Yesterday, while Liam was at school, I wrapped the first Christmas present of the season! I wrapped it in the Santa wrapping paper he picked out himself, and placed it under the tree with love. Awww he was SO excited about that present! “Can I open it? Can I open it?!” Endless badgering and maybe even some irrational tears eventually led to one of these two responses from me:

“Look, if you don’t stop getting upset about the present, there won’t be any more Christmas presents under the tree for you.”

or

“Seriously! You will wait until Christmas to open it because it’s a fucking CHRISTMAS present! Why the fuck is that so fucking hard to understand? ONE OF US IS CRAZY, and it says a lot that NO ONE witnessing this exchange would pick the woman who’s yelling ‘fuck’ until she has a stroke!”

Whew. For the record (and CPS), I’ve never actually cursed at my child before. I realized in 8th grade that I wasn’t cool enough to spew maledictions naturally. So, now I just keep the four-letter words in the bedroom, where they belong. Amiright??

Back to this present. So, when Liam was at school the next day, I happened to notice a little somethin’ somethin’.

Definitely not what it looked like yesterday.

That entire side that is crumpled was plastered over with a single, giant piece of packing tape. The funniest part is that he probably believes this was a success.

Oh no, my seven year old outsmarted me! What ever shall I do?? Well, since you asked …

I’m still going to wrap and set out gifts for Liam. I won’t call him out on anything. I’ll let him think he’s the one pulling the strings. And I’ll wait in anticipation to see what happens when he inevitably peaks and sees that all “his” presents are either underwear or girl toys. His actual presents will remain hidden in – nope, Liam is crafty enough that he may even read this.

Liam, if you ARE reading this, I’m SO onto you . I love you. Now please go brush your teeth. No, you didn’t already brush them. Go. I love you. GO.

Well, it’s that time of year: Liam was forced into the barber’s chair for his annual haircut, so the holidays must be upon us! I hate haircut time just as much as Liam. For him, it’s all inconvenience. For me, I get bummed out every time I look at him for the next few weeks.

The “Before”. Look at that sweet little face. (Secret: he’s not always sweet. He’s a perfectly designed evil genius).

His hair gets cleaned up, and he now looks two years older, he suddenly resembles Noah way more than me, and those EARS haha. There’s something so funny about short hair and big ears.

The “After”. I can’t help it. I just love shaggy little puppy dog hair.

Tradition here dictates that the day after Thanksgiving is Christmas decorating day for Liam and me. He has been begging since summertime to take out the 10′ tall snowman, so you can imagine his euphoria as he hung ornaments and decorated gingerbread cookies. Yes, within only a few hours, Xmas happened big time in Onion Creek, and there’s no turning back until December 26th.

The middle of the tree got decorated, but no one has touched the ornaments since then.

Non sequitur photos and anecdotes:

Liam is way into cooking. At the last book fair, rather than his standard 3D Space and bug books, he chose a cookbook from the Adult section (NO, not the same Adult Section I picked my own books from). Since then, he has succssfully prepared a 3 course meal one night each week. I follow behind him to handle the clean up, absorb the dangerous grease splatters, and clear up any measurement confusion – but he prepares these meals about 90% on his own.

Liam’s arsenal of supplies.

Suiting up!

Evidence I just may be a genius.

Garlic.

Recent Funny Conversations:

Liam: I still can’t believe Olivia got a tattoo.

Me: You are just blown away by that, huh? Why?

Liam: I want one. Can I get one?

Me: It’s against the law. You have to be 18 to get a tattoo because they don’t want you to get something you’ll regret.

Liam: That’s not fair! Will you let me get one?

Me: No, sorry. What would you get?

Liam: A water dragon on my arm!

Point and match.

(When Noah tried his best to make some moves after my own traumatic hair coloring disaster)

Me: No, sorry, not right now.

Noah: Come on, we should do it while your hair’s still blonde.

Me: WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?

(A Text Exchange)

Me: What’s your ETA?

Noah: It’s 420 right now, btw

Me: ……..

Noah: Leaving around 5.

