April 11, 2011
Are you a prayer ninja? A good thought thinker? Maybe you're a postive vibe sender?
If you're any of the above, I'm asking you to go visit this blog, and then hope your guts out for this little family who's experiencing such a living nightmare right now.
Nathan, the dad, is a friend of a friend, and I just can't get these people out of my mind. Please, please, please visit their site, leave a positive comment, and follow their blog. They really need to know that people from all over the world are supporting them while their baby (that's right, I said baby) is battling leukemia.
Plus, I'm pretty jealous of Sadie's hair. I mean c'mon, aren't you?!
No Seriously, FML (Fart on My Life)
April 6, 2011
If you haven't been to the old blog in a while, I'd ask you to start by reading yesterday's post titled Fart on My Life. If you're already familiar with that post, then mmm mmm mmm, you're in for a treat.
There's good news and there's bad news, and just for the sake of keeping things exciting, I'll start with the good news.
GOOD NEWS: Thanks to a strapping combination of testosterone, persistence, and brute force, my ultra manly husband was just barely able to stretch the shrunken cover back on to the couch cushion. Yay! Go Jared!
BAD NEWS: The bad news is, well, they do say that a picture is worth a thousand words...
If you haven't been to the old blog in a while, I'd ask you to start by reading yesterday's post titled Fart on My Life. If you're already familiar with that post, then mmm mmm mmm, you're in for a treat.
There's good news and there's bad news, and just for the sake of keeping things exciting, I'll start with the good news.
GOOD NEWS: Thanks to a strapping combination of testosterone, persistence, and brute force, my ultra manly husband was just barely able to stretch the shrunken cover back on to the couch cushion. Yay! Go Jared!
BAD NEWS: The bad news is, well, they do say that a picture is worth a thousand words...
Fern Maggie Lawson, Artist
F to the M to the L.
Running Late
April 6, 2011
I've been doing the same job for three years, and for those last three years, I've had a fairly consistent meeting schedule. Every first and third Tuesday of the month, I have a committee meeting at seven o'clock in the morning. So, according to my calculations, I just attended my seventy-second early morning meeting.
Needless to say, I'm completely used to this schedule. So used to it, that if I'm ever taken hostage, the second thing I'll probably say is, "We're gonna need to settle this out before my executive committee meeting next Tuesday morning." You know, right after I say, "If you don't buy me a box of ice cream sandwiches on the way to your secret cave, you have no idea how much you'll regret picking me."
Jared on the other hand, he's jusssssssst, getting used to this arrangement. I don't blame him. Some times it takes me three-thousand reminders and seventy-something dry runs to let something settle in, too. Like losing five pounds--pretty sure I'm on try number ninety.
Yesterday was one of my meeting days, and Jared was so incredibly proud of himself for not scheduling any early morning patients. He got a sticker and a rub on the head for his remembering skills. Unfortunately for him, my meeting ran late, and even though his remembering skills were a force to be reckoned with, his spur of the moment problem solving skills weren't ready to cope with a situation of such magnitude.
I pulled in to the driveway to find a stunned/confused looking husband, and two crying kids. The kids were crying because they were hungry, and Jared, well, Jared always looks a little turned around:
"Sorry I'm late," I said.
"The kids haven't eaten," he replied.
"Why not?"
This question was answered with a blank stare, a shrug of the shoulders, and a sincere, "I don't know."
"Well," I went on, "did you make yourself a lunch?"
This time he looked down at his feet.
"You didn't pack a lunch? What have you been up to for the last half hour?"
"I don't know," which again, was sincere. "I guess I was just standing here, wondering if you'd get home in time to make my lunch for me."
I love him, I swear I do.
I've been doing the same job for three years, and for those last three years, I've had a fairly consistent meeting schedule. Every first and third Tuesday of the month, I have a committee meeting at seven o'clock in the morning. So, according to my calculations, I just attended my seventy-second early morning meeting.
Needless to say, I'm completely used to this schedule. So used to it, that if I'm ever taken hostage, the second thing I'll probably say is, "We're gonna need to settle this out before my executive committee meeting next Tuesday morning." You know, right after I say, "If you don't buy me a box of ice cream sandwiches on the way to your secret cave, you have no idea how much you'll regret picking me."
Jared on the other hand, he's jusssssssst, getting used to this arrangement. I don't blame him. Some times it takes me three-thousand reminders and seventy-something dry runs to let something settle in, too. Like losing five pounds--pretty sure I'm on try number ninety.
