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”.

Violence

After reading about the terrifying, “Kill Bill”-esque mass decapitations in Mexico yesterday, I was newly fired up on the topic. The escalating violence in Mexico is all drug related. There is big money in narcotics; big enough that people will hang bodies from bridges and cut off body parts as scare tactics. What makes it even more terrifying (if that’s even possible) is that you don’t even have to be involved in the drug rings to be endangered. These gangsters kill innocent bystanders to prove their points. If drugs were legal in America, a lot of this violence would go away because there would be no need for smuggling, and there would be a lot less revenue for the drug lords.

Money

Legalize drugs and tax the hell out of them. Our government could make crazy money off of drugs, providing funding for other programs and possibly even helping to bridge the cavernous deficit. I’m not arguing that taxes on drugs would solve all of the government’s money woes, but it wouldn’t hurt and would probably even help. It’s not as if Americans aren’t already being sold narcotics at business’ or government’s benefit. Hydrocodone is readily available if you want it, and there is not much difference between that and heroine. But you would never shoot up heroine, right? Google it: your Vicodin is basically legal heroine.

Overcrowding in Prisons

If drugs were legal, thousands of people incarcerated for drug charges would be released. How many people honestly believe that the guy caught with some weed or a few pills needs to spend time in prison? Do those people need to clog up our legal system? Did you know that, in Texas, possessing any amount of hash is a felony? Seems a bit excessive. Release those with drug charges, and free up room for those who commit crimes that actually endanger members of our society.We would also be saving money by not having to house and provide necessities for convicted drug criminals in prison.

Closing Arguments

Has the government ever been able to win the war on drugs? It’s a losing battle, and it always will be. Accept it and change the tactic. Maybe your rebuttal is that the government should not provide substances that can easily kill you? *Ahem* Alcohol and cigarettes? Alcohol is a mind altering substance that kills people every day. You can overdose from alcohol. People are addicted to alcohol. People endanger and kill innocent people after consuming alcohol. Cigarettes are equally as addictive as any controlled narcotic, yet they are readily available to anyone over 18. Making something off-limits has never been successful. Alcohol was still around during prohibition, and people who want drugs can easily get their hands on them.

I’m just sayin’.

That being said, here are pictures of my adorable son, whom I sincerely hope does not do drugs, legal or not:

Liam reeled this sucker in! The mystery is: were his pants unbuttoned during the struggle? Or is that a separate story?

Caught his first fish. Thank you, Scott!

Ughhh Liam is just so darn cute. That’s why we haven’t sold or eaten him …

Elton John in the making.

“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. Why? We can’t afford a house quite yet, due to crazy medical bills and insurance premiums. I broke a bone, Noah had a baby tumor removed from his head, Liam got staples … couple those bills with the  exorbitant rate of private insurance premiums, and that is where the majority of our money goes, after rent. With a little bit of luck, a house will be in the plans for next year, but until then, we’re stuck. We also have older cars. And both of them 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 more comfortably than most of the world. But it’s not the American Dream.

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.

Our new favorite family activity.

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.

When I look at the newborn pictures of Liam, it seems funny that it’s even him. He wasn’t Liam at that time; we didn’t know him at all. Now we do. We know him well enough that he can bend over and show us his tiny little sphincter for no apparent reason, and no one feels awkward about it. That sentence you just read is a bit of a litmus test: if you find it gross, bizarre, and/or creepy, then I can bet with all certainty that you don’t have kids yet. This post comes with the disclaimer that if six year old nudity bothers you, then this post and its included pictures and videos aren’t for you, ya’ prude. Now, I won’t make a habit of posting naked Liam, but a few of these pics and videos just sum up his personality so well, and he happens to be naked in them. Because children do not like clothes. They are most comfortable in the buff, spread eagle, and “free ballin’”, as Liam so eloquently puts it.

So this is to you, my sweet Liam. You’re our baby genius. Our baby comedian. Sometimes you’re a baby jerk, but mostly you’re the most incredible, entertaining, creative, bombastic little bobble head of a boy I’ve ever encountered. I’ve spent way too much time going through the process of choosing photos here. Let me just tell you it was long and hard (that’s what she said).

First, you were a teeny tiny baby.

You got a little bigger.

You spent some time as a Chippendale’s Dancer.

You stayed adorable.

And still got bigger.

Sometimes we have tons of fun.

And sometimes you’re bipolar.

But still, you’re adorable.

You’re the kind of kid who puts costumes on the cat,

recoils at a girl’s kiss,

and yells “Boring!” during the President’s speech.