Me: Oh, you know what?? Yesterday was our anniversary!

Right?

Nope.

Noah: I think that was yesterday.

Me: It was yesterday haha.

Election Day.

Noah: Election Day is always the 6th?

Final Round of Nonsense:

The reason it’s best that I don’t have a little girl. I would wear Disney Princess outfits daily, if it were at all acceptable, and having a daughter would put this dangerously within reach.

You need to quickly clean the toilet and make yourself look nice for unexpected visitors? PLOP! Murphy’s Law in action.

This sock has been on top of the fan for months. There’s a bit of a stalemate happening here.

It turns out, that’s not an actual Commandment. But if you read my previous post about religion, you probably aren’t surprised that I got a little mixed up. However, I believe this should be thrown into the catechism – any number, any order. We can call it Commandment #11, Commandment 8b, add an asterisk, or whatever the acceptable text-editing protocol happens to be.

Many would argue that you cannot pass judgment on parents and child rearing unless you, yourself, are a parent. It’s true that no matter how much time you may have spent with kids, how much you’ve studied child psychology, and despite the fact that you spend tons of time with your little niece or nephew, you have absolutely NO IDEA of the subtleties that take place when you live with and rear a child. Truth. Liam acts entirely differently when he’s at school verses at home, when he’s at one set of grandparents verses another, when we have company verses just the two of us. And even those discrepancies vary based on his mood or just plain luck. Sometimes we have happy, easy Liam (he’s awesome. We love that guy.), and sometimes we have psychotic, irrational  un-happy, un-easy Liam (he shows up uninvited all the time). So when you’re at Target and observe what seems to be terrible parenting, you’re not even seeing a sliver of what that relationship is actually like. Granted, the following are probably all safe to consider reporting, regardless of the unseen context:

Hitting kids in public*

Leaving kids in hot cars

Children being babysat by pitbulls

Obviously, there are others, but these are the ones I can at least list without any hypocrisy**.  The reason I find this worth writing about is because I was reminded of an incident a a couple of months ago. On one of our summertime Field Trip Fridays, I took Liam to the Splash Town water park in San Antonio. Just the two of us; no lines to speak of; wave pools, water slides, and funnel cakes. On the way home, we decided to go out to dinner once we reached Austin. I was feeling exceptionally warm and fuzzy, so I gave Liam free choice on where we’d eat. “Hmmmm,” he thought. “Let’s go someplace nice. Like Olive Garden.” Liam has eaten in so many of Austin’s local and delish eateries, but he still believes Olive Garden holds the standard of true elegance. And let’s be honest: we all love that OG salad. So after showering and freshening up, we alerted Noah of our plans and headed to the local Olive Garden. (Entirely separately, let me just say: Jacque Vilmain, anyone? I just remembered her. It’s related because I ran into her there twice. And it was hilarious both times).

You know it’s an occasion when Liam clips that tie onto whichever shirt he’s sporting.

From our booth, I was able to hear but not see a conversation between what I assumed was a mother, father, and 9ish year old girl sitting directly behind me. I observed a mother berating her daughter, listing her affronts. Back talking, not doing what was asked: the usual parental offenses. The girl was quiet. The father didn’t say too much – I think the mom was basically filling him in on how awful the girl had behaved. Meanwhile, I sat in my trio laughing at Liam’s jokes and feeling like a superior parent. I was appalled at the woman behind me and how she was ruining their night. She really needs to let up. Why can’t she just drop it and enjoy their evening together?  Ew, she’s a bitch. Other than that, dinner was uneventful – but I did harp on and on about that mean mom behind us. Her poor little girl! 

Once we arrived home, we found ourselves in the living room to watch and play Wii with Liam. And that’s where this little story turns. The Wii remote ran out of batteries. But you know what? The battery drawer was well stocked, so no harm/no foul. If you’re a rational person, that is. Liam. Flipped. Out.

It started small. “NOOOO! It’s out of batteries!”

