December 20, 2010
Yes, it's Sharpie. He wanted to look "fiercer for longer."
Welp, mission accomplished, my friend!
Just in case you ever wondered, Windex kind of takes permanent marker off of faces.
Phrase of the Week
December 15, 2010
Thanks to Chelsea, the Lawsons did Dallas! official phrase of the week is:
FART STUCK SIDEWAYS
Please refer to the comment portion of the previous post for clarification.
Thanks to Chelsea, the Lawsons did Dallas! official phrase of the week is:
FART STUCK SIDEWAYS
Please refer to the comment portion of the previous post for clarification.
Time Out!
December 15, 2010
You know what? I love so many things about my husband Jared. He looks great in plaid, he sings like an angel, his naked butt looks just like the David's, and so on and so forth.
Not to make you super jealous or anything, but I honestly can't remember if this is a picture of the statue or Jared getting into the shower:
Either way, don't you just want to cradle those things in your hands?
Of course you do.
Shapely rear aside, I have to admit that for every fifty things I adore about Jared, there seems to be one or six that I'm almost incapable of handling. For example, Jared gives too many damn time-outs. If time-outs were rainbow sprinkles, we'd be a happy, happy family.
According to my observations, moms around the world have somewhere between forty and fifty parenting tricks tucked away for any given situation. Men? They have one.
For some dads it's yelling, for others it's intimidation, some guys are straight-up push-overs, and then you have my husband's breed--the time-out issuer. This time of year, he'll occasionally venture into Santa related threats, but nine times out of ten, he opts for the time-out.
Now don't get me wrong, I truly believe that time-outs are one of the most effective parenting tools on the planet--but my husband, I kid you not, doles time-outs for things like dawdling.
For example:
JARED: You're not ready for church yet? What have you been doing?
JAMES: Sitting here on my bed, playing with my toes.
JARED: But we're late!
JAMES: But I don't like church. It's better when we're late.
JARED: Time out!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
...and now we'll be five and a half minutes later. That's exactly why I like to use the 'threats of eternal damnation' parenting trick when James is reluctant to go to church.
Or here's another one:
JARED: Get in the car, it's time to go to Sam's Club.
JAMES: I don't want to go to Sam's Club, I just want to sit here.
JARED: We need forty rolls of toilet paper. We're going to Sam's Club.
JAMES: But I really just want to sit here.
JARED: Time out!!!! Sit here for five and a half minutes and think about this!
Mmm yeah. You know what he's thinking? He's thinking, "Ha! Foiled again, you fool!"
I saved my favorite for last:
JARED: Bed time!
JAMES: No thanks.
JARED: BED TIME.
JAMES: I want to stay up for a few more minutes.
JARED: Time out! Sit in the living room for five minutes!
What ever happened to the good old fashioned If you don't get in bed this minute I swear you'll have to sleep standing up in your closet followed by a long, rabid hissing noise? That's pretty much my specialty.
So tell me, what's your husband's one and only discipline technique?
You know what? I love so many things about my husband Jared. He looks great in plaid, he sings like an angel, his naked butt looks just like the David's, and so on and so forth.
Not to make you super jealous or anything, but I honestly can't remember if this is a picture of the statue or Jared getting into the shower:
Either way, don't you just want to cradle those things in your hands?
Of course you do.
Shapely rear aside, I have to admit that for every fifty things I adore about Jared, there seems to be one or six that I'm almost incapable of handling. For example, Jared gives too many damn time-outs. If time-outs were rainbow sprinkles, we'd be a happy, happy family.
According to my observations, moms around the world have somewhere between forty and fifty parenting tricks tucked away for any given situation. Men? They have one.
For some dads it's yelling, for others it's intimidation, some guys are straight-up push-overs, and then you have my husband's breed--the time-out issuer. This time of year, he'll occasionally venture into Santa related threats, but nine times out of ten, he opts for the time-out.
Now don't get me wrong, I truly believe that time-outs are one of the most effective parenting tools on the planet--but my husband, I kid you not, doles time-outs for things like dawdling.
For example:
JARED: You're not ready for church yet? What have you been doing?
JAMES: Sitting here on my bed, playing with my toes.
JARED: But we're late!
JAMES: But I don't like church. It's better when we're late.
