A Christmas Message from James

December 23, 2008

I'm a big believer in allowing kids the freedom to make their own decisions.

Don't count me as crazy here--James doesn't determine his own bedtime, or whether or not we make it to church on Sunday--I let him choose the inconsequential things like birthday cards, and light-up boots, and the flavor of his yogurt.

And that my friends, is precisely why his best friend Sophia recieved a nice array of decorative-faux-fruit for her second birthday. It's also why my kid has quite the fluffy hair-do. What can I say? The child likes his hair when it's high. Why fight it?

I even let James chose the color of his bedroom--which, I should add, was no easy feat. Every time we'd talk about the project, he'd insist that I paint his room 'triangle.' I was like, "Dude. What? Triangle?"

And he'd flattly reply, "Triangle."

Finally, at the suggesstion of my sister, I drove to the hardware store, grabbed a few paint chips that I deemed acceptable and brought them home to James.

"Show me triangle, buddy."

Turns out that it's a happy shade of bright light blue.

Last night James and I sat down to fill out a Christmas card for his teacher. I selected the card on my own, and since it didn't feature a photo of a kitten tangled in a ball of yarn or a cartoon drawing of a naked butt (images that James is typically drawn to), it simply begged for some three-year-old spice.

"James," I said, "We need to write a message to Miss Nancy. You tell me what to write, and I'll put in this Christmas card."

He looked confused.

"We'll write a message to Miss Nancy in this card, and she'll read it and feel happy," I continued.

He still looked confused.

I decided to go at it from a different angle..."What do you want the message to say, Buddy?"

"Nancy," he said, thoughfully scrunching his nose and eyes while looking off to the left. "This is a message," he continued.

"From me, James."

Well okay then. Thank you Captian Literal.

The Joy of Receiving

December 19, 2008

Less than a week to go until Christmas, and I'm finding it next to impossible to concentrate at the office. As immature as this might sound, all I want to do is get presents. Sure I like to give, but I'd be a bold-faced liar if I didn't admit my true preference--which obviously falls on the receiving end of the spectrum.

Jared caved to temptation early this year and let me open my big Christmas present (All Hail The Holy Bread Maker) last week. I screamed, I jumped, we hugged, and within 58 minutes we had a perfect loaf of oatmeal bread to fill the collective void in our lives.

I just love Christmas.

I let Jared have his present last week, too. For all of your country folk out there, I bought my husband a Ruger Red Label Double Barrel Over Under 12-Gauge. In other words, I bought my husband a shot gun--which bears a striking resemblance to Elmer Fudd's.

Seriously.

Please don't hyperventilate. This gun of his has a trigger lock, a barrel lock, and two different padlocks on the case. It stays on the top shelf of a locked closet, and the ammunition is kept in a combination safe. And to put a cherry on top of the gun-safety sundae, all of the keys are in Jared's desk drawer. At his office.

Trust me, it's the plugged-in power tools that we should all be losing sleep over.

If Jared's gun still makes you wary of juvenile play dates at Chez Lawson, then I ask you this: Where do you live, and for how many hours can James stay at your house?

Really folks, this thing will do me absolutely no good against a burglar or an escaped circus lion--I'll just have to handle those type of threats with my brute strength and bare hands thankyouverymuch.

As you might imagine, Jared has been loving his gift far more than he's ever loved his wife--it's quite obvious. Several times a week, my husband will brave the wind, cold, and snow, just to get his jollies blasting skeet at the public shooting range (yes, we have those here in Maine). Trust me guys, he would never dream of "frolicking" with me in a snowbank. Ne. Ver.

But it's fine, I have fifty loaves of rye bread to keep me company. And they wear their butter so well. Sooooo well.

Have a Holly Jolly Christmas

December 17, 2008

James is getting very, very excited for Christmas--he keeps saying something about Geotrax that were born in a stable in Battle-ham. I don't know, it's hard to make it out.

Everywhere I turn, there seem to be happy little reminders that my kid is simply bubbling over with holiday happiness. For example:

James likes to select a favorite branch and move fifty-or-so ornaments to the very tip. I swear, if you listen really hard, you can actually hear the tree moan and complain in a New York accent every time James enters the living room.


Here is another example of James just bursting at the seems with Christmas spirit:

Oh no, that's his regular smile--it's Email the Bear who's looking extra jazzy. James won't even let his favorite pink pal wear a Manny Ramirez jersey. But a pointy hat and some jingle-bell elf shoes? Hell yes.

And finally, this is a short video of James lip-syncing to his all-time favorite holiday tune--Have a Holly Jolly Christmas. The audio is terrible, and the camera makes a really nasty noise every time I zoom and unzoom--but no no, don't be fooled, that is in fact a drawn out fart at second 35. And yes, it's long enough to close out the song. So proud of the little guy!

Caution: I Have Passive Aggressive Tendencies

December 17, 2008

My hobbies and interests include running, sewing, cooking, being overtired, and finding creative ways to be passive aggressive.

The passive aggressive thing is, by far, my favorite hobby. In my twisted mind, there's not a thing in the world that compares to clapping my sandy shoes over Jared's side of the bed and offering a subtle little shrug when he spits the words AMY! WHAT IN THE HELL?!

The same goes for putting spare change in the toes of his work shoes when he's rushed, wetting down the ass pad of his recliner with water after a hard day at the office, and combing the greyhound's ears with his fancy-shmancy toothbrush.

You might think I'm a sh*tastic wife on account of these little antics, but really now, it's just my humanness coming to the surface. How else am I supposed to balance out the weeknight turkey dinners and the squeaky clean toilets? Seriously folks, I can't let myself be that good of a spouse. It will intimidate him.

So all of the secret cookie licking? It's for his own good.

Really.

Another Way to Waste Your Day

December 17, 2008

If you're interested in wasting a small chunk of your day, the latest episode of the Runners' Lounge podcast is up. And this one, if I do say so myself, is much better than the first. To listen to me ramble on about not-so-silent farts, Zach Morris's giant cell phone, dropping m'pants, and using terms like "get yer poop on" you can click here or search the term "Runners Lounge" in the iTune store--no worries, it's free.

Other topics covered include, but are not limited to: spitting, breakfast burritos, Jared from Subway, men in tights, drinking beer in the morning, and a little bit of running.

The podcast is thirtyish minutes from start to finish, and I'll tell you right now--it's all down hill after minute 20, when they ripped my away my microphone and forced me to bat cleanup for the remainder of recording.

If you're not up for a thirty minute podcast, at least listen to the first eleven minutes--it features me and only me. And at the very least, listen to the fifteen second introduction--once again, it's all about me. Amen.