May 8, 2009 (Happy Birthday, Dad!)
Happy Friday everyone! I don't know about you, but for me, this has been one of the longest weeks ever. From our annual meeting at work, to a super emotional hearing at the Statehouse, to my greyhound letting her bladder loose in the entryway of my office building, I'm straight up done.
Yesterday afternoon, when James and I took Gracie for a walk, he ran twenty paces ahead of me proclaiming, "My Mom es in a bad move! My Mom es in a bad move!" to the entire neighborhood. I was like, "It's MOOD James! With a D at the end!" as I casually waved to our golden-aged neighbor folk.
Thankfully, thankfully, Jared and I have a date tonight. My friend Jennifer--bless her glowing and generous soul-- is watching James, while Jared and I drive to the big city to redeem our free grilled chicken meal coupons from KFC.
FUN FACT: Did you know that the biscuits from KFC radiate glimmering beams of hope? And the cole slaw improves overall mental health? Really, it's true.
If we're up for it, we'll probably cap off the meal with some primo people watching at the local WalMart. I'm not lying, I honestly can't wait--my husband Jared Lawson is so much fun to bum around with!
A perfect date, with my perfect friend, for the perfect price--$FREE.
And now I'm just curious--what do you usually like to do with your Friday night?
Happy weekend, everyone!!!
The Stats
May 7, 2008
Well that was some tricky post I wrote yesterday, huh?
It's true, I'm pregnant again. Eighteen weeks and thirteen pounds pregnant to be exact. And I'm happy to say that so far everything is so good--the baby has a nice strong heartbeat, my weight gain is pretty reasonable (at least that's what my midwife told me while I was sobbing into her shoulder last week), and the pregnancy brain is in full effect. All positive signs.
Speaking of pregnancy brain, this morning I arrived at work twelve minutes late, settled into my office chair, and immediately began attending to important, pressing business (facebook updates, personal email check, a quick visit to dairyqueen.com, etc). Approximately three minutes later I was struck with the strong and sudden urge to urinate.
I leapt up from my chair and began to awkwardly jog down the hallway when I thought to myself, "Huh. My shoes don't usually make a slapping sound like that. Weird." So I looked down at my feet, and was struck with the firm realization that I wore my slippers to work today.
I guess it's not a huge deal in the grand scheme of things--after all, they're understated. You know--pink with purple flowers, lined with fuzz, huge. Slippers schmippers, it's nothing. Really.
Just so you know, I tried and tried and tried to hold off on announcing my condition until the twenty week ultrasound. I thought it would be fun to say, "It's a boy!" or "It's a girl!" and leave everyone scratching their heads. I even considered waiting until the kid was born, posting a picture, and saying, "Look! It's a baby!" But, as with most things in my life, whoopie pies included, I broke down and gave in to temptation. I'm so weak like that.
I'm officialy vowing to be less secretive about my pregnancy this time around--why not have fun with it, right? So, without further ado, I give you the vital statistics:
DUE DATE: October 8, 2009
SEX: Too tired.
SEX: We don't know yet, we'll find out two weeks from today.
HOPING FOR: Either a boy or a girl--not a mix.
JAMES WANTS: A brother. Or a sister. Or a German Shorthaired Pointer.
STARTING WEIGHT: 114 (lie)
CURRENT WEIGHT: 127 (lie, lie, lie)
EXERCISE: Surprisingly good! Still running (well run/walking), getting my jumping jacks on with Jillian's Shred, and lots and lots of yard work. (not a lie)
BABY'S HEARTBEAT: 145 bpm
STATE OF MIND: 75% thrilled, 25% terrified
ASS: Huge.
So there ya go. It's official! Prayers, positive thoughts, and sun salutations on our behalf are always appreciated.
And by the way, is that a boy heartbeat or a girl heartbeat? I have no idea.
Well that was some tricky post I wrote yesterday, huh?
It's true, I'm pregnant again. Eighteen weeks and thirteen pounds pregnant to be exact. And I'm happy to say that so far everything is so good--the baby has a nice strong heartbeat, my weight gain is pretty reasonable (at least that's what my midwife told me while I was sobbing into her shoulder last week), and the pregnancy brain is in full effect. All positive signs.
