Saturday
October 8, 2007

Something very, very strange happened this Saturday. I opened my eyes around seven, tapped Jared on his sleeping shoulder, and waited for some kind of signal that he was awake. As soon as he gave me a groggy "uhhh," I scooted right next to him and whispered into his ear.

"Jared," I said softly, "can you take James somewhere this morning? Just the two of you?"

"Yeah, sure. Why?" he grumbled, as he pulled the comforter over his head.

"Because," I explained, "I really want to clean our apartment. I want to do a really good job, so it will be easier if you guys are gone."

There was a moment of silence before the comforter flew threw the air and Jared was sitting up straight, staring at me with a look of total confusion. You see, I've never actually wanted to clean before--never. I'm a disgusting slob.

Within fourteen minutes, Jared was dressed, James was dressed, and they were out the door for some type of man trip. As Jared was helping James with his sneakers, he looked up at me and said, "Amy, this is so weird, are you pregnant or something?"

Ohhhhh, now that was a good one. Am I pregnant? Well, let me put if this way: If The Lord is currently working on volume 2 of The Holy Bible and He's selected a sometimes righteous 26 year old girl from Dallas to play the modern day Mary, then yes...there's a possibility that I'm pregnant.

In all actuality, I was probably cleaning because a) Between Jared's graduation and a cross country move, we're going through some majorly stressful life transitions, and I'm yearning for stability. Or b) I'm becoming more mature.

I think it's option a.

So Jared and James hit the road, and I decided to tackle the upstairs master bathroom first. More specifically, the shower. I crawled under the sink, looking for some kind of shower cleaning product, and much to my surprise, there it was! You probably already know this, but you can actually buy a specialized product, just for cleaning showers at your local department store. My mom must have bought it for me a few years back, because I sure-as-heckers never did.

I was a little embarrassed when I discovered that the bottle was full. You see, we've lived here for more than two years and I had never used this particular product. I just always assumed that showers were self cleaning entities--you know, between all the soap and water that gets sloshed around in there, and an occasional little wipe down. Unfortunately, I was mistaken. It takes a lot of scrubbing to return a tub to its original state.

Here is another housekeeping gem that I learned on Saturday morning: My Hoover vacuum can easily be brought upstairs by simply using the convenient carrying handle! I'd like to meet the inovative genius who came up with that design!

I cleaned, and cleaned, and cleaned until my apartment looked like, I don't know, all of my friends houses? It wasn't quite up to par with my Mom's house or my sister's place, but it was pretty darn average....and I felt amazing. In honor of my accomplishment, I sat in the empty bathtub, fully clothed, and read a book until the boys came home.

When they did get home, I heard James calling for me, "Moyee!? Moyee?! I wan fine you!!!!" (translation: Mommy?! Mommy?! I want to find you!!!!) I called to James, informed him of my location, and up he came--I could hear him climbing the stairs much slower than usual.

When he appeared in the bathroom door, he was holding an enormous bouquet of flowers from Jared. I've never gotten flowers on my birthday, never on my anniversary, or at either of my graduations (at least not from Jared). But cleaning the house? In my world, that is an occasion worthy of flowers.

All in all, I had a wonderful time cleaning my apartment, I'm still enjoying the cleanliness, and I'm very much looking forward to doing it again. In 2009.

Mantras

October 5, 2007

I like mantras. You know, little themes and catch-phrases to help me move along in life.

When I was writing my thesis titled Completely Fabricated, Yet Very Believable Piece of Bull-Schnit Revitalizing Rosebud: Examining the Suitability of the Rural Community Capacity Index as a Model for Community Development Assessment in Rosebud, Texas, my mantra was very simple: I CAN DO HARD THINGS. You know, like remembering the title.

My old running mantra used to be just as straight-forward. It was: SO WHAT.

When my legs would burn, I'd tell myself: SO WHAT.

When I'd doubt my ability to accomplish a goal, I'd think: SO WHAT.

When it hurt my lungs to go a bit faster, I'd say: SO WHAT.

When I'd begin to fantasize about stuffing myself into a trash barrel and rolling it down a steep hill and into a polluted lake, I'd repeat: SO WHAT.

And of course, every time I decided to end a workout by diving in front of a large man riding a small motor-scooter, I'd convince myself it was okay by saying: SO WHAT.

