off on the outskirts and he made it back into the city, but that car was going nowhere. He had to sneak into the hotel through the service entrance, where they were communicating with guests by slipping paper notes under their doors--super old school. The bar was closed and so were all the restaurants. There was a buffet set up with a 3 hour wait, so Seth didn't eat because seriouslywhoneedsfoodafteramarathon?<br />
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Brianne and I found out that car rental places close at 6, so we weren't going anywhere either.<br />
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James and I slept together in my nephew's room, and when my head hit the pillow in his <i>tiny</i> Ikea bed, I finally started to cry. A lot.<br />
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James asked me why this all happened, and I told him that I wasn't sure. Sometimes we don't know why people do the things they do. He thought it was probably someone who realllly wanted to qualify for the marathon, but just couldn't make the cut. Maybe all of his friends were making fun of him because he's so slow, and he wanted to ruin it for everyone else who was fast enough to get in.<br />
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That's one theory, I guess.<br />
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Seth was able to spring the car around 7 in the morning. He picked us all up, and drove straight home without a whole lot of stopping. We did stop at a Dunkin' Donuts in Kittery, and I just wanted to stand up and demand, "Does anyone in here know what just happened to us?" But I didn't.<br />
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We got home around 1, and I slept most of the day. Found subs for my night classes, and literally hid under the covers. Jared built a wall in our basement and boiled down some sap to make maple syrup--a good Maine boy.<br />
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I went to work today, and during a break, Brianne came by. We sat on a bench by the river for an hour, and talked about bombs, and facebook, and mass shootings, and stupid running. We also talked about cream cheese and bagels. Life goes on, I guess. For us at least.<br />
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People are great. My friend with 7 kids took the time to bake me a chocolate lava cake, and so many people stopped by work just to hug me, and kiss my cheeks, and see me with their own eyes.<br />
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Thankfully, I'll be fine. James'll be fine. Seth and Brianne and Abe will be fine. But for now, my legs still have that weird tingly feeling that won't go away.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-35563832566467746142013-03-12T09:06:00.003-06:002013-03-12T09:06:48.485-06:00Unexpected Occupational Hazards<span style="font-size: large;">March 12, 2013</span><br />
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Over the past year and a half I've made a very unintentional, but full and complete switch to a career as a fitness trainer--which cracks me UP, by the way. Now don't get me wrong here, I loooooove it. I just never expected it.<br /><br />I think it's kind of hilarious that I have a carload of student loan debt from a masters degree in Public Administration, but I'm paying the bills with my six-week correspondence course.<br />
<br />Fine. Maybe it's not <i>that</i> extreme. But boyfriend, it's close.<br />
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With this unplanned change of plans, came a lot of unplanned issues, hazards, inconveniences, problems, you get the idea.<br />
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For example, fitness trainers do a lot of work before hours and after traditional hours. This means you might work until 9 o'clock one night and have to report for duty at 5:15 the next morning--but that's not the issue. The issue is that you're driving around at weird hours. And people, let me assure you that some incredibly weird things happens at these very weird hours.<br /><br />4:45am? <i>That</i> is the strangest time of them all.<br />
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I've come to determine that more people than you might think are up and around at 4:45 in the morning. I've also determined that 65% of these people are up and starting their work day--but the other 35%? Yeah...they haven't quite made it to bed yet.<br />
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Last week, I was driving about half a mile from my house, approaching a stop sign, when ALL of the sudden--I exaggerate not--a woman with one leg, in a super rickety old wheel chair popped out in front of my car.<br /><br />Obviously I was all, "F#$% me! I almost mowed down a one-legged woman!"<br /><br />Then I was all, "F%^& me! Where'd she come from?"<br /><br />And <i>then</i> I was all, "Oh nuh nuh nuh no. You've GOT to be kidding me--Jesus just plopped an angel in disguise, on my bumper, at 4:45 in the morning to see if I'd do the right thing. Crapcrapcrap."<br /><br />So I pulled over, and I watched the woman struggle to push herself up hill, in the super slippery snow (for real, it was snowing), sliding all over the place. At this point, I could either A) Ignore the woman/JesusAngelTestCase, or B) Help the woman.<br /><br />Welp, my dad taught me right (you know--to always help people AND be scared of hell), so I hopped out of my car and jogged up to the woman.<br /><br />I said, "Hey..it looks slippery out here. Can I help you get where you're going?"<br /><br />And she said, "Really? I'm going to the store. It's up there on the top of that hill."<br /><br />And I said, "Pssshht. No problem. I'm a runner. I'll push you up there in five seconds."<br /><br />Now cut to me, at 4:47 in the morning, jogging behind the one-legged woman's wheelchair, uphill, in a snow squall, acting like it wasn't hard. Really. Please indulge me and take a minute and let that one marinate.<br /><br />She wanted to make conversation, bless her heart. I on the other hand, wanted to pretend this was a giant baby jogger with a giant baby who couldn't talk since I was quite possibly about to experience cardiac infarction. She was like, "God BLESS you, honey! Tell me your name!"<br /><br />And I was like, "911."<br />
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So we finally got to the top of the hill, and I pushed her out of the snow, up to the entryway of the store. She took me by the hand, looked me in the eye, and I honestly, HONESTLY (remember here, the world is highly disorienting at 4:50 in the morning) thought we were about to have a Scooby Doo moment. In other words, I felt like Jesus was about to remove his one-legged old lady mask, pop his hidden foot out from under his bottom and be all, "Well doneth my child. Ye loveth thy neighbor as ye loveth thyself. May you have much money and eternal life in heaven after your hundreth birthday party."<br /><br />Well, that's not so much how it went. She took me by the hand, looked me in the eye, and said, "God Bless you sweetheart. You really went out of your way to help me get my morning cigs."<br /><br />Close enough. Close enough.<br />
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So that's one occupational hazard--weird and disorienting experiences at 5 o'clock in the morning. Some additional hazards include: The IRS, jock itch (not as sporty as it sounds), hemorrhoids, over training, and deltoid tendinitis.<br />
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Just something to keep in mind if you're considering a career switch.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-58699494691680388262013-02-28T11:24:00.000-06:002013-02-28T11:24:55.658-06:00The Block<span style="font-size: large;">February 28, 2013</span><br />
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For the past few months, every time I sign on to facebook, I feel like my newsfeed is dominated by three distinct and separate subjects: gun control statistics that seem to have no valid sources, pictures of mischievousness kittens, and moms drinking too much wine way too early in the day.<br />
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If you know me, you know that precisely none of these things are really my bag. Now don't get me wrong, cats are cute, I actually really <i>want</i> a cat. I just can't believe <i>how</i> many cats are running through my newsfeed. I'm straight up not an internet debater, so the facebook guns are dead to me. And the moms drinking buckets of wine on weekday afternoons? It just makes me think, "I want to see a few dads post some funny sayings about how their kid's dress rehearsal left them with no choice, but to drink 30 beers on Tuesday at 1 while they were solely in charge, and see how many 'likes' that one gets."<br />
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When I sign on to facebook, I want to see pictures of my sister's kids, pictures of gross stuff that people are eating to make me feel less bad about the gross stuff that I'm eating, funny status updates from people I used to know, the occasional heart wrenching status update that makes me stop and think; I want good deals on cute boots from zulilly, and I especially want to see super unflattering pictures of my friends before they have the chance to untag themselves.<br />
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You probably feel the same way, right? Right.<br />
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So. In this modern day of not needing to unfriend people to declutter my homepage, why why WHY am I almost completely unable to block the people who keep posting cats, guns and wine? I mean, I've blocked a few people, and I know that it can absolutely be cause for social blunders. Like the time I was all, "What?! You're having heart surgery, your grandma died, and you're moving?! I can't believe I didn't know!"<br />
