Let's Get Real Update

August 31, 2009

Well, let me just say that so far, the Let's Get Real: Perfect People Lie challenge is a roaring success. I've gotten about forty entries so far, and I won't lie, you people are seriously disgusting.

And that was a joke.
What I meant to say was, "...you people are seriously my soul sisters."

I'll do my best to keep my promise and compile the links into one, easy-to-read post tomorrow. But you know me, due dates are always quite flexible--especially the ones that I've set for myself.

In other news, do you remember that song Glycerine by that band Bush? Well it came on the radio this morning as I was driving from work to the post office, and hoo boy it really made me sob--like snot-falling-into-my-lap sob. I don't think it's a particularly touching song, and actually, I couldn't quote the lyrics if my life depended on it, but dude, I was an official mess.

Pregnancy is so cute.

And in other news, James seems to have outgrown every single pair of shoes that he owns while he was sleeping last night. His Batman shoes? Too tight. His Hot Wheels shoes? Couldn't get 'em on. His Lightning McQueen shoes? Poked a hole right through the front. And his plain-old-non-commercial-shoes? He simply doesn't own any.

Either this kid knows that Payless is now carrying light-up Transformers velcros, or he's telling me the truth. It's very hard to know.

Keep the pictures coming in!

Let's Get Real 2009

August 28, 2009

Yup. That's exactly what you think it is, a picture of my living room. That's Gracie in the foreground of course, and in the background you'll find James's demolished castle, his dirty clothes from Tuesday, and a big old sleeping bag that's been stuffed in the corner since Monday morning.

It's messy, I know. And I guess it's kind of embarrassing, but I have a good reason for sharing it, so read on...

I have a reader named Charlotte, and as far as I know, she's been with me since the very beginning of the blog craziness--when James was barely two, we lived in Texas, and I was a babysitter with a masters degree (is that supposed to have an apostrophe? I never know).

Anyway, when I logged into my Google Reader this morning, I came across a very courageous and honest post by this internet friend of mine. It talked about all the things she 'should' be doing as the mother of two young children who are very close in age. It talked about her feelings of inadequacy and depression. It talked about the fact that she's not as happy as she knows she can be.

I know it was a hard post for her to publish, so I won't link to it without her permission--but I would like to take the freedom to respond to Charlotte's feelings with a little photo tour of my house.

And then, when you get to the end, I've posted a challenge, an 'I freakin' dare ya' kind of thing.

This is Photo #1, my dining room. Cute, isn't it? I'd like everyone to notice the unfolded napkin on the table, the monster trucks on the window sill, the sweater hanging off the chair, the lone slipper, and the super dusty sewing table.

I know what you're thinking--"Oh c'mon Amy, that's nothing."

You're right, so let's move on.

This is photo #2, my kitchen. I know, also very cute. That's a box of dishwasher soap on the counter--it's been there for a week. And next to it? That's a colander. Funny, because I honestly can't remember the last time we had pasta for dinner.

The bar's a real gem. As far as I can see we've got two cereal boxes, some dirty dishes, Jared's credit card, my vitamin box, James's little bag, a monster truck axle, part of a castle, and so on and so forth.

I know, still not bad. I'm easing you into this.

This is James's room. I haven't made his bed since sometime in July I think. And those dang drawers--can't they just learn to close themselves?

This is part of the baby's room. That's a huge bag that needs to go to Goodwill. It's been sitting there since we finished the room a month ago. And those windows? Yeah, still haven't gotten around to scraping the extra paint off the glass. One of these days. Maybe.

This is the stairway. I vowed to have it painted by James's 3rd birthday party. I re-vowed to have it painted by Jame's 4th birthday party. Most recently, I've given up on vows. If you look down to the left, you can see the color we're planning to paint it, Carrington Beige I believe.

Mmm yeah. Someday. That'll look nice.

To the right you can see the pile of James's things that he's supposed to bring upstairs and put away.

Again, mmm yeah. Someday. That'll look nice, too.

This is my laundry room. Believe it or not, all of those clothes are clean. Wrinkled, but clean. They've been sitting down there for approximately two weeks.

We never leave the house naked, so it's fine with me.

And finally, the crowning jewel (since I'm too wimpy to post a picture of my bedroom or my bathroom), the playroom in the basement.

So there ya go, that's my house in all its natural glory--and let's not forget, I only have one non-toddler child running around.

Maybe I'll pick it up today.

Or maybe I won't.

But I probably will.

Unless I don't feel like it.

And now, without further ado, let's get to this challenge. I'm calling it Let's Get Real 2009: Perfect People Lie.