Speaking of pregnancy brain, this morning I arrived at work twelve minutes late, settled into my office chair, and immediately began attending to important, pressing business (facebook updates, personal email check, a quick visit to dairyqueen.com, etc). Approximately three minutes later I was struck with the strong and sudden urge to urinate.
I leapt up from my chair and began to awkwardly jog down the hallway when I thought to myself, "Huh. My shoes don't usually make a slapping sound like that. Weird." So I looked down at my feet, and was struck with the firm realization that I wore my slippers to work today.
I guess it's not a huge deal in the grand scheme of things--after all, they're understated. You know--pink with purple flowers, lined with fuzz, huge. Slippers schmippers, it's nothing. Really.
Just so you know, I tried and tried and tried to hold off on announcing my condition until the twenty week ultrasound. I thought it would be fun to say, "It's a boy!" or "It's a girl!" and leave everyone scratching their heads. I even considered waiting until the kid was born, posting a picture, and saying, "Look! It's a baby!" But, as with most things in my life, whoopie pies included, I broke down and gave in to temptation. I'm so weak like that.
I'm officialy vowing to be less secretive about my pregnancy this time around--why not have fun with it, right? So, without further ado, I give you the vital statistics:
DUE DATE: October 8, 2009
SEX: Too tired.
SEX: We don't know yet, we'll find out two weeks from today.
HOPING FOR: Either a boy or a girl--not a mix.
JAMES WANTS: A brother. Or a sister. Or a German Shorthaired Pointer.
STARTING WEIGHT: 114 (lie)
CURRENT WEIGHT: 127 (lie, lie, lie)
EXERCISE: Surprisingly good! Still running (well run/walking), getting my jumping jacks on with Jillian's Shred, and lots and lots of yard work. (not a lie)
BABY'S HEARTBEAT: 145 bpm
STATE OF MIND: 75% thrilled, 25% terrified
ASS: Huge.
So there ya go. It's official! Prayers, positive thoughts, and sun salutations on our behalf are always appreciated.
And by the way, is that a boy heartbeat or a girl heartbeat? I have no idea.
Three Things I'm Good At: Secrets, Hiding, and Misrepresentation
May 6, 2009There are a lot of different things I like about blogging--making fun of my husband in a public forum, getting loads of compliments about my child's looks from total and complete strangers, and the occasional piece of random, adoring fan mail come to mind. But my favorite thing about blogging, my absolute favorite thing, is the fact that I can paint this little life of mine however I so chose.
I tell you what I want to tell you.
I don't tell you what I don't want to tell you.
I guess it gives me a false sense of control. Keeping secrets from readers makes me feel like I have some grasp over my hectic and very unpredictable life. Hey, it's either that or Prozac--I'll take the blog. Less sexual side effects.
My sister, who has known me (in person) for 28 years, finds this whole blog thing to be absolutely frikking hilarious. Not the stories--she's been hearing garbage like that since I learned to talk. No no, she finds pure joy in the comments that say things like:
I'm having a party next weekend and I so want you could come, but I live in Ohio. You'd liven it up for sure.
Or:
You always makes me laugh. I'd love to go shopping together. That would be the best time ever!
Or her favorite:
I wish we were real life friends.
That last one gives her cramps from laughing so hard. Really, it does. Mostly because I'm a total and complete introvert--I hate parties, I have a hard time making new friends, and generally speaking, human beings of all makes and models cause my armpits to sweat like a high powered sprinkler system.
I guess you could describe me as a girl who's got a handful of close friends, an armful of acquaintances (who make me want to poo myself from the nerves), and hides from the remainder of the world's population.
Trust me, the last thing you need is to have me at your party. I fart when I'm nervous.
This is on my mind today for one distinct reason. This afternoon, in just two short hours, I'm having lunch with someone I've never met--someone who reads my blog. Oh. The. Horror. I'm sure she's great--I have no concerns about that end of the equation. It's the 'me sucking' part that makes this whole concept a little hard to swallow.
We're meeting up to attend a hearing at the Statehouse, not just for the hell of it--so that takes the edge off. At least we'll have something to talk about. I've already thought of a few conversation starters for the plentiful moments where I'll be stumped over what to say next. For example:
So, this building we're going to, do you think it will have a brick or stucco exterior?