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Yeahhhh....didn't know because I'd checked that 'unsubscribe' button. De-amn. So I was all, "Right, yeah, I don't go on facebook much. Like ever." Even though I spend 19 hours a day right there.<br />
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Maybe that's why. Or maybe, deep down, I think cat humor is hilarious.<br />
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What do you think?<br />
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<br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-7455487304491737352013-02-25T09:32:00.003-06:002013-02-25T09:34:31.587-06:00A PMS Induced Life Update<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">February 25, 2013</span></div>
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Yeah, so let's the avoid that old <i>Tap tap..Is this thing on?</i> joke. Because we all know that this (blogging), much like a sale at your local Chevrolet dealership, is a semi-annual event. I'm actually not sure what's making me blog today other than the fact that I honestly--and very accidentally--just took two caffeine pills instead of two Midol.</div>
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So don't hang out with me for the next twentyish hours--it's gonna be ugly.</div>
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Since I don't have a funny story to tell, I guess I'll just give you the old fashioned life update.</div>
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Maggie's just straight up big. See?</div>
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She's in preschool and takes dance, and just this morning hacked the tail off the rocking horse my dad made for me in 1983. No big deal. Just a vintage, handcrafted, one of a kind gift from the heart of a loving father. Besides, that horse bastard needed a trim. He let that yarn tail go for waaaayyyy too long and it was out of hand. Right Maggie?</div>
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Unfortunately, Maggie stashed the scissors somewhere quite secret. Something else is schedule to be all trimmed up and I'm terrified.</div>
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James is good, too. All the sudden, he's just a little man with really sub-par hygiene. See?</div>
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....annnnndddd, I'm just realized I haven't taken a photo of that kid since October 27th, 2012. These days, it seems to take a ginormous spiked outfit to get mommy to take your picture. And that's okay. </div>
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James is taking karate, and after sixish months of piano lessons he can play the hell out of a song called The Lame Duck. He says he's taking piano because someday the ladies will love it. I say he needs to expand his repertoire to include at least one song that's not about an injured animal.<br />
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He's thinking about it.</div>
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Jared's good. He goes to work and to the dog park. He also gave up Coke for seltzer water because he's getting older and that's what older people do?<br />
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I'm hanging in.<br />
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Biznitch is good. On January 1st, we opened up for shop in a brand new studio that's twice as big and twice as cool. I have a friend coming to take actual studio pictures this week, but in the mean time, I'll post a few that might give you a feel for the place....</div>
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This is our new logo, made by my fabulous Texas friend, Beth. She was heavily featured on this blog back in 2006 and 2007. The hardcore among you might remember, Beth:<br />
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The new place does happen to feature a full sized bar, which now looks like a pirate ship. So if you don't mind putting your kids in a play area that still has beer taps, KVC might be your new workout home:</div>
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This is the actual workout space in the studio, but we were busy having an Oscar-type award ceremony that night:<br />
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Why an awards ceremony, you ask? Because people keep doing shiz like this:<br />
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And this:</div>
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And this:</div>
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Here's me presenting the Size 6 award to a very deserving lady. She used to be a size 18!<br />
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I'm still a little turned around by the fact that this has become a legitimate mortgage-paying business. I really never expected any of this, and like any small business, I've learned that the hours are ridiculously long, you have to be willing to do ANY kind of work to make things happen (like math, and insulating tiny crawl spaces, and driving everywhere to pick up equipment), and there are fat months and lean months. </div>
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But I really do love it. I'm trying to space things out so I can keep doing this for the long haul, but who knows? There might be a day where I'm like, "And <i>that</i> was my last jump squat." Hopefully not, but I'm just kind of going with the flow.</div>
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My kids spend a lot of time at the studio, so I feel a hefty load of mom guilt. On one hand I'm like, "These kids are learning the value of a hard day of work." On the other hand I all, "I'm the worst mother in the world for not letting these kids sit home and watch TV all morning!" I try to tell myself that it's super similar to the little Italian kids whole grow up plating food in the family restaurant--expect my kid might drop a 35 pound weight on his toe instead of being spattered by some hot pasta water.<br />
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See how confused I am right now because I have PMS?<br />
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Most recently, the flow led me to order a room full of LeMond RevMaster Classics. So we'll see where that goes.</div>
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<img alt="RevMaster Classic Parts" src="http://www.lemondfitness.com/sites/lemond/upload/product_category/11-m.jpg?1264024689" height="200" width="200" /></div>
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I do have to say, I teach one helluva spin class.</div>
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But honestly, it reminds me of parenting--it can be tiring, and trying, crazy-making. But it's also so incredibly awesome. For now, it's where I'm mean to be. I think. At least that's what my lease says.</div>
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In other news, I'm training for The Sugarloaf Marathon in May and I'm pacing a KVC group at The Bay of Fundy International Marathon in June. I'm also trying to lower my body fat percentage, and I ate two cookies before 9 o'clock this morning. Got that?</div>
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PMS.<br />
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I'm not pregnant (PMS) because I really don't know if a third is in the cards for us. Not that it is, but not that it's not. Three is a very typical number of kids for a modern Mormon family. I'm not sure why, but I think it's because two kids just aren't strong enough to pull your handcart to heaven. But three? Three can do. that. job.</div>
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If you have an extremely convincing argument as to why we should or shouldn't have a third kid, go ahead and put that in the comments, too.</div>
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I've also been highlighting my hair to almost entirely blond. Because I do believe I'm having a mild to moderate early-midlife-crisis. I think I'm too old to have another baby. I also think I'm too young for this fake blond hair SOMEBODYHELPME.</div>
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PMS.<br />
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So that's me in a nutshell. What's new with you old friends?<br />
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Anyone want to come run a marathon with me?</div>
<br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-67826978435664597572012-08-06T07:48:00.000-06:002012-08-06T07:49:02.569-06:00A Trip...<span style="font-size: large;">August 6, 2012</span><br />
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So we went away for our 10th anniversary, and I'm happy to say that it was really good for us. We drove up to Quebec City--about 5 hours by car.We very affectionately call it it The Poor Man's Paris.
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We stayed at this little B&B with all sorts of super cultural people whose language we didn't speak:<br />
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And Jared took my picture with this guy, who was guarding the entrance to a historical fort where something happened one time. A long time ago:<br />
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And Jared carved our initials into a tree:<br />
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I wore this obscenely short dress out to an obscenely expensive dinner:<br />
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Made Jared take a few pictures since I wan't wearing pajamas:<br />
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I ate piglet. And it was more than my weekly grocery budget:<br />
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That's cheesecake. Unfortunately not the size of my head:<br />
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And that's Jared singing some 90s songs.<br />
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10 years, my legs look good, and we're back on the upswing.<br />
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Thank you guys. You know who you are.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-86278551644358885792012-05-31T19:10:00.000-06:002012-05-31T19:11:00.238-06:00Miscalculations in Banking<h3>