JARED: Time out!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
...and now we'll be five and a half minutes later. That's exactly why I like to use the 'threats of eternal damnation' parenting trick when James is reluctant to go to church.
Or here's another one:
JARED: Get in the car, it's time to go to Sam's Club.
JAMES: I don't want to go to Sam's Club, I just want to sit here.
JARED: We need forty rolls of toilet paper. We're going to Sam's Club.
JAMES: But I really just want to sit here.
JARED: Time out!!!! Sit here for five and a half minutes and think about this!
Mmm yeah. You know what he's thinking? He's thinking, "Ha! Foiled again, you fool!"
I saved my favorite for last:
JARED: Bed time!
JAMES: No thanks.
JARED: BED TIME.
JAMES: I want to stay up for a few more minutes.
JARED: Time out! Sit in the living room for five minutes!
What ever happened to the good old fashioned If you don't get in bed this minute I swear you'll have to sleep standing up in your closet followed by a long, rabid hissing noise? That's pretty much my specialty.
So tell me, what's your husband's one and only discipline technique?
A Holiday Update, Lawson Style
December 7, 2010
So our new dog--you know, the German Shorthaired Pointer with the balls still attached?--is so going to hell. Earlier this morning, I caught him gnawing on the Holy Family, and I don't care who you are, that's just not right. Thankfully, he wore himself out whipping The Virgin Mary around by her feet, so he's sleeping now.
The good news is, he's unconscious and I don't think he's chewing on anything valuable at the moment.
The bad news is, I'm afraid to fart even an SBD, in fear of waking him up.
Between the paper shredder with testicles, the two footed one who drew an enormous monster on my upholstered living room chair with a ballpoint pen by accident, and the one who can barely pee in the potty, my life feels like a sink full of dirty dishes. You know--filthy, disorganized, overwhelming, and so on and so forth.
Right now, Maggie's the only one left on my 'nice' list. And believe you me, she's freakishly adorable. If I didn't have to risk waking up the polka-dotted dog with nuts, I'd totally post a picture. Trust me, you'd be completely jealous of her giant teeth. They're kind of like a mix between boat oars and Julia Roberts--they're kind of awesome.
Oh, waitwaitwait, I just pulled this one from my mom's facebook profile:
It's my mom with all her grandkids. I took it on Thanksgiving, and honestly, it's the best I could do.
Well, actually, maybe this one's better:
See what I mean though? She's even cute when she's busy hatin' on her Grandma.
So far, I've bought Maggie two sets of Elmo pajamas, a talking tea set, and a baby doll for Christmas--I'm really hoping she swings the doll around by the arm and drops it on its head over and over in public. I don't know why, but I think it's the cutest thing ever when little girls commit acts of abuse and neglect with their baby dolls. They're like, "LOOK! I'M A MOMMY!," while they bend their baby in three pieces and stick a bottle in its eye. I swear, it never fails to make me smile.
I love having a girl!
So our new dog--you know, the German Shorthaired Pointer with the balls still attached?--is so going to hell. Earlier this morning, I caught him gnawing on the Holy Family, and I don't care who you are, that's just not right. Thankfully, he wore himself out whipping The Virgin Mary around by her feet, so he's sleeping now.
The good news is, he's unconscious and I don't think he's chewing on anything valuable at the moment.
The bad news is, I'm afraid to fart even an SBD, in fear of waking him up.
Between the paper shredder with testicles, the two footed one who drew an enormous monster on my upholstered living room chair with a ballpoint pen by accident, and the one who can barely pee in the potty, my life feels like a sink full of dirty dishes. You know--filthy, disorganized, overwhelming, and so on and so forth.
Right now, Maggie's the only one left on my 'nice' list. And believe you me, she's freakishly adorable. If I didn't have to risk waking up the polka-dotted dog with nuts, I'd totally post a picture. Trust me, you'd be completely jealous of her giant teeth. They're kind of like a mix between boat oars and Julia Roberts--they're kind of awesome.
Oh, waitwaitwait, I just pulled this one from my mom's facebook profile:
It's my mom with all her grandkids. I took it on Thanksgiving, and honestly, it's the best I could do.
Well, actually, maybe this one's better:
See what I mean though? She's even cute when she's busy hatin' on her Grandma.
