The Three Amigos...

August 17, 2009

My sister-in-law came to visit from Utah a few weeks back, and she took some really great pictures while she was here.

The picture I posted below is of James and his two older cousins/heroes. I mean c'mon, he even perms his hair to be more like them--we're talking some serious devotion here.

The guy on the left is busting a gut because my sister-in-law used the word "fart." As in, "What if somebody farted during the quiet part of church?" Well now we know--Nathan would explode.

You see, in Nathan's house they're not allowed to use the word "fart"-- they ere on the side of manners and use the phrase "passed gas." Obviously we're not related by blood.

On top of that, his family takes church very, very seriously. If I had to wager a guess, Nathan would never be allowed to give a Primary talk that firmly reminded people why they shouldn't bring a cantaloupe into the Temple. James on the other hand, gave that talk just yesterday--it was a very, very, very proud moment for me. Because seriously, a cantaloupe is really hard to conceal. How smart is he?

Incoherent Thoughts on Pregnancy

August 12, 2009

I'm reaching that totally fun stage of pregnancy where you can feel little unidentifiable body parts moving around all over the place. And no, I'm not being sarcastic--it's really, really neat. Sure I get the occasional bladder issue as a result of all the wiggling, but honestly, I've never been happier to pee myself every now and again.

Feeling this little girl kick and punch and flip reminds me that, well, there really is a little girl in there.

Profound, I know. As always.

Yesterday my husband's facebook status said something like, "Can't believe we'll have another little one in eight weeks!"

You know? I can't either.

Sure her room is painted, her name's all set, and we have every single baby item we could ever dream of owning, but until she's out--breathing, sleeping, and crying in my arms--I really feel like I can't make sense of it all.

I do know how unbelievably lucky I feel, but at this moment, that seems to be the extent of it.

Lately, when I get up for one of my six nightly pee breaks, I find myself sneaking into James's room--you know, just to check on him. Just to watch him breath and smack his lips for a minute. And every time I do, I feel totally overwhelmed by how much I love that sticky little, back-talking child.

On a typical day he'll get one timeout for swatting at me, a second timeout for using his stuffed animal's arm to swat at me (um yeah, still not allowed), and then he'll cap it off with a 'no dessert' sentence--usually for something super creative. Like using his Power Ranger's legs to move his stuffed animal's arm to deploy a toy crossbow at his mother.

It's super.

But despite the wide variety of four-year-old antics, I love that kid with everything I've got.

Usually, when I'm sneaking out of his room at night, I catch a glimpse of the baby's room across the hall. I see the empty crib, with the quiet mobile, the brand new homemade curtains, and I just can't help but get choked up.

It's a sad choked up because there's no five-month-old tossing around in there. But it's also a happy choked up, because soon enough that very still room will be very, very occupied.

What can I say? I'm totally looking forward to it.

Every day, I'm completely amazed by the people who stop me at meetings, in public, where ever, and say things like, "Oh will this be your second? Oh boy. A second child makes for at least five times as much work. You'd think it's doubles, but that's not the case!" And they anxiously go on to list the four-hundred-and-one challenges associated with a new baby in the house.

I'm never quite sure how to respond, but I have made a solemn promise to myself that I will never say "Why don't you shut the hell up and keep the negative sh!t to yourself?" ever again.

I did that once. Let's just say it ended with a long and detailed apology letter.

I'm also abstaining from retort lines like, "Oh, so you regret having your second then?"

Because that one? That ended in an apology letter, too.

(If you must know, I actually have and apology letter template saved on my hard-drive. Girls like me can use that extra shot of convenience.)

So these days, I try my best to remember my manners and usually respond by saying something neutral like, "Thank you for that information. I hope to find it helpful before or after the baby arrives."

I use the same line when people imply that my uterus might explode into one-million pieces at the mere mention of a VBAC, or when they wrinkle their noses and gasp because oh-my-word, we're naming our daughter a nickname. How will she ever get a job? Won't that sound too casual at her wedding ceremony? But wait, that's if she can't even find a husband to have and hold her with a stumpy little name like that!

Really now, who cares about a name? We're holding out for some exceptionally good looks and some outrageous tap dancing talent. Got that?

And as a side note, the last woman to hit me with the name related nose-wrinkle has a son named "Chick." Let me tell you, I could go on and on and on some more about that naming choice. As in: "Oh, your grown son's name is Chick? Is that short for "Chicken" or does he actually have no penis?"