May 31, 2012</h3>
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I love running around with a jogging stroller, but when I say running around, I literally mean<i> running</i> around.</div>
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<i>Running</i> around doing errands with a jogging stroller? Now THAT'S a straight up bed wetting nightmare. And lately, I've been doing a lot of literal running to run my errands.</div>
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Does that make any sense?</div>
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In other words, thanks to the downtown location of the studio, Maggie and I actually run to the post office, the bank, the pharmacy, the playground (<i>her</i> errand), and Dairy Queen. Actually she rides, I run--lucky little crapper.</div>
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So yesterday we ran to the bank--a fancy ass bank with big old heavy freaking doors.</div>
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Have you ever tried to get through ANY set of doors with an 8-foot long jogging stroller with bicycle sized wheels? Okay--have you ever tried to get through a set of 900-pounds doors that hate to stay open and want to squash you in their hinges like a hairy little spider?</div>
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Yeah, it's tough. And there's only one way in...backwards.</div>
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You basically have to throw open the door with every gut you've got, catch it with your ass, and blindly back 'er up with just enough speed and precision to avoid the door from bumping the front tire and tampering with your trajectory and vectors.</div>
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So I did it. I threw. I bumped out the backside and made a square catch. And I backed in, in, in...and then DAMN IT...the door slammed right onto my front wheel. And that bastardly thing must have adjusted my angle by at least 45 degrees.<br />
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Plus, a little lip on the door was all tangled up with the bolt on my front axle. I was pushing, pulling, spitting, maneuvering, and I'm not even exaggerating, there was a cartoon arrow up above my head that said, FRAZZLED MOM ALERT! And another one that said, CONSTIPATED!</div>
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How thoroughly embarrassing.</div>
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Dripping sweat, and cursing my existence in this cruel cruel world, I finally backed that thang up all the way into the bank lobby. </div>
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Or so I thought.</div>
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When I finished wiping my brow, and my path of vision came into focus, I immediately saw a sign sitting on a desk that said: Matt Dwyer, Vice President.</div>
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Nightmare. I'd over corrected my stroller angle and backed all 8 feet of my rig right into the Vice President's office (very nicely decorated, if I do say so myself). </div>
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And then...THEN...I had to open my fat old lips and mispronounce the guy's name.<br />
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I looked right at the 'Matt Dwyer' name plate and said, "Oh, hey Matthew Dyer! How'd this happen? You know me and m'little snafus."</div>
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Then I <i>RE</i>recorrected my stroller angle, inched my way back, and smacked my front wheel ALL up on his trinket display case. Horror.</div>
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So Mr. Dwyer, I'm sorry about the whole thing. But next time I accidentally end up in your office, could you offer me a Tootsie Pop?</div>
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Thanks.</div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-360303320306914192012-05-23T05:08:00.002-06:002012-05-23T05:08:57.309-06:00Wardrobe Change<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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You know what's funny about being a public-sector development consultant <em>and</em> a fitness trainer? The uniforms are totally different. <br />
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For one job, it's all about the flattering trousers and blouses from the clearance rack at TJ Maxx. For the other job, it's all about full body spandex from the clearance rack at TJ Maxx. Same store, <em>very</em> different looks. And I don't know if you know this, but spandex is a ridiculous b*&^% to put on and take off. <br />
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Most days, I'm doing some form of both jobs. Like yesterday, it went like this:<br />
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6am-10am: Personal Train 4 people<br />10:15am-2:15pm: Consult about a bridge project<br />
4pm-5pm: Train an office full of financial advisors<br />
6pm-8pm: Annual Meeting for consulting job<br />
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And somewhere in between all that, I was picking up kids, dropping off kids, leaving kids crying on city curbs, getting parking tickets, and eating 3 chocolate chip cookies the size of my face. <br />
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Right now my life is like a puzzle with wrinkles <em>and</em> zits. I mean really, is this middle school or middle age? Don't even get me started about zits popping up IN wrinkles because I swear I will cut Mother Nature--I'll cut her with a knife. <br /><br />So my schedule. It requires all kinds of quick wardrobe changes, and much like SuperMan, I've taken to layering up and ripping off suits in very public places.<br />
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A typical outfit is a sports bra, spandex shorts, and a solid colored tee-shirt as the base layer. Black trouser pants, a black suit jacket, and pearls are the preferred over layer--very awkward when a Nike swoosh peeks out near the lapel, but hey, STOP LOOKING AT MY BOOBS! <br />
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Runnning shoes and ballet flats. One pair on my feet, the other in my purse. Always barefoot. Yes, it's stinky--but it expedites the switcharoo. And that's the first priority right now--switcharoo expiditation.<br />
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So yesterday, as I previously mentioned, I had my annual meeting for the day job. I did a quick wardrobe change in the front seat of my car and walked into the restuarant banquet room with 1 minute to spare. I looked good, I smelled kind of bad, and dang it felt like I had a load in my pants.<br />
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But I was late. They funneled me straight to the presenter's podium--no time to investigate.<br /><br />When I finished my presentation and went back to my chair, my sitting felt kind of lumpy. Well, very lumpy--like maybe I was sitting on a rumpled up cloth napkin. But I wasn't, I checked.<br />
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Finally, after the 2 hour meeting wrapped up, I waddled out to my car like Maggie (you know--a toddler with a diaper hanging down to their knees because their mother belongs to a church called The Church of I'll Only Change You for a Poop). There, I was met by a very chatty woman. Who only likes to chat about work related issues. And I had a TV waiting for me at home. You know how this goes.<br />
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Only 2 minutes into the chat, I kept picturing myself punching her in the face. I played out the scene through like a slo-mo movie, then like a loony toon, and then like I was Jackie Chan--actually opting to round house kick her in the face rather than a plain old punch. <br />
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Finally, when I could stand no more, I lost my judgement. I reached my hand down my pants, pulled out the culprit--a single brown sock, looked her right in the eye and asked, "Do you ever find stray socks in your underpants? I JUST did!" Then I held it up so she could see. <br />
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She did that awkward howamisupposedtolaughrightnow laugh, excused herself and drove away.<br />
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And I finally got home to my dear, sweet TV.<br />
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Then I wore pajamas.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-11807475641603478942012-05-22T11:48:00.001-06:002012-05-23T05:09:13.509-06:00Four MonthsI got a check in the mail yesterday. From BlogHer. For $20.03. <br />
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Then I remembered that I had this blog. So yeah. I'm not four months pregnant, I'm four months blogless.<br />
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I tried to sign in and realized that Blogger changed EVERYTHING about posting, so I'm not really sure what I'm writing or how to press publish or how to tell my left from my right. Ya know, I could be obliviously posting in a Chinese speaking porn forum right this very second. <br />
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When I opened that check yesterday I thought, "Oh man, I remember that old thing. I can't write on my blog anymore because I don't have any time." Then I was like, "Man, I hate people who say they don't have time."<br />
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Today, I'm supposed to be getting ready for my big ass annual meeting for my super secret day job, and since I have reports to write and deadlines to meet, I thought this would be the ideal time to whip up a post. <br />