Sure, you can be overly dramatic.

It's hard to take this kind of pouting seriously.

But you’re also the kind of kid who makes Christmas cards for all of your family members,

has birthday parties for your stuffed animals,

and builds pirate ships out of chairs.

I love that you wonder what our family would look like as hot dogs,

that you went through a phase where you wore a turquoise cross around your neck at all times,

and that you drank milk out of a coffee mug with pot leaves.

You’re getting so big now!

You’ve acted in plays.

You had your first set of staples.

Your first day of school.

You graduated Kindergarten.

And now you’re turning seven! Liam, we know you so well now. We know the Liam they never see at school:

We get to see those tiny little buns underneath the blankets.

You’re the best little boy we could ask for. And you’re more than enough, so don’t expect any brothers or sisters .

I can’t begin to imagine who you’ll be in seven more years.

These next two videos sum you up pretty nicely.

First, this is you putting on quite the show during G.Dad’s wedding a couple of weeks ago. You were simply moved to tears.

Secondly, this split second video sums up your humor perfectly.

Yep. Underwear on your head. Anything that involves your penis, must be hilarious, right?

I know this was long, and if anyone stuck with me, WOW – kudos to you and your patience. But I’m quite pleased that I finally devoted a post to Liam, as I’d intended from the start of my blog. Whew! That was exhausting; I’m done (that’s what she said).

Late August, 2004: So, once there was a sweet girl named Ashley and a charming boy named Noah.

Sandcastle Contest - Port Aransas, TX

They had their ups and downs. Once, Ashley got sick with the flu. And she missed her period for two months. And her boobs hurt. Real bad. Poor Ashley was convinced this meant she had cancer. Many nights, she dreamt that she gave birth to a puppy. “Noah, I don’t want a puppy! That’s so much responsibility. Why would I keep dreaming that?” As ACL weekend approached, Ashley and Noah allowed themselves to consider the possibility that she was pregnant. On a Sunday morning, they purchased a pregnancy test, and Ashley took the big pee. Not a pair to ruin a perfectly good weekend, Ashley stuck the test into a dresser drawer without looking at the results, and they headed out for the last day of the festival. It wasn’t a great day; Ashley threw up most of the time. I don’t want to spoil the ending for you, but it turns out Ashley was pregnant!

We are SO not ready for this!

The first three months were miserable. I was sick day and night. I only had to smell the wrong type of food, and I would projectile vomit on the spot. I threw up on my way to classes when I passed the cafeteria (any TX State peeps remember Jones?). I threw up in the Chili’s parking lot, outside of The Brick Oven, and I would occasionally have to open the car door while I was driving. The nausea finally subsided at month four, and then I loved being pregnant! I would do it again, but Noah won’t let me be a surrogate. I ate tater tots dipped in both apple sauce and sour cream (still delicious), and at month 8, Noah and I moved into our first apartment together. East Oltorf: a truly lovely place to raise a family.

Look at Jacob's eyes in the corner of the photo!

The only picture I have of myself pregnant.

Sunday May 15, 2005: I spent the afternoon at Barton Springs with my MIL and SIL, Olivia. I hiked up my cherry-print bikini bottoms and cannon-balled into the icy cold spring waters. We discussed Liam’s upcoming due date, which was mere days away. Would he have hair?  What color were his eyes going to be? Was his middle name really going to be Captain??

Later that night, snug as a thug in bed on East Oltorf, I woke up with slight stomach pains. No worse than your typical period cramps, but I woke Noah up to tell him, anyway. “It’s 4am, you should go back to sleep,” he said, without opening his eyes.

“But it hurts. What if this is what it feels like?”

“You should go take a shower, or something.” Noah literally snuggled deeper under the blankets. That guy …

Finally, I decided I would much rather be wrong at the hospital than wrong at our apartment, so I convinced Noah to get up and at ‘em. We were at the hospital by 7am, checked in, and making phone calls that we would, indeed, be leaving with a baby.

Big day ahead of us!

My mom and me, slammin' some Sno Beach before it's go time.

Noah's mom and me.

The amazing part is that I never felt much pain. I had so much fear about the actual birth, was so petrified about the pain and potential ripping (it’s still hard for me to type that word), and it turned out to be one of the easiest experiences I could have imagined. I was immediately given an epidural, and that was that. No pain. A little after 4pm, the nurses told me it was time to push. “But Oprah’s about to start,” I lamented. But apparently we were no longer on my time table, so the TV was switched off. I pushed once (although I couldn’t feel a thing. I just made the “push” face and assumed I was pushing.). The nurses told me to stop after a single push because the doctor wasn’t in the room yet. When the doctor arrived, I literally pushed three times, and Liam was out. *dusts off shoulder* A perfect 10 on the Apgar scale.