But this morning, something changed. In a moment of pure inspiration, I came up with a new running mantra. It came so naturally, almost like a gift from heaven. It's got a little more pizzazz, and it's pretty darn rhythmic if I do say so myself. It goes like this: STINKY-CRAPPY-CRAPPER-STINK.

It's got a ring to it, doesn't it? Maybe I'll have it printed it on the back of a shirt--you know, to inspire the other runners.

Good Luck to Ali and Jess, my dear cyber friends, who will both be running the Chicago Marathon this weekend!

Happy travels!

Go get 'em girls!

A Few Random Things

October 3, 2007

First, traveling with a toddler takes it right out of me. We didn't get home until one in the morning last night, so James has been a one man party today--all day. I'm about to take him to kid care at the YMCA--you know, so I can share the wealth.

Second, glance down to the bottom of my blog. I've gotten over twenty-thousand unique views! Almost ten-thousand of those occurred in the last month, so THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU for posting my link and telling your friends about The Lawsons do Dallas!

Third, I'm waaaaayyy behind on my regular blog reading, so I apologize for my recent lack of comments. I try to read everyone's blog who reads mine, but lately it's gotten a little bit out of hand. Hopefully I'll get back on track this weekend.

And third, I'd like to answer your questions from the Frequently Asked Questions page. Here are your answers in the order in which the questions were received (as if that really matters).

Jess asked...You know, I'm beginning to think you're a sprite of some kind: in each picture you've posted of yourself, you look different. Like a different person. Each time.So, my question to add to the list:Are you a shape-shifter?

Great question Jess! I am indeed a shape-shifter/sprite. My true identity is as a miniature woodland leprechaun named Punchinita McGee. I spend most of my days riding through the forest on the back of my shimmery purple unicorn named Kevin. When Kevin naps, I like to blog from my home--a hollowed-out weeping willow tree. My laptop picks up a great wireless signal from Cinderella's nearby castle. Shapes I enjoy shifting into include, but are not limited to, Denise Austin, Amy Lawson, Eddie Murphy, and Condollezza Rice.

Fine, that's a lie. No I'm not a shape-shifter or a sprite (whatever that is). Actually, fantasy type creatures freak me out more than a flaming poo in my toaster oven. So never accuse me of such a thing again, got it? Truth be told--sometimes I wear makeup, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I brush my hair, and sometimes I don't. That's all there is to it.

Vanilla asked...I have a question. What will the new name of your new blog be?

Oh, I don't know. Maybe Amy Lawson Gets a Tummy Tuck! or The Lawsons Get a Paycheck! or The Lawson do Marriage Counseling!What do you think?

And then he asked...Ooooh. Another question: Was I supposed to post questions here or back over at the main blog?

Dude, I don't know! I'm not that organized. You're like my oldest reader....c'mon, you know that!

Anonymous asked...Do people really ask you these questions frequently or did you just make them up?

Well geeze Anonymous, I can't decided if you're being funny or snippy. Just remember, I give you free laughs every single day, so be nice.

But since you asked, each of these questions has been asked at least one time. So if you want to get technical about it, I guess I shouldn't have used the word "frequently." Details schmetails.

Rachel- a mom needing some time to decompress asked...

Well she asked many questions, so we'll go at this one by one:

Do Mormons really have horns?

Noooo!!!! But it is very true that Mormon women have ghetto-booties, Mormon men have more white shirts that they know what to do with, and Mormon children have impeccable manners. Oh, and then there's the secret tattoo, I almost forgot--we all have beautifully detailed tattoos of ligers (lion+tiger=liger) on our left shoulder blades.

If Maine is filled with so many different, interesting types of people...what category to you fall into?

I would say that I fall into the intensely bright super-model category...with a little, spicy touch of redneck.

Since I live in Dallas and I know you personally do I get to claim to be one of the funniest people you know and that you will cry on your pillow every night for me when you move to Maine?

Rachel, I already cry for you on my pillow every night when I think about moving to Maine. That's why I have that cardboard cut-out of you in my bedroom--in hopes that it will make the transition easier. That's also the reason that I dress in black and sneak pictures of your family around the dinner table each night...I don't want to forget the small things, ya know?

Ok, have a great night troops!