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This is my fifth annual meeting with that job, and every year my report becomes significantly less impressive. Last year, I kid you not, I printed two reports per page, and ripped the copy paper down the middle. It was all raggedy and frayed, and when I handed it out, I just acted like those reports were ass freaking incredible. I acted like I was ALL about the earth and ALL about efficiency. Now don't get me wrong, I love the earth, it's my home. But actually, on that given day, I was ALL about printing out full colored 8.5x11 pictures of vegetables. A pepper's a very saturated image, so by the time I printed out my ideal salad, I had no ink over for annual board meeting reports.<br />
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This year, I might try an oral report.<br />
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Okay, so anyway, it's been a while. Isn't it so dumb when people write posts about not posting? People like me? So dumb, but seriously, should I catch you up?<br />
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Jared's good. He's planning a weekend fishing trip. That's all.<br />
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James is good. He turned 7 last month and his head is huge. He was recently ousted from the gifted & talented program for not doing his homework, and Jared and I were too unmotivated to try to fight it. What can we say? He's walkin' in our shoes.<br />
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Maggie's really funny. She still draws on everything, including, but not limited to furniture, walls, floors and clients. For real, I have this woman who comes into the studio five times a week, and last Friday, Maggie drew on her face with a purple marker. She's a really bad Assistant to the Junior Coach, but she's a really good daughter. And cute alert...Maggie calls herself a 'cess.' As in princess. If I was a good Mormon, I'd take some old fashioned looking instagram pictures of Maggie in a homemade princess skirt and write a nice, fat paragragh about the word 'cess.' Imagine it. It's cute.<br />
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Here they are reading an ice cream menu:<br />
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And me? Well, lots of farting lately. Oh, and this is my last annual meeting with my super secret job. Assciting! Kennebec Valley Chiropractic and Kennebec Valley Coaching are gonna pay all the bills starting at the end of June. Why not? If we get foreclosed one, we'll just add that experience to our already robust wisdom file.<br />
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But we won't.<br />
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This might be my last post until the end of June, because (oh I hate to say it), I'm really busy. But things are lightening up, so maybe I'll be back!Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-89938650370185886192012-01-26T08:28:00.000-06:002012-01-26T08:28:50.534-06:00Things that Piss Us Off Thursday: Volume Something<span style="font-size: large;">January 26, 2012</span><br />
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Wow, I need this like a fish needs frigging water. So, without further ado, here's what's pissing me off today (and maybe for the last month):<br />
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1) When things get overly complicated within groups of people. In other words, drama. Ech. I even hate just <i>typing</i> that work.<br />
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2) Crappy snow at the end of January. In the Lawson family, we're all happier when we can ski a little.<br />
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3) Solicitations for who-knows-what on my work phone line. I actually feel a mini adrenaline rush when I hang up on them.<br />
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4) Super slow internet with really spotty wireless.<br />
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5) The fact that I'm too lazy to call about the super slow internet with really spotty wireless.<br />
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6) My own disorganization.<br />
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There, that felt good. Now it's your turn.<br />
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Aaaaaaaand go!Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-13573848153437716142012-01-25T20:01:00.001-06:002012-01-25T20:02:54.983-06:00God Does Toe Raises Every Single DayRight now, I'm sitting on a pile of mats in the brand new studio thinking to myself, "Wow, what just happened?"<br />
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And I guarentee you that Jared's sitting at home, in his recliner thinking, "Wow, where the hell is she? We need to watch some Pawn Stars on Netflix."<br />
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In case you didn't pick up on it in the pictures down there, the new studio is right next door to Jared's four-year-old chiropractic office. So far, I can't lie, the getting-used-to-it phase has been kind of tough. I've essentially edged in on a part of his life that used to be just his.<br />
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Our kids are in and out of his office more than they ever used to be--and by that, I mean, that James does laps through the treatment area on his scooter since the spaces connect in the front and in the back.<br />
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We've had approximately one million squabbles over lost staplers, messy bathrooms (we share 'em), walking in on each others' clients, a misplaced broom...you get it.<br />
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I just hope it all evens out.<br />
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I don't want to be in Jared's way. I don't want to drive him crazy, and I don't want him to wish I was somewhere in Asia. I want to leave each other alone, occassionally wave at each other through our front doors, and have three to five nooners every week.<br />
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I also want him to pay for my window washing, because I think that would be super sweet. <br />
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I honestly, with every fiber of my being think it will turn into that, but for now, we're ironing out our growing pains. I hate growing pains.<br />
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This might sound silly--and I'm sorry, you're probably thinking WOMAN, CAN YOU TALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE?--but I can't believe this is happening. I love what I'm doing so so much, and honestly, I've never even felt adequate at a job before. So to come in here and have the chance to do a good job every single day? I love it so much.<br />
<br />
This was never my dream. I never thought running would or could be a business. I never thought I'd be a personal trainer, ever. And I especially never thought I'd have a career outside of a cubicle with a desk and a Dell.<br />
<br />
But this is where I've been led. And I really think I've been led.<br />
<br />
I feel like it's kind of stupid to say something like, "This is what God wants me to do." Because a) With the exception of prostitution, does God really care what I do to make a buck? and b) Why would God care about exercise?<br />
<br />
But you know what? I've never felt so guided in my life. Other than getting married and deciding to have kids, I've rarely felt like God was guiding me in any direction all. I've always felt like he was all, "They're all good ideas, Amy. Do what you want, my blessed child."<br />
<br />
This time, it's different. Because it feels like I'm <i>supposed</i> to be helping people learn how to do a nice squat. And I've learned that God<i> does</i> care about what I do, and I really think God likes exercise, too.<br />
<br />
And as a side note, if I had to guess, Jesus Christ was probably a runner. Possibly a swimmer, but DEFINITELY not a power lifter, just sayin'.<br />
<br />
When it comes to religion, I know I'm usually not much more than the Mormon who likes to swear. But go ahead, now you can add 'the Mormon who thinks Heavenly Father is doing some one-legged toe raises under than flowing robe thingy.' Because HE IS.<br />
<br />
I'm hoping beyond hope that this all works out. That Kennebec Valley Coaching can put some food in our bellies, and make people in Central Maine healthier and happier.<br />
<br />
<br />
Yesterday, I was driving to get Maggie and I saw a runner coming toward me on the side of the road. She looked lean, and strong, and fast. And when I got closer, I realized she was a Kennebec Valley Coacher. She joined the Couch to 5k group last summer, and now she's out of a six-miler on a random winter day.<br />
<br />
It made me cry.<br />
<br />
So thanks for the patience these last few months. I hope I can write here more often these days. And I promise, it won't just be about the business venture.<br />
<br />
Although I did minorly pee in my pants tonight during a tough round of squat jumps. <br />
<br />
Happens to the best of us.<br />
<br />
Thanks.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-2306787495831754762012-01-25T07:30:00.001-06:002012-01-25T07:31:33.389-06:00The Latest Online Fitness ChallengeAnd while we're on the subject of <a href="http://www.kennebecvalleycoaching.com/" target="_blank">Kennebec Valley Coaching</a>...<br />
<br />
If you're on facebook, and you're looking for a little bit of motivation to improve your diet and exercise situations, check this out:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R00HdBBdjAs/TyABw6lS7iI/AAAAAAAAAIk/hkANuiVOF4U/s1600/Chocolate+Challenge.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="302" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R00HdBBdjAs/TyABw6lS7iI/AAAAAAAAAIk/hkANuiVOF4U/s320/Chocolate+Challenge.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
It's $15, and <a href="http://www.active.com/fitness-training-program/augusta-me/the-chocolate-is-not-a-food-group-super-challenge-2012" target="_blank">you can register here</a>.<br />
<br />
There are 2 different parts to the challenge. You can try for 1, or try for both.<br />