“We have more in the drawer,” I said. I feel like this is where the story should have ended. Instead, Liam threw the remote on the ground (lazy SOB) and picked up another one, which was also out of batteries. This caused him to throw himself on the floor, wailing in defeat. “So … do you want some batteries?” You know, just testing the sanity waters.

“NO!” At this point he was angrily lashing out at anything around him. Kicking at the couch, shoving the cat away from him, and very near angry tears. “Liam, seriously, chill. There’s not a problem here; we have batteries.” I always forget that logic doesn’t work, no matter how sound the argument may be. From there, he shouted accusations about unrelated things at both Noah and me: Why does he always have to brush his teeth? Why can’t we eat sushi every day?! And no, REALLY, how can we not want a pet rat or pet snake?!?!  He was forced into his bedroom (physically carried since, apparently, his bones and muscles disintegrate so that all of his bodily power can be directed toward his lungs and diaphragm during tantrums), and then proceeded to scream and yell from his room and kick his door. I looked at Noah and said, “How on Earth did that happen?” I also said, “You know, I take back everything I said about that mom earlier. We have no idea what that girl did all day. She’s probably a brat.”  There have been days that Liam back talks, ignores me, and generally is just rude and entitled for no apparent reason. Those days suck. They are rare(ish). But they definitely happen. And I’m not above rehashing the details of my negative Liam encounters with Noah. So, no judging parents, peeps. No es bueno.

Unrelated photos:

For Halloween, Liam decided to be Turtle Man. Here is a clip of the real Turtle Man.

And here is Liam as Turtle Man:

“That’s live action!”

Liam’s mugshot. The photographer didn’t get the memo that we keep his hair long in front of his ears for a reason

Ughhhh this picture of Danny Zuko and me just melts my heart.

* Yes, I said “in public”. Although I’ve never spanked Liam, I do not think a child getting an occasional swat on the booty is inappropriate at all. Evidently not a popular view these days, but I stand by it. Again, I haven’t spanked Liam (yet), but in my oh-so-humble-opinion, the little angel may have it coming. Don’t be fooled – he may have won the “Sweetheart” award in preschool, but that sweet center is sometimes replaced by some sort of baking soda/vinegar combo.

** I typed this about a month ago thinking I’d add or change it, but never did. I will neither confirm nor deny whether Liam received that first spanking.

** *Disclaimer: Please don’t hit your kids. It’s pretty awful. I’m not condoning it, and now I’m uncomfortable with everything I spouted about spanking.

I’m so emo, right?  But seriously. 2012 has been a trying year. The past few months have been particularly difficult, and the past few weeks have just about killed me. And it allllll culminates here in this upcoming week that has me filled with so much stress and anxiety that I think I almost made myself sick yesterday. As in, the thought of everything I  need to  MUST accomplish this week filled me with butterflies, then those butterflies started flying through my heart and messing with its rhythms, making all the blood leave my head and land in my stomach where I actually thought I might need to get out of my car and daintily throw up. It’s not just me: Noah is stretched about as thinly as possible, as well. And poor Liam has had to take a backseat to a lot of problems lately. Right now, my only consoling thought is that things will slow waaaay down within two weeks.

Without getting too bogged down in the details, please allow me to whine about one of our larger problems:

Since I have a small truck, occasionally Noah and I need to switch cars when I need a backseat. On one such day a couple of months ago, I drove his car east on Cesar Chavez, and right as I passed Juan in a Million a car and I smashed together.

I’ll add pictures so this isn’t so boring.

“How busy are you right now? We have a little bit of a problem.”

The other driver was at fault, receiving tickets for failure to yield, driving on a suspended license, and not having insurance coverage. Yeah, that last one is the kicker. That’s when you’re super appreciative of the fact that you never really got around to calling the insurance company to switch to only liability insurance. That may be one of the few points procrastination has ever scored me. Honestly, it was time for a new car anyway, and totaling the current one was the catalyst we needed to purchase a new(er) vehicle. We considered our options.

Kicked a few tires.

Just didn’t have that “new car” smell.

And after researching and Consumer Reporting we carefully decided on a vehicle and purchased a car from a private seller.