Baby Liam!!

“Is that it?” I asked.

“You just had a baby. What else did you want to do?” said Dr.Crumb.

“I just thought it would be harder.”

I know. I’m such a bitch. You hate me. I’ve heard the horror stories, and I know I’m supposed to have one of my own. But for realsies – best experience ever. All of our family and friends at the hospital. Baby inconceivably precious, and he came out with a smile on his face. A Sonic chili cheese dog and limeade for dinner. I would do it again, if I could keep the child at three years old forever. But alas, Liam is enough for now.

Brand new daddy.

Brand new family.

This post started out as a tribute (not in the scary “Hunger Games” sense of the word) to Liam and his unique little brain. I mean, that dude is nuts. So this is pre-natal. Next is post-natal. Again, this is purely self-serving. But isn’t that what blogs are for? My own self-indulgent, egocentric thoughts, opinions, and stories? Don’t look at me – you’re the one who read this far

MEMORIES I SHAN’T FORGOT:

*That time the door handles on my car were broken, and at 8 and 9 months pregnant I had to go in through the back seat and climb into the front.

*That time I was a refugee in the Watson’s house for the few weeks in between moving out of the dorms and having the nerve to tell my dad that I’d dropped all of my classes.

*That time my dad asked what my and Noah’s plans were, after telling him I was pregnant, and I was still too embarrassed to admit we would even sleep in the same bedroom. “Ummm, I don’t know, we’ll probably just get a 2-bedroom …?”

Easter is not a monumental occasion in the Watseur home. I won’t speak for Noah, but I’m comfortable enough to come out and say that I’m not Christian ==> I’m not religious ==>I don’t believe in God ==> I’m Atheist. I feel like saying that is akin to coming out as gay to your friends and family. I’m not in any way trying to trivialize how difficult it must be to tell the people around you that you’re homosexual, especially when you may be unsure of their responses. I only mean that when a person states that he or she does not believe in God, people seem disappointed. And concerned. A select few might even choose not to enjoy your company anymore. There has never been a time in my life when I’ve believed in any sort of God or higher power. In the same way, I never believed in Santa Clause or the Easter Bunny. I can remember being in daycare at four years old, wondering if the kids around me actually believed in Santa, because surely they were faking it, right? There’s a part of my brain that has always refused to believe anything that does not play out as entirely logical. And God, in my opinion, is entirely illogical. I believe in science, evolution, physics, and coincidence. I have a very difficult time wrapping my brain around the fact that the majority of the world believes in something that sounds about as realistic as the most fanciful fairy tale. My aim here is absolutely not to offend any of my family or friends with this post. I’m only explaining the thought process in my own brain. It’s all about tolerance, right? I couldn’t care less what people’s religious beliefs are. If anything, they fascinate me. If a person has a faith that is wholly comforting and secure when he/she needs it most, that’s almost enviable to a person that doesn’t have that. It’s just not the way I look at things. If something terrible happens, if I’m depressed or full of anxiety – I don’t think that it’s all part of some “greater plan” or that it’s a test I need to get through. It’s just life; it’s just brain chemicals.

Before this goes way too far in a direction I hadn’t intended, let’s get back to the topic at hand. I’d been excused from Easter in San Antonio, remember?

On Saturday night, Liam was determined to confirm whether or not there was an Easter Bunny. Like we’ve done with all things (including Santa and God), we told him to weigh his options and decide what he thought for himself. Being the practical boy that he is, Liam insisted on setting up my iphone to film, underneath a piece of purple cabbage as bait. In an attempt to outsmart my boy genius, I used his stuffed rabbit Thumper to discretely slide the cabbage over the lens of the phone, complete with very realistic nibbling and chewing noises. I tore up little pieces of cabbage and carrot over the porch and left his Easter basket for the morning. I slept well, knowing I was an Easter Bunny Superstar Ninja.

Nope. I failed.  The first words out of Liam’s mouth Sunday morning were, “Ugh, I really wonder how he got into the house last night.”

“What makes you think the EB was inside?” I asked

“Because he used that same basket that’s been sitting on top of the refrigerator for a year.” D’oh!!

“Hmmm. That is weird. Well, everyone’s going green, you know. Maybe if kids had baskets already, he just decided to use those.”