<br />
The 1st option is the diet option. We're shooting to follow the 90/10 rule of eating. 90% pure, unprocessed, single ingredient foods (obviously you can cook and mix single ingredient foods together). And 10% whatever you want.<br />
<br />
The 2nd option is the exercise option. We're aiming for 20 minutes a day, every day in February.<br />
<br />
Everyone will set a motivator to help get them through the month. Maybe buy a cute, new dress that's a leeetle bit tight. Schedule a boudoir photo shoot for yourself. Buy a new belt to keep you motivated. Shoot to run a 5k race. You get the idea.<br />
<br />
At the end, we'll pick a winner from each category.<br />
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The last challenge was super fun. One winner ran over 150 miles between Thanksgiving and January, and the other winner lost 9 pounds.<br />
<br />
That could be you! And all it takes is a little online fitness challenge...<br />
<br />
Come on, we're SO fun. Really, we are.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-35583290625606543202012-01-24T17:09:00.001-06:002012-01-24T17:11:26.455-06:00I Swear I Have a Good ExcuseI know. It's been six weeks. I swear I've been really busy.<br />
<br />
Photographic evidence:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mSnBp-uS_OE/Tx82YYl1POI/AAAAAAAAOvc/wtsomd51H_g/s1600/IMG_1051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mSnBp-uS_OE/Tx82YYl1POI/AAAAAAAAOvc/wtsomd51H_g/s320/IMG_1051.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The greatest ginormous chalk board in all of Central Maine.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YjAPjqLQb84/Tx82hjdNWVI/AAAAAAAAOvk/WJsDqcbXWak/s1600/IMG_1052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YjAPjqLQb84/Tx82hjdNWVI/AAAAAAAAOvk/WJsDqcbXWak/s320/IMG_1052.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A map to represent some of the far away Kennebec Valley Coachers. I still have four spots open for individual coachees if anyone's interested. $5/month blog reader discount!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AdkJBVDgZi8/Tx82qc63v7I/AAAAAAAAOvs/4IJi12WflTQ/s1600/IMG_1053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AdkJBVDgZi8/Tx82qc63v7I/AAAAAAAAOvs/4IJi12WflTQ/s320/IMG_1053.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6FYidKltxg/Tx82zWvfLDI/AAAAAAAAOv0/QLUM02sQWlI/s1600/IMG_1054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6FYidKltxg/Tx82zWvfLDI/AAAAAAAAOv0/QLUM02sQWlI/s320/IMG_1054.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">You can have James if you'll come paint that trim for me. No, not joking.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fjHkedzHSDw/Tx828vjv6uI/AAAAAAAAOv8/hTjhM5Gm5fs/s1600/IMG_1055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fjHkedzHSDw/Tx828vjv6uI/AAAAAAAAOv8/hTjhM5Gm5fs/s320/IMG_1055.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Tzi7oupD44k/Tx83S3rJB-I/AAAAAAAAOwM/cyCDZUX0B1E/s1600/IMG_1057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Tzi7oupD44k/Tx83S3rJB-I/AAAAAAAAOwM/cyCDZUX0B1E/s320/IMG_1057.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The legends.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Unaf6QjLTCE/Tx83gX0F7NI/AAAAAAAAOwU/VGhbxUmkhj0/s1600/IMG_1058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Unaf6QjLTCE/Tx83gX0F7NI/AAAAAAAAOwU/VGhbxUmkhj0/s320/IMG_1058.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It can say OPEN, too. Get it?</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OtELHLQS6wc/Tx8371YEaJI/AAAAAAAAOwk/C4HV6wSglmI/s1600/IMG_1060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OtELHLQS6wc/Tx8371YEaJI/AAAAAAAAOwk/C4HV6wSglmI/s320/IMG_1060.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Studio on the right, Jared's chiropractic office on the left. So far so good...only four screamfests over office supplies!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eVb5-eXxLhw/Tx84JGICX2I/AAAAAAAAOws/RPz6DnVJW2g/s1600/IMG_1061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eVb5-eXxLhw/Tx84JGICX2I/AAAAAAAAOws/RPz6DnVJW2g/s320/IMG_1061.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's says 'Endurance Coaching for Everyday People.'</div><br />
It's a group training studio. Running goups, triathlon classes, pilates, boot camps, aerobics, you name it. A work in progress, and I'm in love. If you want to stalk more closely, you can 'like' Kennebec Valley Coaching on facebook.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-34985974883556825442011-12-06T12:00:00.004-06:002011-12-06T12:25:11.692-06:00Run Muffin<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">December 6, 2011</span><br />
<br />
For a while, I was thinking I was in the market for a new job. Because remember? I have that top secret job that I never ever talk about? Well, I thought maybe it was time to look around. That's where all the "I think I'm taking this blog down and starting a secret blog" crapola came from. So I'd be less Googleable. Because that really is a word these days.<br />
<br />
Then I had two realizations:<br />
<br />
1) I like my job a lot and I'm not ready or dying to work full-time. Deep in my heart, I want to be around for Maggie to kick me in the shins and claw at my hair like a ravenous eagle when I won't give her a chip.<br />
<br />
2) If I applied for a new job and they decided not to hire me because I have a used-to-be-funny blog, then they stink and I don't want to work for them anyway.<br />
<br />
So there's that explanation.<br />
<br />
Plus, Kennebec Valley Coaching has been getting busier and I want to keep going with that flow.<br />
<br />
Because that new aspect of my life is starting to take shape, I decided it needs its own blog. It has a website, and it has fantabulous people, but no blog. So I made a new blog. It's called <a href="http://runmuffin.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">Run Muffin</span></a>. So far it has 2 posts, 0 comments, and 0 followers. Isn't that rad? I mean can't you see what you're missing out on? Let's just say it's a lot.<br />
<br />
The idea of the blog is the same idea as all of my fitness stuff...real fitness for normal people. And so far, if you want to learn more about High Intensity Interval Training or what I ate today, it's totally the hot place to be. I'll also use it as a place to highlight some of my coachees' successes, and talk about spaghetti.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow's post might be about baby weight or those soft caramel candies with the white dot in the middle. You'll just have to wait and see.<br />
<br />
But most importantly, it features a hot dog in the header to help keep a consistent look in my life. You know-- hot dog in the header, hot dog in the belly, hot dog on the mind....and so on and so forth.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-89341514137739089932011-11-22T09:28:00.000-06:002011-11-22T09:28:04.321-06:00Big Ass Painting Woops<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">November 22, 2011</span><br />
<br />
My Dad is one of those guys who can fix anything. Anything.<br />
<br />
He rebuilds cars, he fixes boat engines, he paints, he remodels, he lays carpet, and I when I was a child, I kid you not, he put an addition on our house by himself. Literally, all by himself. There was no architect, there were no subcontractors. The only help he ever had was for one hour, when a few of friends came over to help him heft the ginormous supporting joist in exchange for a couple of Busch Beers.Other than that, the family room was built el-solo.<br />
<br />
It's funny how life patterns itself, because I also have a husband who likes to do things all by himself. Such as hunt, fish, wipe, and sleep when he pisses me off.<br />
<br />
They do say you marry your father!<br />
<br />
My father was blessed with a daughter who happens to be a whole lot of fun, but also a sh$%-a$$-cluster-$%^& of a mess. Thanks to the Mormon religion, I'm not an alcoholic. And thanks to the pure Grace of God and a Southern friend who likes to pop by unexpectedly, I'm not a hoarder. But I will admit, every time I watch that show, I fell really <i>really </i>bad for those people...like the hoarders are being wronged.<br />
<br />
Because they are.<br />
<br />
You can hear me desperately pleading with the TV waves. I'm like, "No, please, don't. Please let her keep the vintage jar of beans and the doll with no head. Please. They MEAN SOMETHING TO HER."<br />
<br />
I also think my toothbrush has feelings.<br />
<br />
Anyhoo, I'm a completely disorganized mess, and as such, I rarely finish a home-repair project beyond 90%. You can see 'em all over my house. Every room has a gem or two. And Jared's probably worse. Even if I do the first 90% of the project completely on my own, he refuses to participate in any portion of the final 10.<br />
<br />
If I say, "Jared, I just ripped out this closet, re-sheetrocked, painted, stenciled, and showered it with pixie dust. Can you hang these hooks?" He'll go, "You got us into this mess, now you get us out of this mess. Where's my dog?"<br />
<br />
Then I start hating him, and I consciously decide not the hang the hooks, because I want a constant reminder of how much he sucks ever time I try to hang my coat and it slumps to the ground.<br />
<br />
(What's that? You need marriage advice? Call me!)<br />
<br />
Anyhoo, my parents are rolling into town any minute, and I decided I absolutely had to complete two unfinished painting projects before my father sets eyes on my house and has to give himself a pep-talk about unconditional love. I had to:<br />
<br />
1) Paint the ceiling in the mudroom, and<br />
<br />
2) Paint the trim in the upstairs hallway.<br />
<br />
The mudroom's done. It went fine. Actually, it's not done. There's a little hole in the wall, and it really needs a second coat of paint that it'll never get. See? Done. But the upstairs hallway? Let's just say it is, was, and will be the biggest painting oops of my entire time on this planet. And probably the eternities after.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-opYztv_7VbI/Tsu6S0HZfeI/AAAAAAAAOrs/FP8oIWdKHrY/s1600/IMG_0850.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-opYztv_7VbI/Tsu6S0HZfeI/AAAAAAAAOrs/FP8oIWdKHrY/s320/IMG_0850.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