We were thrilled to pieces with the new car and glad the mess was behind us.

About 4 weeks into our new car honeymoon, I jumped into it as I was running late to teach a class one afternoon. When I reversed, it felt a little funny (that’s what she said). When I put it into drive, nothing happened. I repeat: NOTHING HAPPENED. Panicked that I would be late for my class, I ran inside and said, “NoahI’mReallySorryToLeaveYouWithThisButTheCarIsStuckInTheStreetAndIDon’tKnowWhat’sWrongGottaGo!!!” as I ran out the door. Instead of focusing on the fact that I left Noah on his own with a rather large problem, did you notice that I make quite the effort to be punctual?

Okay, let’s continue. We had it towed to the dealership. They called a couple of days later to tell us – *ahem*- something, either a rock or an animal, got into the engine, tore off the timing belt, bent the cylinders, and estimated it at a $10,000 repair. To quote Liam: “Say WHAAAAT?!” Let me explain that we are not and cannot be a single car family. I sometimes have to be three different places around town during the day. In addition to that, Liam needs to be dropped off and picked up from school. Noah has to get to and from work every day, and most of those times overlap with one another. Let me also point out that I had only just sent off our second car payment. The big question has been whether or not the insurance company would cover the cost. We lucked out, they covered it, and yet another car was officially “totaled”.

But then comes a second set of insurance hassle, another round of car searching and shopping, and another period of time when we’re down a car. One of Noah’s sisters has graciously allowed him to borrow her car for a while (she stays home with her pretty baby girl and is willing to sacrifice her wheels for a bit. THANK YOU!!!!!!!!). But last night I got a call from Noah saying that this time he was stuck and pretty sure the transmission had gone out. In the borrowed car. D’oh!

Things I’ve Learned Recently:

1) Don’t let us touch your car. Because it will die. We’ll make certain of that.

2) Every time you feel stressed out and think that things can’t get worse, stop for a second and think: Yes, they can. And they probably will. Soon. It gets worse.

3) Procrastination is sabotage.

4) No matter how I try to change my Spotify settings, I can’t seem to make it entirely private. A friend told me the other day that it always says I’m listening to “Champagne Supernova”, which sort of embarrasses me because it’s not the song I want representin’ “Ashley” at all times. I’m the first to admit I’m super judgmental about people’s musical inclinations, so the last thing I need is my Don Henley playlist broadcast to the public.

5) A wrestling/tickle sesh is the quickest way into a 7 year old’s heart. At this point, Liam expects me to enter the ring on the daily. He is getting more and more aggressive, despite my warnings to scale it back, and I foresee a broken finger or nose in one of our futures. I can handle a broke finger, but the thought of a broken nose … how terrible is it that I hope it’s not me??

Liam pics (it’s protocol):

The fact that he has on goggles and headphones (for whatever reason) already means he’s wearing 200% more clothing than usual. Stay comfortable, Liam

One of the many “mounted animal heads” Liam creates and hangs everywhere.

Notice the additional animal heads on the wall in the background. What an adorable little weirdo

Wednesday May 16th was Liam’s SEVENTH birthday! We hosed him down with silly string upon awakening, then led him to his Krispy Kreme and presents.

It was the start of what was already guaranteed to be an exciting, busy day. But how could the day get even more thrilling? As I sat in my bubble bath, enjoying the fact that Noah had agreed to drive Liam to school that morning [after all, I like to think that we're also celebrating the fact that I've been his mother for seven years ], I received the text message that I wasn’t expecting for nine more days: My beautiful sister-in-law, Ary, was at the hospital, ready to have her baby girl. What are the odds? (Well, 1/366, this year). Having been the only grandchild on both sides for seven years, Liam’s had a hard time accepting the fact that his reign is over he’ll be sharing the spotlight. Well, his biggest fear materialized Wednesday, May 16th in the form of a precious baby girl named Nadiah, with whom he will forever share his birthday.