Locked Out
October 2, 2007

I am an emotional eater--humiliating, but true. If I feel stressed about an overdue bill, I'll eat a double cheeseburger. If I'm fighting with my husband, I'll probably eat a mint-chocolate-chip sundae. And I just recently learned that if my toddler locks himself inside of my parents house, then I tend to gorge myself on peanut-butter cookies.

As soon as I finish this post, I'm absolutely going to have to clean my keyboard. You see, when I opened my laptop, I still had four cookies wedged into my mouth. And every time I'd chew, breath, or blink, a spray of sugary crumbs would fill the air in front of my face and land gracefully on my computer keys.

Hot damn, I am really worked up right now. I'm going to take a deep breath, back that thang up, and tell you exactly what just happened....ok, I just took a deep breath. Here's the story:

My parents live in one of the nicer neighborhoods in an idyllic suburb in Connecticut. I love this neighborhood because it's completely picturesque without being over the top--you know, houses perfectly sized for a family of four with a golden retriever, well-kept colonial style homes that were sturdily built in the 1940's, manicured lawns, happy flowerbeds containing smiling daisies, and most of driveways house basketball hoops and two sensible cars, usually Hondas or Toyotas (like I said, nothing pretentious). You get the picture.

James and I went for a nice little outing to the post office in the center of town this morning. Sounds pretty cute, doesn't it? It was. James carried the package all the way across the street all by himself, two people stopped to compliment his hair, and one old lady was even stopped us to say, "Ohhhh...he's so lovely, you should dress him as an angel for Halloween!" Seriously guys, she really did say that.

As we drove home from the center, I was naturally feeling very good about my life. We pulled into the driveway, I helped James get out of his carseat, and as we walked to the front door we talked about what we'd have for lunch. Just as we were deciding between peanut butter or turkey, I unlocked the front door and we stepped inside.

Within seconds, my parents' dog Rocky was begging to sit in the front yard. Believe it or not, we've had Rocky since the summer before I went into sixth grade. He's probably two-hundred-and-seven in dog years, he's as deaf as an encyclopedia, and despite the fact that he'll hang off of your pant leg with his teeth for twenty-three hours a day, he's the apple of my mom and dad's eye. Really, they'll probably make me take this post down in fear that he might learn to read blogs and become offended.

Anywho, Rocky wanted to sit in the front yard and if I'd like to remain in my folks' will, then it is imperative that I respond to the dog's requests with haste--so his wish was my command and we walked outside. Just as I was snapping the long tie-out cord onto his collar, I heard the front door slam.

Before I had a minute to sensor myself, I said "Sh**."

You see, my parents keep this house locked down like Fort Knox. There is no chance of ever finding and unlocked door, window, second story window, or mouse hole. James had just locked himself inside of Grandma and Pepere's fortress.

Just as I was about to swear again, the little door to the mail slot opened up, and I could see James's fat little hand hanging out of it, making the international sign for "come here." So I walked up to the door and squatted down to see James's face pressed against the inside of the mail slot. He looked at me and asked, "Es Moyee otay?" (translation: Is Mommy okay?)

"No James, Mommy's not okay. You're stuck inside Grandma and Pep's house all by yourself."

"Oh," he said.

"Can you turn the doorknob?" I pleaded.

"Uh, no."

"Can you give Mommy her phone?"

"Uh, no."

"Can you give Mommy the keys?"

"Uh, no. I go wash Bob da biddah and eat a shack." (translation: Uh, no. I'm going to watch Bob the Builder and eat a snack."

I spent the next ten minutes running like a barefoot psycho through this cutesy little neighborhood, while pictures of on-fire electrical appliance danced through my head. I was hurdling stone walls, impressively avoiding dog poo piles, bounding across lawns with "Please do not walk on our grass. Have a nice day!" signs, army crawling through flower beds (ok, not really), and ringing doorbells with the anticipatory zeal of a Mormon missionary. And just like those hard-working Elders, I felt very let down every time the door remained closed.

Finally, I remembered the stay-at-home dad across the street. I used his cell-phone to call my mom at work as we watched James make blowfish faces on the back french doors, taking breaks only to wave like a zoo monkey and say things like, "Hi Moyee! I by maseff!!!" (translation: Hi Mommy! I'm by myself)

Luckily there was a spare key on the back porch, and James and the house were totally fine. All total, he was home alone for fifteen or twenty minutes.

Let's just say that I won't be taking that nice lady's friendly advice...James will not be dressing like an angel for Halloween this year.