So far, I've bought Maggie two sets of Elmo pajamas, a talking tea set, and a baby doll for Christmas--I'm really hoping she swings the doll around by the arm and drops it on its head over and over in public. I don't know why, but I think it's the cutest thing ever when little girls commit acts of abuse and neglect with their baby dolls. They're like, "LOOK! I'M A MOMMY!," while they bend their baby in three pieces and stick a bottle in its eye. I swear, it never fails to make me smile.
I love having a girl!
Canine Jewels
December 1, 2010
In my opinion--and I'm pretty sure I'm right, since I heard it from the pulpit back in 1988--dog testicle are one of the most disturbing sights which the human eye can gaze upon. Cat balls are even creepier.
Sure we've all seen our fair share of cellulite wrapped in spandex and unflushed toilets at the neighborhood WalMart, but there's something about a canine nut sack that shocks me every time. Men wear pants for a reason, but male dogs? They just lets those good flap in the wind, bounce when they run, sprawl out when they lounge around.
It's not right.
Based on my strong and steadfast feelings surrounding male dog genitalia, I never even began to imagine that one day, I'd have a set of dog testicles living under my roof. But somehow, fate screwed with my plans, and they're chillaxing on my throw rug right this very minute.
It's true. And I'm absolutely sure that Bob Barker* is rolling over in his grave--Coach isn't neutered.
Go ahead and lecture me in the comments if you must, I'll forward them along to Jared--the junk preserver of the family. But before you get all fired up, rest assured that Coach isn't roving the neighborhood solo, hittin' it up with the bitches (that's the technical term for female dog, ya know). He practices abstinence.
Anyway, I wouldn't want you to misinterpret that disclaimer as a show of support. Make no mistake about it, his dog balls are DISGUSTING. Last night, while I was cooking dinner and he was lying on the kitchen floor, I had to cover them up with a paper towel. Otherwise, I would have been forced to make a dramatic scene to my husband--and dramatic scenes never go over so well in this house.
I guess we're keeping his testicles around so he can do a better job catching turkeys. Something like that. And Jared says that when he gets a little bit older, we can whore him out for cash, too. I hate that idea. I also hate pimp n' ho halloween costumes, so my feelings don't surprise me.
Long story short, my dog has balls and I can't stop looking at them.
*THIS JUST IN: Bob Barker's not dead after all! Hallelujah!
In my opinion--and I'm pretty sure I'm right, since I heard it from the pulpit back in 1988--dog testicle are one of the most disturbing sights which the human eye can gaze upon. Cat balls are even creepier.
Sure we've all seen our fair share of cellulite wrapped in spandex and unflushed toilets at the neighborhood WalMart, but there's something about a canine nut sack that shocks me every time. Men wear pants for a reason, but male dogs? They just lets those good flap in the wind, bounce when they run, sprawl out when they lounge around.
It's not right.
Based on my strong and steadfast feelings surrounding male dog genitalia, I never even began to imagine that one day, I'd have a set of dog testicles living under my roof. But somehow, fate screwed with my plans, and they're chillaxing on my throw rug right this very minute.
It's true. And I'm absolutely sure that Bob Barker* is rolling over in his grave--Coach isn't neutered.
Go ahead and lecture me in the comments if you must, I'll forward them along to Jared--the junk preserver of the family. But before you get all fired up, rest assured that Coach isn't roving the neighborhood solo, hittin' it up with the bitches (that's the technical term for female dog, ya know). He practices abstinence.
Anyway, I wouldn't want you to misinterpret that disclaimer as a show of support. Make no mistake about it, his dog balls are DISGUSTING. Last night, while I was cooking dinner and he was lying on the kitchen floor, I had to cover them up with a paper towel. Otherwise, I would have been forced to make a dramatic scene to my husband--and dramatic scenes never go over so well in this house.
I guess we're keeping his testicles around so he can do a better job catching turkeys. Something like that. And Jared says that when he gets a little bit older, we can whore him out for cash, too. I hate that idea. I also hate pimp n' ho halloween costumes, so my feelings don't surprise me.
Long story short, my dog has balls and I can't stop looking at them.
*THIS JUST IN: Bob Barker's not dead after all! Hallelujah!
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