Little Baby Nadiah

Despite what Liam may tell you, he had a wonderful birthday. I brought rainbow cupcakes to his class. Yes, they look more tie-dyed, but they’re supposed to be rainbows with puffy little cloud icing on top and I stayed up until 2am working on them and then Liam told me that they didn’t taste great which is ridiculous because they’re standard cupcakes with ingredients like butter, sugar, and eggs and absolutely nothing else weird in there, so hows about we just call them there rainbow cupcakes, ‘kay?

Now onto the presents. Liam is truly the strangest child I’ve ever known. He requested a birthday dinner with the fam in lieu of a party with friends.

Haiku is his favorite restaurant and has been since it opened about 3 years ago. He is treated as royalty there. In fact, they even gave him Christmas and birthday presents this year. That’s a little embarrassing. We drove our little tyrant to meet up with his 17 closest family members (there are a lot of Watsons), and Liam happily devoured his Liam Special – two tempura shrimp, seaweed salad, miso soup, and a crunchy roll. We wore silly hats and ate cake. (Hmmmm I’m reading this before pressing “publish”, and I’m thinking to myself We definitely didn’t wear silly hats. Where did that come from? I’m a giant liar.)

Okay, so he likes sushi. Atypical for a 7 year old, but that doesn’t make him weird, right? No, what makes him weird are the items on his birthday list:

Tiger Skin Rug

A Microphone

A Leopard Cake

Eccentric or not, I love my quirky little boy. He is truly one of a kind. Happy Seventh Birthday, Liam!

Liam and that “special occasion” tie. The same one he put on to sell his lemonade.

A final note: Shortly after my SIL gave birth, Liam and I were discussing why she was still in the hospital and how much work it must be to have a baby. I was explaining that she was probably tired and her body was recovering, and Liam said, “Yeah, boys never have to go through that, do they? We’re pretty lucky. Unless we get a penis concussion. That would be about the same.” I’m tempted to change the name of this post to Penis Concussions.

I’ve started about four posts in the past week, but I’ve yet to finish any of them. I’m going a little out of order, but this is the one that is being published first. And it starts right now!

My son never wants to do anything. That’s not true -the only thing he wants to do is stay home and do science. He’s creative: on a daily basis I see his blue prints for pet washing machines and conveyor belts. He’s an entrepreneur: at 4 years old, he decided to sell lemonade at Zilker Park. He put on his tie, wrote out a sign, and bellowed, “Lemonade! Get your lemonade!” through a paper megaphone. He came home with forty bucks in his pocket that day. He has turned his Sweetie’s house into a leopard-themed castle, complete with flags and gold-fringed welcoming carpet. He has explained, step-by-step, how he will clean and turn our pet cat, Andre, into a rug upon his death. Okay, that one is a little more “Silence of the Lambs” than it is inventive. I hate to stifle creativity, but lately his requests are more along the lines of, “Mommy, I need the juicer, that plastic tubing from the fish aquarium, and a heat source.” The point is that the boy enjoys his time at home. I could tell him we’re going to Disney World, and he would throw his head back in anguish. 99% of the time, he has a blast at whichever event it is I’ve forced him into, but getting him there is typically a nightmare. Soccer, gymnastics, school, play dates, you name it: he doesn’t want to go.

My most recent Drafted Activity is swim team. He’s been going to swim practice four days per week over the past few weeks, and this morning was the day of his very first swim meet! That also means that on the very first Saturday morning of summer, I made my entire family hate me before sunrise.

Why? Because I woke everyone up at 5:30am to head out the door and be at the pool by 6:30. The sun was still rising as we locked the front door. Liam was crying and wailing about how it was summer and it wasn’t fair and why did I sign him up for this and various other complaints that wore my patience thin and led to one of those psychotic eye twitches above my plastered smile. We arrived on time (credit is due to me, and me only … if anyone’s paying attention), and Liam was marked for his races.

I’d like to note that Liam’s buns are absolutely adorable in his Speedo. He opened up his bag and excitedly pulled out his brand new Barracudas team t-shirt, water bottle, and “Barracudas whoopie cushion!!” Turns out that the whoopie cushion went on his head.