Yesterday was one of my meeting days, and Jared was so incredibly proud of himself for not scheduling any early morning patients. He got a sticker and a rub on the head for his remembering skills. Unfortunately for him, my meeting ran late, and even though his remembering skills were a force to be reckoned with, his spur of the moment problem solving skills weren't ready to cope with a situation of such magnitude.
I pulled in to the driveway to find a stunned/confused looking husband, and two crying kids. The kids were crying because they were hungry, and Jared, well, Jared always looks a little turned around:
"Sorry I'm late," I said.
"The kids haven't eaten," he replied.
"Why not?"
This question was answered with a blank stare, a shrug of the shoulders, and a sincere, "I don't know."
"Well," I went on, "did you make yourself a lunch?"
This time he looked down at his feet.
"You didn't pack a lunch? What have you been up to for the last half hour?"
"I don't know," which again, was sincere. "I guess I was just standing here, wondering if you'd get home in time to make my lunch for me."
I love him, I swear I do.
Fart on My Life*
April 4, 2011
Lately I've been seeing the same three letters all over the internet, and up until three days ago, I had no idea what they meant. The letters? FML.Honestly, when I see the letters FManything, I automatically assume it means For More Somethingorother. So this FML thing? I just couldn't figure it out...
For more love? No, no.
For more loving? Possibly.
For more leisure? Man I'm an idiot.
So finally, after three-dozen completely stupid stabs at the whole FML thing, I decided to ask for Google's help.
Ooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Well that's what it means.
Ten or so minutes after my FML discovery, I really started to ponder the term. "Man," I thought, "who would write that?" And, "I think I'm really grateful for my life. No, actually, I LOVE my life! I would never write those three letters!"
And then Saturday happened. A day that can only be summed up by a certain three letters. F to the M to the L.
As you can clearly gather from those pictures, Maggie loves to color. Actually, it's more like this: Maggie LOVES TO COLOR! Which is funny, because James would rather walk ten miles with a burning cigarette in his shoe that color for four minutes. Their personalities are so extremely different, but I'm almost 97% sure that they have the same father. Isn't it crazy how that works?
Before I move on, here's another smidge of proof that Maggie LOVES TO COLOR!!!!!!!
Lately I've been seeing the same three letters all over the internet, and up until three days ago, I had no idea what they meant. The letters? FML.Honestly, when I see the letters FManything, I automatically assume it means For More Somethingorother. So this FML thing? I just couldn't figure it out...
For more love? No, no.
For more loving? Possibly.
For more leisure? Man I'm an idiot.
So finally, after three-dozen completely stupid stabs at the whole FML thing, I decided to ask for Google's help.
Ooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Well that's what it means.
Ten or so minutes after my FML discovery, I really started to ponder the term. "Man," I thought, "who would write that?" And, "I think I'm really grateful for my life. No, actually, I LOVE my life! I would never write those three letters!"
And then Saturday happened. A day that can only be summed up by a certain three letters. F to the M to the L.
I swear, if I could do it all over again, my daughter wouldn't be plain old Maggie Lawson--she'd be Farrah Maggie Lawson, or Fern Maggie Lawson, or Fanny Maggie Lawson. Are you catching on here?
(But holy crapness, how cute is she?)
(So cute it makes me want to pass gas.)
As you can clearly gather from those pictures, Maggie loves to color. Actually, it's more like this: Maggie LOVES TO COLOR! Which is funny, because James would rather walk ten miles with a burning cigarette in his shoe that color for four minutes. Their personalities are so extremely different, but I'm almost 97% sure that they have the same father. Isn't it crazy how that works?
Before I move on, here's another smidge of proof that Maggie LOVES TO COLOR!!!!!!!
(Holy stinkin' cuteness overload!)
Okay, so just to review, by this point you should know two things:
1) Maggie loves to color, and
2) Maggie has a cute problem.
On Saturday morning, I walked into the living room, and to my horror, I found Maggie coloring all over the middle couch cushion....WITH LIPSTICK!!!!! Not only do I not use lipstick ever (it came from one of those damn-freaking Clinique free gift bags), but my parents just gave us that couch three years ago, after they used it for ten years and got sick of it, and I happen to think it's very nice, probably the nicest piece of furniture we own--you know, in a plaid kind of way.
I immediately ran to my computer, searched for something to the tune of HOW IN THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO GET RID OF LIPSTICK ON MY COUCH? I TOTALLY SUCK AT LAUNDRY!, and moved into action. I peeled the cover off of the cushion, doused it with goo gone, and carried the whole wet mess down to the laundry room.