And now I will stop.

(If your name is Chick, please let me know and I'll send you a personalized copy of that aforementioned apology letter by the end of the work day.)

So anyway you slice it, the point of this post is just to say that I'm really, really getting excited for this new, little girl. It's been a long time since we've had a baby in the house, and let's be honest here, I'm definitely gonna need the diversion when my current 'baby' starts riding the bus this fall.

Sense of Smell

July 18, 2009

I'm not sure about the science behind this, but now that I'm in my third trimester, everything smells.

My dog's breath smells just like a swiss cheese and salami sandwich on rye--even though those foods are clearly not a part of her therapeutic canine IBS diet. My kid's head smells exactly like spicy Thai peanut sauce--not his breath mind you, but his head. His four-year-old body on the other hand? Now that smells like sweat and Ju-Ju-Bees dipped in 2% milk.

And then there's my husband. Who just smells bad.

I haven't been able to pinpoint exactly what his smell is, or precisely where it's coming from--the only thing I know for sure is that it's very pungent and it travels in waves. Sometimes I swear it comes from his mouth, other times I'd bet money that it's anal in origin. And then, just when I'm about to ask him if he farted clear up into my nose while I was distracted by Days of Our Lives, the smell seems to shift, and waft from his feet.

Sometimes it's spicy, other times it's sugary, but most of the time it's plain old defecation-y. And my heavens, I can hardly handle this type of uncertainty at a sensitive time like this. I should be worrying about Twinkies and Ho-Hos--not the fact that the people in my house all smell like chocolate covered hot dogs on a stick.

Last night, when Jared came home from work, he cracked open the mudroom door and yelled, "Hey Hon, I'm home!" James immediately left his Pinocchio movie in the dust (Side Note: Did you know that kids drink and smoke and say "jackass" in that movie? If that sounds interesting to you, it's available for rent at your local library.) and barreled to meet his Dad Almighty at the door.

Now I, on the other hand, stayed on the couch, gave a sniff or two and said, "Hi Jared! Have you been eating Doritos?"

He was like, "I ate Doritos three days ago with my lunch."

"Well you still smell like them. Can you jump in the shower before you come in here and hug me?"

And he was all, "No Amy. I've had three showers, mowed the lawn, and swam across the lake since I ate those Doritos. A shower won't help."

"Well were there any Doritos floating in the lake, Jared? I'm pretty sure you're contaminated."

And so on and so forth.

Now I know what you're all thinking--"Well Amy, what exactly do you smell like these days?" I'm gonna be completely honest with you right now--I smell like baby powder and lilac deodorant. This is no lie.

I know.

According to Jared I smell more like body odor and hair gel.

I have no idea where that man gets these things from.

Screw You, Murphy

June 8, 2009

Just so you know, if your car ever happens to get towed in Portland, Maine, it's $95 to get it out of the impound lot. And they only take cash. In exact amounts.

The price stands firm whether or not there were signs indicating that it was, in fact, a tow-away zone. The guessing keeps it interesting, I suppose--kind of like playing Russian Roulette with your weekly grocery money.

While you wait for your husband to retrieve the vehicle at 9pm on a Saturday night, your overtired 4-year-old might just stand on top of a table at a Subway restaurant, play dead behind the sandwich artists' station, and hug a very boisterous homeless woman tightly around the waist (with his head resting comfortably at her crotch).

Meanwhile, at home, your dog--you know, the one with a severe case of canine IBS?--is likely to be losing the contents her intestines all over your kitchen, den, and the 100% genuine wool rug on your living room floor. Really now, who can blame her? You are, after all, running an hour or two late.

The next morning, your child will probably wake up with a nasty, nasty hacking cough that sounds remarkably similar to the homeless woman's (not that there's anything wrong with that). You'll scrub your rug for at least 90 minutes, deem it unsalvagable, and your husband will leave on an overnight fishing trip because hello cruel world!, he needs to get away from it all.

Chances are, you'll eat 9 brownies before dinner because honestly, IS THERE A FREAKING POINT TO TRYING TO STAY SKINNY THESE DAYS? Since you're an above-average mother, you'll decide to share one of those treats with your 4-year-old boy, only to realize that he just ate the mocha one, flavored with 100% genuine Colombian dark roast coffee.