Noah and I had volunteered as the “zookeepers” for the 6 and under boys. Now, I never participated in swim team growing up. I played soccer, and although we had games every weekend, it only took a couple of hours. Sure we had tournaments, but again – each game was only a couple of hours long, and you would go eat and cool off in between games. It turns out that swim meets are crazy high maintenance. Like, they require your entire day. Remember how we got there at 6:30am? We didn’t get home until 3pm. That’s a fucking long day. That’s a busy little Saturday.

Liam earned second place in his freestyle relay. Every single boy was disqualified during breast stroke. And he barely made it across the pool for butterfly – but bless his little heart, he was a determined little turtle, trying so hard to move his arms and legs exactly as he’d been coached.  At one point, when he was the only one left in the pool during butterfly, a woman next to me said, “Oh no, I don’t think he’s moving forward anymore.” When he finally made it to the end, everyone around the pool cheering loudly, Liam asked, “Did I win?!” My heart liquefied then and there. He was so adorably oblivious to the fact that he took twice as long as the other boy. I could feel Liam’s little heart throbbing at humming bird speed as I hugged him, and I was one proud Mama Bear. He even proclaimed he wanted to do the exact same thing next weekend. So you can find us camping out in the Boys’ Zoo from 6:30am onward, cheering on Liam during his butterfly stroke and just hangin’ in between races. I, for one, couldn’t be more excited.

Zoom in on the boy sitting behind Liam in this final picture.

Liam was chosen to read one of his poems in front of the school and again at a poetry reading inside Barns & Nobel. This is the kind of talent they’re working with at Menchaca Elementary:

Hiking

Hiking, hiking in the woods is so much fun

I see a deer

I have a happy tear

A bird lands on my finger, trying to reach a caterpillar

But I pull out some birdseed

So everyone can live

*snap snap snap snap snap*

My Pet

I once had a pet, he was called Mr.Cake

He liked to play fetch the frosting

And that game was exhausting

So when I’d had enough of that game

And when he was asleep

I … Snuck up …

I took a fork …

And ….

Gulp, YUM.

The teacher’s comment on the last one: “weird”.

Now, I’m not one to go around posting inspirational, cheesy, feel-good schmaltz all up in here, but I came across this quote in my good friend E’s blog a while ago, and I really appreciated the perspective.

“The reason we struggle with insecurity is because we compare our behind-the-scenes with everyone else’s highlight reel.”

-Steven Furtick

I would never surmise that people look at me or my life and think it’s perfect or even enviable,  but let’s be honest: most of what I (or anyone) posts publicly is the good stuff. The “highlight reel”. Yes, I did blog about losing Liam (in our defense, we haven’t misplaced him a single time since), but mostly I publicize the funny stuff he does or the fun times we have. In the spirit of honesty, here is a little bit of a behind-the-scenes special:

We Sometimes Have Money Shortages

We live in an apartment, not a house. I broke a bone, Noah had a baby tumor removed from his head, Liam got staples … couple crazy medical bills with the  exorbitant rate of private insurance premiums, and that is where the majority of our money goes, it seems. Both of our cars broke down on the same day this week. I’d argue that Noah and I often have exceptionally bad luck. We’re not poor. We live way more comfortably than most of the world. But it’s not quite the ‘merican dream … yet.

I Often Worry that I’m a Terrible Mother

Liam spends a lot of time angry with me. I’m the one who enforces bedtime, timeout, and homework. I’m the one who makes sure we get where we need to be on time. I’m the one who restricts junk food and requires fruits and vegetables. From his perspective, I suck. I walk in the door, and the fun is over. Sure, I plan fun activities and take him places, but there’s usually an argument on the way. Or he’s throwing a fit because we can’t visit the gift shop. Occasionally he’ll make extremely inappropriate jokes.

 Example:

“Mommy, that feather on the ground is rare! It’s from a very rare bird.”

“Liam, you’re a very rare bird.”

“Pshhh, your vagina’s a rare bird.”