“Yeah … maybe …”

That was the end of it until he later discovered Thumper on the porch. I couldn’t think of any reasonable explanation for this. Tick tock, tick tock …

For the record, Liam no longer believes in the Easter Bunny. You can submit my nomination at www.motheroftheyear.com.

All was not lost: I made homemade donuts for breakfast, and we all enjoyed powdered sugary goodness while watching “Family Guy.” We lazed about until finally deciding to head over to the Watsons. There, we ate delicious steaks, took Liam’s rocket out to the soccer fields to launch a few times, played croquet, and just plain had a really great evening. The weather was perfect, the grass was crazy green, and the babies were kicking! Happy Easter, peeps

Waiting for the launch.

Blast Off!

To sum it up: The Watseurs may not believe in God. But we do believe in rockets, dammit.

My problem is that I genuinely love food. In an unhealthy, obsessive sort of way. I love everything from bizarre cheeses to outlandish combinations, ethnic delicacies to your basic junk food. I’ll eat whether I’m hungry or bored, sad or anxiety-ridden. The best way to ensure I’ll make an appearance at your gathering is to let me know food is provided. During SXSW last month, Noah and I snagged an invite to what promised to be the kick-off party of the festival, complete with catered food and an open bar. Open bar, you say? Noah and I made a beeline for the food, enthusiastically loading our plates and finding a place to sit and contentedly stuff our faces. Only as an after thought did we think to find the bar, even ditching our drinks and heading home after about two sips. This story proves two things: 1) we are eternally lame and 2) food > drink.

The point here is I really need to reign in these eating habits. I’ve delved into almost every eating fad you can think of (not diets, per say, but actual food trends). I was vegan for about 6 weeks at one point, but it became more and more difficult to find things to eat. I decided to go vegan after reading Alicia Silverstone’s “The Kind Diet”. It had some good information, but how seriously can you take preaching from Cher Horowitz?  And let’s be honest; she’s a little bit of a nutter these days … Baby Bird. Also, vegan may sound healthy, but you have to realize that a steady diet of tater tots and cherry limeades are technically vegan fare (#theonlyveganwhogainedweight). I tried Paleo for a while, and I really like the idea of it, but in all honestly there is not a worse diet for our planet. Seriously, Earth cannot sustain billions of Paleo’s for long.

So help me. How and what do you peeps eat? Three meals per day? Vegetarian? No sugar? I know it mainly comes down to quantity – simple math: you need less calories going in than going out. Ohhhh, why is self-control so difficult?

And now for the standard, non sequitur picture section of the post:

Petting Zoo fun at Mustang Round-Up! Baby farm animals really are cute (but they smell just as bad as the adult ones).

He found a full dozen eggs in the chicken coop while visiting Nina!

I NEVER want to see another packing peanut again. I'm still finding them ground into places that I'm certain I've already vacuumed.

My beautiful, pregnant sisters-in-law on Easter Sunday. Easter shall get its own post soon(ish). Aren't they gorg?

So here’s the deal. I haven’t worn deodorant in at least three years, I’d say. Before that grosses you out, let me explain to you that, in general, I’m probably one of the best-smelling people in Austin. No, really. I love to bathe. I constantly moisturize. My clothes are always Gain-fresh. I’m not a fan of perfume, but I love to smell clean. I was once told that the only thing a person should ever smell like is soap, and I think that’s da’ truth! I have a super-secret scent that I’ve used for years. When people ask me what it is, I play dumb. “Ummmm, I’m not sure, I just put some lotion on?”  It’s my scent; I don’t want all of Austin using it up! Occasionally I’m backed into a corner and have to fess up, but for the most part I keep it to myself. This sounds extremely conceited, I KNOW! But I’m only defending myself because I did start off by stating:

I HAVEN’T WORN DEODORANT IN THREE YEARS.

This fact gets me to where I’m going. I’ve noticed that when I sweat, it’s rarely a traditional B.O. smell. It’s strange, my armpits smell overwhelmingly of chlorine. Yeah, like a swimming pool. We’ve all heard that when you sweat, you are ridding your body of toxins, right? My theory is that my body is being pumped full of the chlorine that’s in our drinking water. Then, of course, my kidneys filter it out, and my sweat kicks it on out through the underarms. Plausible? Or am I crazy? If it’s true, then it seems like it’s an extremely bad idea to wear an antiperspirant. Something that keeps you from sweating?  No! Sweating it out is crazy important.

I feel very strongly about both my theory and the evils of deodorant. Noah, however, rolls his eyes at my hippy paranoia and stays faithful to his Old Spice. In three or four years we’ll see which side of the debate Liam falls on.