And:
Do you know if the chairs will be padded?
And:
That sure is a big hill over there! Don't you think!?
Oh yeah, I'm totally full of ideas. I swear, if I wasn't operating a station wagon, 18 weeks pregnant, and a Mormon, I'd have a shot or three of whiskey to take the edge off. New people scare me. And this girl? You should see her facebook profile--blond hair, sunglasses, arms, legs, a little smirk on her face--extra, extra scary.
Linsday, thanks to you, I'm going to pee all over my driver's seat today. Can't wait to meet you.
So anyway, that's that. I enjoy blogging because I can paint myself in a false light and keep all kinds of secrets from all kinds of people.
And yes, you read that correctly. I'm not just getting fat.
Bed Check
May 5, 2009
Most nights, before I go to bed, I pop my head into James's room. You know, just to make sure that he's still breathing, that he's still super cute, and that he hasn't shimmied down the drain pipe and stolen my car.
Here was the scene I walked into last night:
Most nights, before I go to bed, I pop my head into James's room. You know, just to make sure that he's still breathing, that he's still super cute, and that he hasn't shimmied down the drain pipe and stolen my car.
Here was the scene I walked into last night:
James cuddling with my kitchen tongs.
And let me just say that I totally get it--sometimes, when it's rainy outside, I like to set my Kitchen Aide mixer up right next to my pillow. It helps me feel loved.
Spway Dat Dog
May 4, 2009Happy Monday, everyone. I don't know about you, but I had a really excellent weekend. Which is funny, because my husband was away all day Saturday and all day Sunday at a conference.
Huh.
On Saturday afternoon I decided to take James on a nice little hike we have right here in town. You know, since the sun was shining and I had allowed him to watch 4 simultaneous hours of semi-violent Saturday morning cartoons, I thought my kid could use a little get up and go. Also, every now and again it feels good to be a true hero in the fight against childhood obesity--or at least remain neutral.
This is how I like to look at it: 4 year old boy + 4 hours of TV + cheetos and brownies for breakfast + 2 mile hike = neutral
Right?
Right.
This is also how I like to look at it: If I can get the kid to graduate from high school, always drive a stick shift, and never need to apply for The Biggest Loser, then in my mind, I'm a raging success of a Mother.
As you can see, we have strong values and very high expectations in the Lawson family--and I try to display subtle reminders of who we are all throughout the house. Like the picture of Jesus in our entryway, or the church magazine on our coffee table, or my cross-stitched wall hanging that says "A guy who drives a car with a standard transmission, has major sex appeal. A guy who drives an automatic might as well gift wrap his privates and mail them to Siberia. That's how badly he'll be needing them."
(Uh, yeah. That craft was a ton of work.)
Anywho, James loves this particular hike. We usually do it a two or three times a month. Since I get to maintain a somewhat outdoorsy image, James gets to pee off of the six-story fire tower at the top of the trail, and Gracie is allowed to poop 12-14 times in an hour, we're all happy. It's a win, win, win if I've ever seen one.
This time, on our way down the trail, we ran into a couple with a really funny looking dog--obviously a mutt. It was either a cross between a cocker spaniel and a donkey, or black lab and a My Little Pony--very hard to tell.
As James approached the weird looking animal, an overly cautious look came across his face. He looked up at the female owner and suspiciously asked, "What dog is dis?"
I believe he was asking for the breed, but since the dog obviously had none the owner happily replied, "This is Rufus."
James pursed his lips and nodded. "Uh huh."
"What's your dog," she asked?
"She es a heyground," he replied. "Her name es Gracie and she es a heyground."
The woman giggled because, you know, greyhound...heyground, it's beyond cute if you ask me (and if you disagree, it's probably because your private parts are East of Russia and you're all worked up and cranky about it).
Then, in all seriousness, James looked up at me, pointed toward Rufus--who was panting, wagging, and I swear he was smiling--and said, "Spway dat dog, Mommy. You gotta spway dat dog."
That's right. James wanted me to give old Rufus a blast with my pepper spray--just for being ugly.
As we continued down the trail, I explained to James that pepper spray is only to be used on very angry animals or real life bad guys--not an innocent dog who could benefit from a box of hair dye and a set of braces.
He still hasn't wrapped his mind around the concept.
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