This is the upstairs hallway. Not too long ago (in honor of Gracie's death if we're being perfectly honest), we put down new floors. Sweet old greyhound, she used to like to take long, giant pees up there just to remind us that she only<i> kind of</i> liked us. So, about forty-five minutes after she died, through my sobs, wails, and hyperventilation, I was like, "What's...<i>sob, sob, cry</i>...the budget...<i>sob, sob, sob</i>...for when I go..<i>.heave, heave, cry</i>...floor shopping tomorrow?"<br />
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Very sad moment. Still tears me up just a splash.<br />
<br />
So, we laid new floors, we replaced the trim, and we painted the walls. Only I was too cheap to buy brand new paint for such a small area, so I mixed some dark beige and some light beige and made just enough medium beige to cover the walls. And by the way, I know. It's a lot of beige.<br />
<br />
So I painted the walls, and Jared put up the trim.<br />
<br />
And it needed to be painted.<br />
<br />
And two months later it still needed to be painted.<br />
<br />
And one month later, when by dad was just about to visit, it still needed to be painted.<br />
<br />
So I painted it.<br />
<br />
But when I painted it, I got just a little bit of white paint on the wall. No biggie, I'd cover it up with my homemade medium beige.<br />
<br />
So I did.<br />
<br />
Except it wasn't beige. I'm apparently really stupid in dim places, because it was actually white. See?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-whynvssmAHc/Tsu9hAwLMxI/AAAAAAAAOr0/v14mS6OIgfs/s1600/IMG_0849.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-whynvssmAHc/Tsu9hAwLMxI/AAAAAAAAOr0/v14mS6OIgfs/s320/IMG_0849.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
I'm all out of my homemade beige. Well I wasn't out of homemade beige, but I was getting emotionally attached to the almost empty can, calling it 'Uncle' and stuff, so Jared threw it away. I never knew.<br />
<br />
So my homemade color is gone, and I can't really waltz over to the paint store and go, "Whip me up one gallon of hocus-pocus medium beige," while I wiggle my fingers to make the scene look at magical.<br />
<br />
I can't very well bring an entire wall and have it colored matched either.<br />
<br />
My only alternative is to repaint the ENTIRE HALLWAY. And really, how long do you think<i> that</i>'ll take?<br />
<br />
I give it a year. I'm sorry Dad.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-14298584238432902352011-11-16T12:11:00.001-06:002011-11-16T12:12:20.675-06:00Bun Topples<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">November 16, 2011</span><br />
<br />
So I suck at the everyday thankful posts. ARE YOU HONESTLY SURPRISED?!<br />
<br />
I didn't think so.<br />
<br />
The truth is, I'm thankful for a lot of things. Things like my mom, and my dad, and my kids who are so inappropriately cute that it's almost painful to look at them with the naked eye. Those kinds of things.<br />
<br />
I'm also thankful for The Sister Wives (we have a new TV and how fracking cute/sweet/normal/crrrazy are they?), and that I passed the personal trainer certification test last Friday. Because holy shiz, that thing was hard. I'm not a science-minded kind of girl, so the fact that the direction your pelvis tilts is related to the strength of your hamstrings is attached to the flexibility of your lower back makes about as much sense to me as this sentence:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>I sweater on top the next day's frosted bun topples minute.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Just imagine one-hundred-fifty of these sentences with a question mark at the end and four different choices. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">But somehow, by the Grace of God, the favors of my mother, and the gajillion tutorials from Jared, I passed. When that passing score popped up on the computer screen, I looked up at the proctor all teary-eyed and whispered, "I passed." She gave me a brief little should hug and said, "Congratulations. You'll be a great TSA agent."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I actually think it was the short, balding guy in the work boots who was taking the TSA agent test, which is fine--he looked more than innocent enough to pat me down.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">And with that, I'll leave you with a random smattering of pictures from my memory card.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">My friend Misty holding a cake:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5vUhT6Gsme8/TsP3YwkTVlI/AAAAAAAAOrA/5-XgsUIqaTk/s1600/IMG_0777.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5vUhT6Gsme8/TsP3YwkTVlI/AAAAAAAAOrA/5-XgsUIqaTk/s320/IMG_0777.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One of my dearest friend Megan wearing a ball gown in a bowling alley:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1RibWed_SF8/TsP3lsB42AI/AAAAAAAAOrI/oAPaoZ5hggg/s1600/IMG_0787.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1RibWed_SF8/TsP3lsB42AI/AAAAAAAAOrI/oAPaoZ5hggg/s320/IMG_0787.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
Cutie kids on Halloween. That <a href="http://granolasdodallas.blogspot.com/2006/10/rodeo-cowboy-this-is-my-first-try-at.html">cowboy costume</a> was one of the first-ever posts on this blog:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0f8XNe4z4bI/TsP4ii6N5AI/AAAAAAAAOrg/3_yfQyC_EkA/s1600/IMG_0798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0f8XNe4z4bI/TsP4ii6N5AI/AAAAAAAAOrg/3_yfQyC_EkA/s320/IMG_0798.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My Train for the Trot runners. I smell a lot of Thanksgiving Day PRs coming on:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rgylNkHCxSg/TsP27z0OXMI/AAAAAAAAOq4/KnPCKLUcMj0/s1600/IMG_0813.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rgylNkHCxSg/TsP27z0OXMI/AAAAAAAAOq4/KnPCKLUcMj0/s320/IMG_0813.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And my pregnant friends Marcie and Nicole on Halloween. Actually, Marcie popped out an 11 pound 10 ounce baby yesterday:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yq0gzC-aNTM/TsP38vBBBsI/AAAAAAAAOrY/-FTUCQGqHI0/s1600/IMG_0810.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yq0gzC-aNTM/TsP38vBBBsI/AAAAAAAAOrY/-FTUCQGqHI0/s320/IMG_0810.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Hope you're having a good Wednesday!</div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-62681169968570844802011-11-03T07:35:00.000-06:002011-11-03T07:35:15.804-06:00Thankful Day Three<span style="font-size: large;">November 3, 2011</span><br />
<br />
Today I'm thankful that my biggest problems are:<br />
<br />
1) I can't find my cell phone and it's out of batteries so I can't find it.<br />
2) I can't find my keys to Jared's office.<br />
3) I keep forgetting to return our Red Box movies, and I think I'm up to $8.<br />
<br />
As far as problems go, those aren't really problems at all. I'm a hyper-disorganized, disgusting slob. <i>Very</i> grateful that that's the extent of it.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-7963981684119309512011-11-02T12:09:00.000-06:002011-11-02T12:09:39.536-06:00Thankful Day Two<span style="font-size: large;">November 2, 2011</span><br />
<br />
Today I'm grateful for the Holiday Ham Hock Super Challenge.<br />
<br />
<em>What</em>? You don't know what that is? This is <em>news to you</em>?<br />
<br />
I'm just kidding. I made it up in a moment of insomnia last night, so it's news to me, too. Here's my graphic:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-i4ReDqrCrGI/TrGCeyUMFJI/AAAAAAAAOqs/OftUToGrkjc/s1600/Ham+Hock+Challenge+Squirrel.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" ida="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-i4ReDqrCrGI/TrGCeyUMFJI/AAAAAAAAOqs/OftUToGrkjc/s400/Ham+Hock+Challenge+Squirrel.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
This is a facebook challenge open to every single member of the human race who has an internet connection. It's $15 to sign up, and half of all proceeds will go to the Dallas chapter of <a href="http://www.backonmyfeet.org/">Back on My Feet</a>. Why the Dallas Chapter? Because once upon a time, The Lawsons did Dallas! Remember?<br />
<br />
There are three prizes up for grabs, and they're all the same. A free registation to any of Kennebec Valley Coaching's 2012 training groups, or a free month of individual coaching (in-person or online). You can win by a) running the most miles, b) losing the most poundage, or c) being the most enthusiastic exerciser and healthy eater.<br />
<br />
If you're some kind of weirdo robot and you already run 100+ miles every December because you hate pie, then maybe this challenge isn't for you. It's more geared toward those of us who want to sleep with pie and have it's handsome, little pie babies. Or newish runners--it's perfect for them, too.<br />
<br />
Sign-up's <a href="http://www.active.com/fitness-training-program/augusta-me/the-holiday-ham-hock-super-challenge-2011?int=29-6">right over here</a>. Starts the day after Thanksgiving and runs through January 1st. <br />
<br />
Thankful to be able to organize these things. It's way too damn much fun.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-6244284625314848812011-11-01T16:49:00.000-06:002011-11-01T16:49:45.074-06:00Thankful Day One<span style="font-size: large;">November 1, 2011</span><br />
<br />
Today, I'm thankful to have an attorney in the family. Smart as hell, this one:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dnaiIaNh_EM/TrB28S2O8XI/AAAAAAAAOqk/YC22VQgKnvs/s1600/Dan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ida="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dnaiIaNh_EM/TrB28S2O8XI/AAAAAAAAOqk/YC22VQgKnvs/s320/Dan.jpg" width="311" /></a></div><br />