I flipped up the lid to the washing machine (because I probably won't get a front loader until my parents get one, use it for ten years, get sick of it, and give it to us), and noticed washing directions for all kinds of stains. Believe it or not, there was even special directions for how to launder items that were soiled with cosmetics. Turns out, you should wash those kinds of things on hot.
So I did. I washed the cover to my couch cushion on hot.
Enter the three letters I sincerely hate to love: FML.
That's right, I took that lipstick covered couch cushion cover, and I shrunk the hell out of it. Actually, I shrunk that cover so good, that I haven't been able to squeeze it back on to the cushion. Hopefully no one will notice the difference. Honestly, is it obvious?
Stress Management
March 31, 2011
It's true. As you might have gathered from this week's Things that Piss Us Off Thursday post, I'm a complete stress case over here. And I'm mad at myself for spending so much energy worrying about something, that's in the grand scheme of things, very very minor. So yeah, the fact that I can't let this roll of my back? That's stressing me out even more.
Don't you wish you could hang out with me right now? Don't I just seem so fun?
I've been trying so hard to push my feelings out of the way and be my normal old funny self, but, as evidenced by the complete lack of humorous posts for the past one zillion weeks, that approach has clearly been a massive fail.
D- on the stress management, Amy! D-.
Now before you get yourself all worked up, rest assured that this is really nothing huge. The fact is, we own our own business, and when you own your own business, crappy little problems creep up...and then they steal your happiness and stomp on your soul while you innocently sleep in the night.
Oh wait, was that dramatic?
It's just a business-related blip, that's really (truly, honestly) all it is. I just wish my feelings would act accordingly. And I wish these feelings would get out of my damn way and let me blog the way I like to.
You see, I want to tell you guys that it's a horrible idea to let an almost six-year-old chose his own party supplies from the dollar store--really, take my word on that. From the inflatable hats that won't hold air, to the strange-ass-eighty-year-old-woman cat figurine that he wants to use as a cake topper--it's a terrible, meltdown inducing idea for so. many. reasons.
And I want to tell you about the morning I looked at the ten teenagers and two Mormon missionaries sitting in my basement at 6:27, felt like my poor innocent house was being completely violated, and I couldn't stop myself from screaming this:
It's true. As you might have gathered from this week's Things that Piss Us Off Thursday post, I'm a complete stress case over here. And I'm mad at myself for spending so much energy worrying about something, that's in the grand scheme of things, very very minor. So yeah, the fact that I can't let this roll of my back? That's stressing me out even more.
Don't you wish you could hang out with me right now? Don't I just seem so fun?
I've been trying so hard to push my feelings out of the way and be my normal old funny self, but, as evidenced by the complete lack of humorous posts for the past one zillion weeks, that approach has clearly been a massive fail.
D- on the stress management, Amy! D-.
Now before you get yourself all worked up, rest assured that this is really nothing huge. The fact is, we own our own business, and when you own your own business, crappy little problems creep up...and then they steal your happiness and stomp on your soul while you innocently sleep in the night.
Oh wait, was that dramatic?
It's just a business-related blip, that's really (truly, honestly) all it is. I just wish my feelings would act accordingly. And I wish these feelings would get out of my damn way and let me blog the way I like to.
You see, I want to tell you guys that it's a horrible idea to let an almost six-year-old chose his own party supplies from the dollar store--really, take my word on that. From the inflatable hats that won't hold air, to the strange-ass-eighty-year-old-woman cat figurine that he wants to use as a cake topper--it's a terrible, meltdown inducing idea for so. many. reasons.
And I want to tell you about the morning I looked at the ten teenagers and two Mormon missionaries sitting in my basement at 6:27, felt like my poor innocent house was being completely violated, and I couldn't stop myself from screaming this:
I'M NOT A YELLER! I HATE YELLING! I LIKE SWEARING A WHOLE LOT MORE! BUT JESUS IS WATCHING THIS CLASS, SO I HAVE TO YELL AT YOU ALL INSTEAD! JUST IMAGINE ME SWEARING RIGHT NOW.....THE BAAAAAAD ONES!
Or yesterday, when a disgustingly smelly hippy showed up at my door asking me to sign his petition--it had something to do with the evils of BPA in our plastic products. I nodded in agreement, damned BPA to hell, and left him with my emotional testimony of how desperately I long to protect my children from the toxic chemicals of our fallen world.
Yeah, well, it turns out Maggie was standing behind me the entire time--sippy cup in one hand, 99 cent pitcher from WalMart in the other, begging for a sip of orange juice. You could pretty much smell the BPA wafting out from under our front door. Whoops!
Hey. Guess what? I'm already feeling better. Like much, much better--maybe even like my good old normal self....
Man I love you guys!
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