If you have the guts, snap a few pictures of your house in its normal, everyday condition. Sure, go ahead and exclude the stuff that might embarrass the crud out of you, but please don't hide the truth. Don't tidy-up or put-away before you take your photos, just snap a few and let the world know that you're not perfect either.

Post your pictures on your blog, and then send me the link. You can leave it in the comments of this post, or email it to me at LawsonAmyB @ yahoo . com. I'll compile the links, and we'll have a normal people extravaganza on Tuesday.

Seriously, what's the point of cheating? Just don't do it.

Now get to it.

It's a Mom-Eat-Man Kind of World Out There

August 27, 2009

Expecting a girl baby is weird.

When James popped out, I was like, "Oh hey, you're a boy. Just so you know, you can be a doctor, a plumber, a Peace Corps volunteer, a teacher--I really don't care. The world's your oyster, kid. Just be sure to call your mother every once in a while."

And now that we have a girl on the way, I've got to admit that my attitude is totally and completely different. Maybe I should just go ahead and call it what it is--desperate. Desperate to teach this little girl that she can be whatever she wants to be, career, family and otherwise.

If you were to peek inside my bedroom window, you'd find me lecturing my stomach on a very regular basis. I'm like, "You listen here Lawlet Lawson! You will do whatever you want to do with your life and you won't think a damn thing about it! If you want to be a stay-at-home-mom, great. If you want to be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, great. If you want to be an artist or a Buddhist nun, great. If you want to get all rich off some good idea and support your mother for the rest of her life then that's fine, too."

Then I take a deep gasp and I'm all, "Zero kids or twenty Lawlet, it's totally up to you. Never let a mechanic rip you off. Never rely on a man to be your source of self esteem. Never pay attention to fashion magazines and those stick-thin models. Always flash your middle finger when someone whistles at you. JUST BE HAPPY TO BE YOURSELF, DAMNIT!"

Then I cry, hyperventilate a little bit, and numb my anxieties with junk food. It's all very healthy. All very normal.

I was raised in a family that taught me all of those very important values. I played sports, I played the drums, I have a master's degree, I was a stay-at-home mom for three years, and I essentially told a contractor to eff-off yesterday when he exercised some super shady sales tactics--so to be quite honest, I'm not exactly sure where this is coming from. But let me assure you over and over, it keeps on coming.

Last night, Jared and I were going back and forth about middle names for this baby girl, without any sort of forward progress. Finally, after thirty minutes or so, Jared said, "You know, I don't even think girls should have middle names."

And sure enough, out came the 'I am Woman Mama Bear, Now Hear Me Roar' claws. I was like, "I'm sorry, what's that now? Girls don't need middle names?! Care to explain yourself you chauvinistic bastard of a penis carrier?"

And poor Jared, he just kind of sunk into himself and was like, "Well my mom and sisters don't have middle names. They just made their maiden names into their middle names when they got married."

"Is that so!?" I ranted. "Why don't you just hoist your scrotum up a flag pole and tell the world how superior you are? Huh? Really. Why don't you do that, Jared?"

And he was all, "On second thought, she really needs a middle name. I changed my mind."

And I was all, "What if she doesn't want to get married, Jared? What if she's too busy hiking Everest, or surfing in Tahiti, or nursing sick people back to health to even think about a husband?! What then?! She's supposed to walk around all middle-nameless for the rest of her life?! You're despicable."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"And what else do I need to know?" I continued. "You'll disown her if she's a lesbian? Is that what you're about to tell me next? UCK! You totally disgust me!"

So he quietly said, "What about June? I think that's a really nice middle name. After my Grandma."

"Huh. June. I like that, too. Or maybe Elizabeth," I suggested. "It's classic."

And we continued like that--agreeably, peaceably, thoughtfully--for another thirty minutes.

Just a little mood swing, I suppose. A mere touch of overreaction.

So tell me this--Am I insane? Am I the only mother who's ever felt this way about raising a little girl? Should I have kept this entire subject to myself and never admitted these feelings in public? Am I about to get flogged in the comments?

I'm curious (and scared to press the PUBLISH POST button).

Okay, Okay, Fine...

August 25, 2009

I swore I wasn't gonna do this, but you guys are persistent, and will-power isn't my strongest suit right now. Don't believe me? Just peek inside my freezer.

Here I am at 34 weeks--and I know these kind of comments are totally against the rules--but I've got to admit that I'm looking pretty stinkin' cute. It's gotta be the headband.

That shirt on the other hand? It's having a very rough go of it.

Woops!

August 25, 2009

You've gotta love it when the President of the Board is sitting in your office, and the following picture scrolls across your screen saver:
Yes, he noticed. Yes, he commented.

Most excellent.