Not only am I failing because he has the cojones to make this joke in front of me, but what’s worse? I laugh at it. The guy is really funny. In an out-of-line, tasteless, “Family Guy” sort of way. But I love it. And he obviously got it from somewhere.

Now, I do laugh at his jokes instead of punishing or penalizing, but I also go to the other extreme. I sometimes snap over small transgressions that don’t warrant an angry outburst. Because he’s crazy inconsiderate. And rude. And just plain annoying. Yep, I said it.

Our Home Gets Really Messy

Now, this one can go two ways. Those who knew me through college would say, “Duh, Ashley. You’re pretty much the messiest person I’ve ever encountered.” I’m proud to say I’ve changed my ways … mostly. Nesting, perhaps? Those who currently enjoy my company would argue that I keep a beautifully clean home. But that’s not quite the truth , either. I try my best to keep everythign clean (I’m talking bleach-the-inside-of-the-trash-can and scrub-the-floors-with-magic-erasers kind of clean), but nothing stays clean for long. Most of my fingers are pointed at Liam for this. I try my best to stay on top of things, but our living room and kitchen can be a complete disaster a mere hour after he returns from school. I always clean like crazy before anyone comes over to keep up the facade, of course.

Sometimes I’m Just Plain Lazy

Bedtime is such a struggle. There are arguments over baths, tears about teeth brushing, and frustration spurred by belated snack requests. The entire process takes about an hour, on average, so if I want Liam to be asleep by 8pm, we need to start the bedtime routine by 7pm. I’m not even home by 7 on some nights, so rather than come in the door screaming at the male members of my family for not getting anything done punctually, I’ve really tried to back off about certain things. Yes, it’s harder for me to get Liam up in the mornings, but I’m not always up for the fight in the evening. I’ll even admit that just last night, I remembered his spelling list late in the evening, and I didn’t even mention it. And you know what I did when he reminded me, triumphantly, that we hadn’t worked on his spelling last night? I chided him for not remembering, himself. “Gosh, Liam, you should have reminded me. How are you going to feel going to school and not knowing your words?” Ughhh it really will be my fault when he’s in therapy, won’t it?

*sigh*

I’m actually feeling much worse about the state of my life after writing this. But hey, it’s the real deal, documentary-style,  behind-the-scenes reel. It’s not all sparkly rainbows and lollipops. But I’ll pretend it is, on Facebook.

Anyone aware that Austin has its very own drive-in theatre, right smack off East Sixth? Well, it does. And it’s TheBomb.com. As an early birthday treat, Liam and I planned an evening outing with Noah. I picked Liam up from school, we cleaned out and scrubbed the bed of the truck in the sunshine, and gathered pillows and blankets for our screening under the stars. Upon arrival, we backed into our spot, tuned into the proper FM frequency, and made s’mores over an open flame while watching “Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark” on what was arguably the most picturesque night of the year. Noah uttered words I’d never heard come out of his mouth: I don’t need to work on anything. I feel totally relaxed tonight. Liam told me, through burnt marshmellow and graham cracker crumbs: This is probably the best night ever. Thanks for taking me here. For realsies, could it get any better?

At 10:30 Saturday morning I was driving home and feeling good. I’d just taught Body Pump and the endorphins were swimming around in my brain, and I was headed to Target – shwing! When I arrived at home, it seemed eerily still and quiet. I assumed that Noah and Liam had left for lunch or something, but when I walked into my bedroom, Noah was still passed out under the blankets. Let me explain that 1) Noah will sleep as late as you’ll let him, and 2) Liam is perfectly capable of hanging out and watching some movies/snacking/making messesplaying on his own for a little while. I would never leave Liam home alone, of course, but we don’t worry about him being awake in the morning when we’re not. Okay, so Noah is asleep. I looked around in Liam’s room and didn’t find him. Concerned because we were supposed to be headed to a birthday party, I woke Noah up.

“Where’s Liam?”

“Hmmm? He’s here …”

“Where? I can’t find him.”

“He was in here a little while ago. I talked to him. He’s here somewhere.”