He will stay up until 10:30pm rearranging the artwork on his walls, changing his bedding (twice), and reorganizing the contents of his dresser drawers--all the while, wearing nothing but rubber underpants and a Christmas tie.

Eventually he will fall asleep, you will fall asleep, and your dog will have an acute intestinal flare-up at 2:15 in the morning. At least it's a beautiful night for a walk.

How was your weekend?

For Grandma

June 3, 2009

Mom, you're about to become a very happy woman.

BEFORE:

AFTER:

If you feel compelled to write a thank you note, you can send it to my mother-in-law.

Dreams do come true.

The Lawsons do Church

June 1, 2009

If you ever happen to be passing through Maine in search of a deep, spiritual experience, please, please, please do your best to satiate the urge by hugging a tree or something--not by sitting behind us in church. I don't know what it is, but my little family possesses the uncanny ability to send the Holy Spirit running from a room faster than the devil himself on propane powered roller blades.

Take this past Sunday for example, when James slyly inserted a yellow highlighter and a bic pen into each of his nostrils, stood on the pew, faced backwards, and displayed his accessories for approximately 70% of the congregation to take in.

Most of them seemed to enjoy the show. Some of them clearly did not.

This, I should mention, all happened after James piped up during the preliminary meditative part asking, "Mom? Can I pee on dat pwant over dere?"

"No," I whispered. "If you need to pee, I'll take you to use the potty."

"Well," he half-shouted, "is it okay if I poop on dat pwant instead?"

To which I replied, "James, do you know what a spanking is?"

To which he replied, "Don't spank me, Mommy. Spank my monkey instead," as he held up the miniature plush monkey from his Noah's Ark playset.

Really now, please don't sit behind us. For the benefit of everyone, we seem to need our space.

Brotherly Love and Voting

May 22, 2009

Well guys, it's official. James is completely bummed that he's having a sister--and I just can't lie, his outlook is weighing me down. Now I know full well that this will all get better with time, but for this moment, I reserve the right to feel poopy about it.

Before yesterday James talked and talked and talked some more about becoming a big brother. This kid had some really major plans that revolved around treehouses and halloween costumes. But now that he knows he's getting a dumb old sister, he's been completely tight lipped about the pending situation.

Actually, he did mention the baby one time yesterday, when he suggested that we name her "How Are You Today?" I loved his suggestion until I worked out the acronym and realized that it sounds remarkably similar to the word "hate" when said out loud.

Then, as I was putting James to bed, he threw down quite the tantrum--something I rarely see him do. Among other animated moves, he stripped down his bed, emptied his book shelves, slammed his door repeatedly (learned that one from his mother), and dumped a glass of water down the front of my shirt.

If he goes for a repeat performance tonight, I'm shipping the child to the East coast of Africa in a large, wooden crate--without hesitation. And I'm putting the "THIS END UP" stamp the wrong way. Uh huh, let's see how that little sister-hating-tantrum-thrower likes standing on his head for 4-6 weeks.

I'm not even kidding.

But let's all hope for a bedtime completely void of drama. I think I'd miss the kid.

To wrap this up, here are the family stats regarding our new discovery:

AMY--happy

JARED--shocked and overwhelmed, but happy

JAMES--pooping in his pants on purpose

MY PARENTS--very happy

JARED'S FATHER--very happy

JARED'S MOTHER--unable to contain her excitement, proclaiming the good news to the neighborhood, tripping-over-her-own two-feet happy (I'm still giggling over her reaction--absolutely priceless)

But here's the bright spot to my day, the silver lining to this dark and dismal sister cloud...we get to vote on an internet alias for this little girl!

Thank you for all of your name suggestions--they were fantastic! My expert panel of judges (thanks ladies!!!) used the magic of modern technology to narrow the choices down to about ten. Then, the super secret judge extraordinaire narrowed those down a little bit further.

If you'd like to vote, you can do so in the upper right corner of the site until next Friday at midnight.

And remember, this is a fake name for blog reference purposes only. The real name is competely up to my Mother-in-Law.

(That was just a joke, Meredith--even though I'm sure you'd do a bang up job!)

The Verdict Is In

May 21, 2009

It's a....

You know, actually, I'll just let James tell you.

This was the second take, when I was like, "C'mon buddy! Just pretend to be excited."

And this was the first take:

Oh yeah, the kid is totally thrilled.