Lastly, but not leastly, I leave you with a few pictures. Just because they’re funny. I can make myself quite literally LOL with my new fave app – CamWow. I highly recommend you search it, download it, and then LOL with it. Wow, I should be paid for that promotion.

LOL with me!

Ultimately flattering.

Ugh that tongue is too creepy.

Genie?

Oh, my little Liam. I love this silly, posed school picture

*This is purely self-indulgent, so check out now if you aren’t in the mood to hear me wax on.

• Run a Marathon:Yes, totally cliche. I made a feeble attempt a few years ago when I signed up for a training program through Runtex. On day one, we started running the hike & bike trail for seven miles. I repeat, that was day one.  At one point, I veered off into the trees, waited for everyone in the group to pass, and walked in the opposite direction back to my car. We’ll file this one as “incomplete”.
• Perform on Stage (solo): Basically my biggest fear.  Acting, singing, speaking, any and all of the above. No can do. I withdrew from my required speech class in college three times before completing it, each and every time dropping the class the night before I was due to give my first speech. It’s fair to call it a phobia.
• Teach a Fitness Class: Whew! I was starting to feel like maybe I wasn’t making any progress. Completing Body Pump certification is probably one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done, partially because of the being-up-on-stage-in-front-of-people factor (refer to previous action item).
• Become Fluent in French: Or any language, but after eight years of french, I think it is the most attainable. During my sophomore year of college, N surprised me with plane tickets to Paris for Christmas (OH EMM GEEEE, I know, right?! I don’t remember what I gave him, but I’m gonna guess that it paled in comparison). At the time, I was minoring in French and knew enough to get us around without any problems  sans problèmes. N also recently got me some Rosetta Stone cd’s which are awesome, but it’s hard to find the time … again, work in progress. And super props to N for supporting my language skills.
• Be a (great) Mother: I’m trying. This warrants its own post, though.
• Graduate from College: Yes. Done and Done. There were pit stops in San Marcos, Mexican border towns,  Massachusetts (which I still can’t spell since it just got underlined in red), Montreal, England, Motherhood, and back to grand ol’ San Marvelous, but I finally got that dilpoma. It’s hanging on our “wall of achievements”. It’s a small wall. That includes Liam’s kindergarten graduation picture.
• Be 100% Healthy: This includes exercise, eating, and outside substances. Today is day eleven of no Cokes for me. Twenty Twelve just may be my year.
• Establish Proper Life Savings: I do have an account that is called “Life Savings”. That feels good. A twice-monthly amount goes into it. We had to pull from it recently. But it’s there and there’s something in it!
• Be Involved in the Community: I want to volunteer in some fashion, on a regular basis. There was a time when I would take L to Little Helping Hands, an organization that provides volunteer opportunities for childern. The idea is to foster a sense of community in the kids from the outset so they will be more involved later in their lives. Unfortunately, L hated going … this may reflect on my “being a (great) mother” goal. Regardless, I need to get involved and extend this to L, as well.
• Own a House and/or Land: We’re working on it, but the main question is where-oh-where do we want to live? Austin? The northwest coast? International? Hopefully, that’s in the cards within the next year or two.
• Travel to Europe: Yessiree Bob; remember those tickets N gave me for Christmas? I thought we were going to spend three weeks in different parts of France. Instead, on the night we were supposed to leave Paris, N surprised me, yet again, with different plans: Cinque Terre, Italy; Amsterdam, Netherlands; and Brugges, Belgium ==> it’s where Dr. Evil is from, you know.
• Travel to Galapagos Islands: It’s as close as we’ll ever get to visiting prehistoric times.
• Attend a World Cup Game: Okay, soccer is the only sport I pay any attention to, and it’s still a minimal amount. Every four years, however, I don’t miss a game. I basically pick my team early on, once I’ve gotten a vibe about which country has the best-looking players. Beacause I. Love. Soccer boys. For real. Last World Cup it was Argentina and Uruguay. I don’t know, maybe soccer players just look good in light blue? But I can’t think of any sporting event that would be more exciting then being inside a World Cup stadium. My sights are set on Brazil 2014.
• Do a Pull-Up: Checked this baby off, just yesterday! I did a single pull-up for the first time in my life. Upper body strength is not my forte.

And to finish this post with unrelated material, a few pictures to sum up our holidays:

L mining for gold in his Christmas pj's

With his new violin Christmas morning

Simply being cool.

Andre, post-surgery to remove the Nerf dart that was stuck in his intestine.

New Year's Eve 2011