Seriously, you should get a lawyer in your family, too.<br />
<br />
Oh, and wait. You need a super well-priced, over-achieving, work-his-brains-out attorney who's lisenced in Maine <em>and</em> New Hampshire? I have his number.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-88417949244128277842011-10-26T12:53:00.000-06:002011-10-26T12:53:36.931-06:00Potential Overhaul<span style="font-size: large;">October 26, 2011</span><br />
<br />
What's the deal with the human lure toward ugly things? Ugly dogs, ugly patterns, ugly pumpkins, ugly cars--people like ugly. And lately I'm absolutely obsessed with an ugly little storefront that's down the street from Jared. Do I feel bad for it? Do I want to mother it? <br />
<br />
I don't know, but I take that back. It's not ugly, it's tired. No, exhausted. And I feel like it's an egg (a wood-panelled egg), and my dreams are swooshing around inside of it, waiting to <em>BURST OUT</em> like a butterfly, catch a draft on a moonbeam, and glitter my life with heaven dust. Except butterflies don't hatch from eggs, which is <em>fine</em>.<br />
<br />
Did I mention that it's also an Art-Deco egg? I love Art-Deco. <br />
<br />
Back in the day, this place must have been a little dress shop--at least that's what the storefront windows make me think. A dress shop or a hat shop, but either way, a place where fabulous ladies shopped. I don't know what it's been lately, but I think I know what it's about to become, and damn. Just damn.<br />
<br />
I haven't been all the way through this space, but I'm planning to get in there today or tomorrow--when I can really peel back some carpet, and pull down some paneling, and see if there's cool looking duct work up above the drop ceiling.<br />
<br />
Right now, the potential is completely in my imagination, which is an okay place to start. In my imagination, the space runs all the way to the back of the building. In my imagination, the space has old wood floors that I can paint. And in my imagination, I'll be able to afford an awning by spring.<br />
<br />
In reality, I know that if only one of my imagined scenarios is true, I'm a lucky duck.<br />
<br />
So. Can anyone out there tell me an amazing transoformation story? A house your remodeled? A barn you saved? A rust bucket car you restored? How you learned to use a hammer? All for fifty bucks?<br />
<br />
Sometimes I forget that we overhauled Jared's office, and a tiny little house back in 2003. <br />
<br />
What have you overhauled?Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-42225373500540278132011-10-21T10:49:00.001-06:002011-10-21T10:53:16.284-06:00D-U-N and a Win!<span style="font-size: large;">October 21, 2011</span><br />
<br />
I'm done teaching seminary. If you're confused, 'seminary' is Mormon for the-class-of-ten-teenagers-that-meets-at-my-house-every-morning-from-6:10-7-to-learn-about-the-Old-Testament. <br />
<br />
When I say, <em>I'm done</em>, it doesn't mean I'm having a hard time, feeling pretty overwhelmed, and may or may not want to hurl myself out the one-and-a-half story window of a raised-ranch. <em>I'm done</em> means that's how I felt a month ago, so I went to my Bishop, asked him for access to said window, and he told me they'd find someone new.<br />
<br />
And today was the last day. <br />
<br />
Now Ben DP Sue K (CES), I don't know the details, (and yes, I'm <strike>kind of</strike> avoiding your calls on purpose), but I do know that the kids showed up at my door this morning with muffins, signs, and bacon. And in my world, that's what I call one hell of a send-off party.<br />
<br />
Typically, Mormons don't ask to be done with a job like this. They keep going, and going, and smiling, and being awesome, and faithful, and taking high blood pressure medication. But honestly, my umph was straight up gone. In the words of Dooce, "The Mormon Pioneers are not impressed."<br />
<br />
But right now, on the record, I want to make it known that IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THE STUDENTS.If James and Maggie turn out to be like any one of those kids (Christa, Emma, Thomas, Otis, Caitlynn, Corena, Chelcie, Jabob, Teearna, Shelby), I'll consider myself a raging success of a mother. They were polite, hilarious, enthusiastic, and gave me tons of compliments. I love those kids.<br />
<br />
The reason I decided to give it up is simple: I had too many things going on at once.<br />
<br />
I've been waking up at 3:30 or 4 (not because I try to, but because I can't help it), teaching seminary, working a professional job, coaching60+ runners, momming, selling Cub Scout popcorn, morning meetings, night meetings...you get the idea. These days, Jared works until 6:30ish at night, and I kid you not, I was going to bed at 7:45.<br />
<br />
I really, really, REALLY started missing my husband. Kind of.<br />
<br />
I also got tired of pounding a Red Bull at 2 o'clock every afternoon. No, actually I've been loving it too much.<br />
<br />
I also think I had two panic attacks in a day one time. Well, I don't know much about panic attacks, but if it feels like it's 700 degrees, you're about to drive off the road, and a huge man is squeezing your heart muscle with his bare hands, that's maybe what I had.<br />
<br />
Something had to give. Luckily, my new church-job is teaching teenage Sunday School. Same kids, once a week, normal hour, blam. So perfect it makes me wanna fart.<br />
<br />
In more better news, I won a race two weekends ago, and FINALLY got a decent picture out of it:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x5mUpGkHLNU/TqGgG1s3xtI/AAAAAAAAOqQ/QfMTAS1Ov-8/s1600/Mt+Epic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" rda="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x5mUpGkHLNU/TqGgG1s3xtI/AAAAAAAAOqQ/QfMTAS1Ov-8/s400/Mt+Epic.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well, it's a decent picture in my world.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was a four mile race. Two miles up Sunday River ski mountain, and two miles down with a mud pit at the end. It was really freaking fun, but really, when is a medal <em>not</em> fun?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've been a ginormous, lazy ass since that race, so it's time to get back on the exercise wagon. Now that seminary is over, I want to try to make running a more regular piece of my day again. My goal is to run at least thirty minutes every day between now and Thanksgiving. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Starting tomorrow.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Oh, and I'm running a biathlon this weeked with my mom. Because running and .22ing? Heaven has officially landed on earth.</div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-78252221878677434382011-10-04T12:31:00.000-06:002011-10-04T12:31:25.159-06:00Jumping In<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">October 4, 2011</span><br />
<br />
This past weekend I went to Connecticut for for a USA Track & Field conference. It wasn't fun. It was more like 5:30-10 on Friday, 8-9 (with NO DINNER BREAK!!!) on Saturday, and 8-4:30 on Sunday. In my world, anything that has no dinner break, has a 0% chance of being fun.<br />
<br />
But I learned a lot. A whole lot.<br />
<br />
If you have questions about the pole vault, or the hammer throw, or the long jump, or the 100 hurdles, I'm your girl. Actually, don't ask me about the hurdles. I skipped that section and gave myself and damn freaking dinner break.<br />
<br />
So, if you want to know about the hurdles, I say this: Don't do the hurdles. They look dangerous...and hard...and have too much potential for accidentally ripping your genitals right off your body frame.<br />
<br />
I also learned a whole mess of new stuff about distance running. Most of it involved superbly complex math like adding fractions and figuring out percentages, and I'm still like<i> whoa</i>, because honestly, I don't remember how to add fractions.<br />
<br />
Jared mentioned something about common denominators. But he's full of crap, I just need an iPhone with a Third Grade Math app to do that kind of figuring-out. I could also use an iPhone for my self esteem.<br />
<br />
The highlight of the weekend was probably this guy:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fNNmUycIqX8/TotFlxMdCqI/AAAAAAAAOp8/FvqmuQhz2Dg/s1600/mike+young.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fNNmUycIqX8/TotFlxMdCqI/AAAAAAAAOp8/FvqmuQhz2Dg/s200/mike+young.jpg" width="195" /></a></div><br />
Aside from being a ridiiiiiiculous stud, he was insanely smart. His name is Mike Young, and you can <a href="http://hpcsport.com/hpcstaff">read about him here</a>. He was almost worth skipping dinner for--I actually would have skipped dinner if he did his presentation shirtless.<br />
<br />
I also had the chance to pow wow with a guy who coaches world-class middle-distance runners. I was like, "Hi. I have a really funny running stride."<br />
<br />
And he got, I kid you not, four inches from my face and said, "Oh yeah, what's it like?"<br />
<br />
So I took a step back and said, "Some people call it an egg beater stride."<br />
<br />
And he stepped forward, maybe three inches from my face and said, "That's permanent. You can strengthen your hip flexors, but you really can't fix it."<br />
<br />
So I said, "Thanks Coach!" and ran away.<br />
<br />
I guess it's a lot like that close-talking disorder he has--you can't just magically turn it off.<br />
<br />
After the class got out on Sunday, I had a five hour drive ahead of me, and man I was tired. I stopped around hour three for a visit, and to talk business with my mildly drunk dentist friend, and then kept plodding north. Then, right around hour four, I decided I <i>had</i> to have McDonald's fries IMMEDIATELY. So I drove twenty miles to the next exit (seriously, I live in Maine, they really are that far apart), and got my fries.<br />
<br />
And here's where the story turns heartbreaking.<br />
<br />