“No, really. He’s not in here.”

I was only mildly concerned, as Liam loves to hide from me and typically jumps out of random places that I knew he was hiding behind or in from the start. This time Noah and I both searched, and we both came up empty-handed. Now I was beginning to worry. “Seriously, where is he?” I asked. Noah was as baffled as I. We looked outside and in the cars. I walked down toward the pool. Alarm was turning to panic. Noah got in his car and drove around, although we both knew Liam would never wander off on his own. His bike was inside. So was his scooter. I yelled, “Liam! If you’re inside, you need to come out now! It’s not funny!” Silence. This is when the dread and fear sunk into my stomach, amplifying my panic. I paced around, checking all the same places, completely uncertain what to do. When Noah drove back up shaking his head that he hadn’t found him, I shakily dialed 9-1-1. Police. We can’t find our son. Blonde hair, blue eyes. How long has he been missing? I have no idea …

I was pacing back and forth outside, clutching my phone (because I had no idea what else to do) when the police finally arrived. It was absolutely surreal to hear Liam’s name and description going out and coming in on their walkie-walkie frequency. All I could think about was that we live right next to I-35, and he could be headed anywhere. I was trying hard to control myself, but it was frustrating for the police to try and assure me that he was probably at a friends house (Liam doesn’t have any friends here) or that he probably went to go explore in the woods (he’s too afraid to go out there without Noah). Sure, those explanations sounded perfectly plausible to strangers, but anyone who knows Liam can verify that neither is what happened. Liam knows perfectly well never to leave the house on his own. I could imagine him going to get something out of the car, but if he didn’t come right back … something happened. None of it made any sense. Inside the house, the police continued to ask us questions, looked around in our cabinets and drawers. A couple of officers headed out to the woods. One asked if we had family in town, and if he could be with grandparents. But of course, none of the grandparents would pick him up without telling us. I was feeling more and more sick to my stomach as I realized the police had absolutely no better idea where he was and no better way of finding him than Noah and I did. “Why don’t you call the grandparents and see if they know where he is.” I dreaded those phone calls because they weren’t conversations I wanted to have or even start. I dialed my mom. No answer. I dialed my dad. No answer. I dialed Noah’s dad. “Hey, Ashley.”

“We can’t find Liam. We don’t know where he is. The police are here – ” I hiccuped into the receiver.

“I’ve got him; he’s right here.”

“YOU HAVE HIM?!”

“Yeah, I came by this morning to pick something up. Noah was asleep, I stayed a while. Liam wanted to come over, so Noah said …”

I was flooded with so much relief that not only did we know where Liam was, but he was safe and sound. I absent-mindedly handed the phone off to Noah, mid-conversation. I went into the living and told the officers that we’d found him. After questioning us for a few more minutes, the police left, this time driving without the sirens. Emergency over.

So how, you may ask, did this happen? I’ve got to say, the story only makes less sense by the end. Apparently, Noah was asleep most of the morning. He said he woke up a few times when Liam came in to show him little projects. He even got out of bed to look at the birthday decorations that we’d set up. He was asleep when his dad came over to pick up a computer part he needed. When Liam asked if he could leave with his grandpa, they asked Noah, and he mumbled that it was fine for Liam to go over there. Noah had absolutely no memory of any of this! He doesn’t remember his dad coming over, and he doesn’t remember anyone asking him if Liam could leave. The entire situation still baffles me, but Noah is even more perplexed. For the next few hours, we lay on the carpet, marveling at the event. It was truly traumatizing to both of us. We spent the rest of the day in a daze, feeling entirely shell-shocked. For an entire hour we thought the worst had happened. For sixty minutes, we thought Liam had been taken from us. We thought the absolute worst. At various points during the day, we both mused, “Oh my gosh, what if that was still going on right now? What if he was still missing?” Even now, days later, we’re still stunned.

To sum it up, Liam is home, and we’re still a happy little family. We didn’t end up on Nancy Grace. Thank goodness, because that bitch would have crucified Noah.