It was 10:30 on a Sunday night, I had my fries, I had a good song on the radio, and I had a renewed sense of faith in humanity. And then, I accidentally got on the highway going in the wrong direction. The. Wrong. Direction.<br />
<br />
I dealt with the pain by yelling @#$%!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! as soon as I realized what I'd done. Then I dealt with the pain by eating my bucket of fries in three minutes. Honestly? That helped.<br />
<br />
I drove the extra forty miles, got home in the middle of the night, curled up next to Jared and whispered, "Babe, this is it."<br />
<br />
Because you know what? This <i>is</i> it. Coaching? Training? Motivating? Fitness? Helping people realize they can do what they always thought was impossible? I've never felt so comfortable/motivated/excited/challenged in my life.<br />
<br />
As long as I can keep my muffin top, this is <i>exactly</i> where I want to be. The world might not need another Jillian Michaels, but maybe Central Maine needs an Amy Lawson. We'll find out. (!)Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-65056556180262719912011-09-27T10:06:00.000-06:002011-09-27T10:06:11.630-06:00A Nagging Old Hag<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">September 27, 2011</span><br />
<br />
Today I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Not the <i>Oops! I spilled my chocolate milk!</i> side of the bed, the really, <i>really</i> wrong side of the bed.<br />
<br />
I spent the night tossing and turning, and when I did doze off for a minute or two, I was dreaming about A) snakes, or B) the teenagers I teach from church. Now don't get me wrong, I love these teenagers madly, but I see them in my living room every morning at 6 o'clock, we really don't need to frolic in my dreams.<br />
<br />
So when the alarm went off at 5, and I rolled out of bed, I was feeling much less than fresh. I was jealous that Jared was still sleeping, I was annoyed that Tuesdays are work days, I was beyond frustrated when I heard Maggie fuss, and I kind of felt like throwing a cinder block--you know, just because.<br />
<br />
After seminary was over and the kids filed out, Jared rolled out of bed. He walked down the hall yawning, stretching his arms over his head and let out a sleepy, but happy good morning.<br />
<br />
Instead of a hug and a kiss, or a <i>Hey J</i>, or a smile and a wave, I laid right into him. "Remember how you crapped on me for never picking up after myself?" I prodded, "Well you made popcorn last night and didn't pick up any of it."<br />
<br />
He said, "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll pick it up."<br />
<br />
And then, still feeling pretty combative, I launched into a dramatic soliloquy about our evil bills and their impending, fiery due dates.<br />
<br />
Now, three hours later, I'm sitting at my desk, with my head in my hands, asking myself why I have to be so mean. But not only that, why do I have to be so mean to Jared?<br />
<br />
<i>Hey you over there. Yeah you. The one who's my loyal husband and the devoted father to our kids. Come over her so I can CRAP ON YOUR HEAD.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Quite seriously, there are days when I'm embarrassed to be myself. I can't even muster up the energy to make excuses for myself--I just suck.<br />
<br />
Last night, I rocked both of my kids before bed, and I'm not even kidding when I tell you that we sang along to a song called <i>I'm Trying to be Like Jesus</i>. You know--kind, patient, loving, understanding, helpful, self-controlled, forgiving, and one million other fabulous characteristics. <br />
<br />
Then this morning I was all, "Hey kids, watch this! Mommy will now show you the <i>opposite</i> of being like Jesus. And she will use your father as a prop!"<br />
<br />
The bottom line is: I AM SUCH A BLOW HOLE.<br />
<br />
And there's an addendum to the bottom line: Even if your car is being repossessed while your dog falls into a pit of quick sand, and your jello mold cracks down the middle while a 2,000 pound bag of rocks falls onto your newly re-shingled roof, BEING CRAPPY TO YOUR SPOUSE WON'T HELP ANY OF IT.<br />
<br />
So today, right now, I'm recommitting to live a life that's more like the life of Jesus--especially in my dealings with Jared.<br />
<br />
1) We will start by having fishes for dinner tonight. I have a whole bag of frozen fishes from Trader Joe's, so this line item works particularly well.<br />
2) I'll remember that Jared's doing his very best.<br />
3) I won't raise my voice or push his crap around unless he's selling discounted iPads at the Temple--which I've<i> never</i> seen him do.<br />
4) I'll stop being selfish and greedy and stingy--because if I'm being straight up honest, I'd LOVE to roll around naked in a big pile of $50 bills.<br />
5) I'll be a team player, because somewhere in the scriptures I think it says something about a house divided collapses on your head, and believe me that is the LAST thing we need right now.<br />
6) If I feel like being wretched, I'll say some prayers and hope it changes my mind.<br />
7) If it doesn't change my mind, I'll remember that Jesus wasn't wretched.<br />
8) I'll do some extra service for Jared--like fold his laundry or clean his shotgun.<br />
9) I won't pick on him for things I'm equally bad, or worse at.<br />
10) I'll just be nicer.<br />
<br />
I'll probably skip the part where I preach to him and call him to repentance. Actually, I've been doing that for a while, and it's not effective.<br />
<br />
Are you wretched sometimes, too? Any other tips for being less of a nagging old hag, and more of a helpful loving wife? I could use 'em.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-49253797491609749672011-09-16T11:08:00.001-06:002011-09-16T11:09:26.459-06:00A Straight Up Day Maker<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">September 16, 2011</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On Wednesday, a nice man with a camera showed up to my stroller fitness class, which had a lot of the moms buzzing...<i>Is he a pervert?...Is he a creep?</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had to tell them no, and I was very sorry to disappoint--because we all know how much a group of sixteen women loooove a slice of drama on a weekday morning. He was a local newspaper reporter, and he was nice enough to come take a few pictures of the class I was teaching.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When he introduced himself, the first thing I said--and this is absolutely not a joke--was, "Joe, I'm wearing spandex. If a butt shot makes it into the paper, it's gotta be flattering." He nodded and said he wasn't sure the pictures would make it into the paper at all. Fair enough.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This morning I signed onto the newspaper's website, and the stroller pictures were the first thing to pop up on my screen. Holy excitement! <i>Then</i> I found out that the pictures had also made it to the front page of the actual paper--you know, the version that nobody reads anymore?! Holy <i>more </i>excitement!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had Jared buy two copies from the grocery store, and I was thrilled to see that while I was under the very important story about toilets and bleachers (big news in these parts), I was above the story about the Governor:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Dx0OnlXLo3U/TnOCQhlqMaI/AAAAAAAAOo4/26q_V-zv6D4/s1600/Snapshot_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Dx0OnlXLo3U/TnOCQhlqMaI/AAAAAAAAOo4/26q_V-zv6D4/s320/Snapshot_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>After looking at the article, I noticed that I'm inadvertently wearing the same headband and shirt that I was wearing when the pictures were taken on Wednesday. It could be a silly coincidence, or it could be the fact that I wear this shirt every time I'm not wearing my blue sweater (the headband matches both outfits).<br />
<br />
Also, I'm not positive that I've washed the shirt since Wednesday. Let's assume that I have.<br />
<br />
Happy Friday!Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-63477243518026378542011-09-08T18:39:00.000-06:002011-09-08T18:39:01.141-06:00I'm Not Boring, Day 5: Family Pictures<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">September 8, 2011</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Check it out. We had professional family pictures taken:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aZ4NnomsvoY/TmlefFXdWTI/AAAAAAAAOos/Dvj5N-1FV_o/s1600/lawson_20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" nba="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aZ4NnomsvoY/TmlefFXdWTI/AAAAAAAAOos/Dvj5N-1FV_o/s640/lawson_20.jpg" width="456" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Um, der. Of <em>course</em> I wore the blue sweater:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--U_Anam_gOI/TmlfjTMedhI/AAAAAAAAOow/Ft8TKAvYnJs/s1600/lawson_06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nba="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--U_Anam_gOI/TmlfjTMedhI/AAAAAAAAOow/Ft8TKAvYnJs/s400/lawson_06.jpg" width="285" /></a></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31019990.post-18275313476832621752011-09-06T11:32:00.000-06:002011-09-06T11:32:56.225-06:00I'm Not Boring, Day 4:<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">September 6, 2011</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm eating buffalo jerky for lunch. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5KW_vQwwGms/TmZYvFN3L-I/AAAAAAAAOoo/E8qQuNduse4/s1600/Snapshot_20110906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" nba="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5KW_vQwwGms/TmZYvFN3L-I/AAAAAAAAOoo/E8qQuNduse4/s320/Snapshot_20110906.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Creepy/gross/effed up? Yes. <br />
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Boring? Definitely not.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14715052085806922197noreply@blogger.com5