Things Austin Taught Me

Dear Austin,

We miss you so much! There are not many more words to say then that. Since I know you think middle-age moms blogging is funny I cannot help but dedicate one solely to you. I started "writing" your blog Friday, March 19th around dusk but I just can't verbalize all the emotion and deep thoughts I have had. I want to say so many things to you and have multiple last conversations, I also have lots and lots of questions. When my time comes, you better be waiting for me! You are going to be bombarded!

Because I want your post to be perfect I will dispense with the tears and sadness and try solely for Austin humor and teachings. One little thing though, Cole keeps saying you "sneaked" him......are you?

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1. Yoshida's is the only acceptable Terriyaki Sauce.
2. Put a dollup of ketchup on each Tator Tot.
3. When the boy doesn't call my girls back it's because he was busy building a potato gun.

4. When he still doesn't call, he is napping.

5. When she is sure the boy hates her, it's because he tripped over the potato gun on the way to the phone and started shooting stuff.

6. Taking a "big dump" is much more fun for a two-year-old than going poop.

7. Corn is double the fun, enjoy it going in, enjoy it coming out.

8. Take time to build a really excellent sandwich.

9. Immeasurable joy in life can be found during berry-picking season.

10. Craigslist, ebay, SCORE.

11. Stairs are for so much more than their intended purpose.

12. Boys do not have a built-in "stupid alarm"

and finally............

13. When Cole says "I have an idea" confirm all insurances are in order!

LOVE YOU AND MISS YOU!

SERVE WELL!

Austin's Laugh Forever!

Not sure we're doing it right!

We have started reading the Book of Morman with the kids (any predictions on finish time?) and read tonight about Nephi killing Laban. Ryan had the brilliant idea to act it out. Very exciting in the Langhaim household. So, Ryan-Nephi is kneeling over Taylor-Laban and grabs her hair and starts to "slash" her throat. At that exact moment Cole comes running in guns ablazing and shoots Taylor-Laban dead. The timing was absolutely perfect. Needless to say, we were laughing so hard, not much reading happened after the great double-slaying.

White, Always White

WARNING: Opinion expressed here!

Recently on Facebook we ladies were asked to post the color of our bra in support of Breast Cancer Awareness. Awesome! Fun! White.....always white. Ya boring, I know. Yesterday, while entertaining myself with some internet browsing I came across this quote, "it made me vomitously sick" (is vomitously even a word?) so naturally I clicked on it. I came upon an article berating this act of bra-discovery. My favorite line was thus "I am vomitously sick of a serious illness like breast cancer being reduced to twee pink ribbons and strollathons." And here is my question.....Why not?

Why can't I smile, post my colors and still support breast cancer awareness, survivors and research without reducing the cause? Who are these people that are so incredibly miserable in life that they too can't have fun and raise awareness. Why must we fight in sadness? OK Carlie you say, you are healthy, your mother is healthy and you have not had first-hand experience with this awful cancer that attacks a woman's body. You're right, I have not. But I have seen the smiles on the survivors faces that cross the finish-line of a race, pushing a stroller with a pink ribbon. I have met women that have faced this disease and came out happy and grateful, not miserable. They may be lop-sided, flat, newly enhanced or they may have lost the battle and their last act is to post their colors, but they find a way to smile, tell their families they love them and say "fight on!" Because I acknowledge my bra is white, I will remember to do my self-examination this month, and possibly another woman will do hers, find a lump, and catch it early enough to win her fight. It's just a guess but I think she'll be grateful to tell you her color.

I do not believe we will win any fight in this life by living miserably and nay-saying. One of those things I actually remember my dad teaching me is this, "if you crash your car, you can either be happy or sad about it, either way, you will still have a crashed car." I think there may have been an explicative thrown in somewhere but it's a great lesson for any problem.

My mother-in-law lost her battle with breast cancer 23-years-ago, I have not met her. I look forward to meeting her. However, ask my kids about her, they remember Grandma Sharon, and I am pretty sure I know why. Before my kids came here they had a chance to meet their grandma, talk to her, sit on her lap, and yes laugh with her, planning all the awful things they would do to their dad here on earth to give grandma a good laugh in heaven. She's smiling and so should we.

Did He or Didn't He?

I find myself concerned about all the Tiger drama of late. Now don't get me wrong. If the guy did in fact stick his club in someone else's bag, he should be penalized (more than 2-strokes), disqualified, kicked in his personal Titleist's by my MMA coach (he kicks really-really hard) and castrated. Sorry folks, I couldn't find a golf analogy for cutting ones.................OK I'll stop.

However, I have neither seen nor heard a specific confession from the guy. Well, he said he has not been true to his values and some other unspecific things like that, but he hasn't admitted to getting his head-covers confused (that one was a little bad). When you are Tiger and choose to keep quiet, then you are guilty until proven innocent in our good ol' media world. And, these women that are stepping forward claiming affairs, really seem awfully trashy and have some sordid affairs in their history as well. Maybe if they work really hard on our all too-willing media friends they can get themselves that nice little paycheck from Tiger's next win. Yes, there will be several, I am sure.

As for Elin bashing in the car window, maybe she was trying to help him, maybe she was suffering from PPD and wanted to kill him and he was running for his life (we women can get pretty crazy due to hormones), or maybe she was actually trying to kill him for hitting to the wrong green. Either way, I hope her swing was a awesome as his.

As for my thoughts, I hope they can figure this all out without bowing to the craziness of the guilty media verdict. If he is guilty, he will receive his reward, if he is innocent, or maybe not quite as guilty as we think, I hope the family will prevail. It is far too precious to let others make that choice for us. Hopefully, no matter the truth, a lesson has been hard learned and maybe we will all look for a better lie on our own fairway.

Singing About My Cookin'

Cole's role in all of this is to finish the song! It's even his favorite going to bed jingle.

Family

"Fish On"

We left the house at o'dark-thirty and drove to the Coast to go on our friend Stephens boat for a day of Tuna fishing. Any of you that know me, know that I am scared to death of fish, the worst being the tiny live-bait fish you actually pay good money for before putting out into the big-wide ocean. They creep me out, all wriggly in the net, then you look in the holding tank and there are millions of them circling-waiting to jump out on me. I did survive this part, but no, I never baited my own line or touched any of the little demons. That's what I bring the men for.

So, barely past o'dark-thirty we headed out, over the Columbia River Bar, to sea, where we did find Tuna. They are so beautiful when they swim by the boat with their deep-blue sparkle and strong tail flashing. Now, about that beautiful-strong tail, it creates a problem, especially when you have to be as strong as the 3-6'3"+ guys on the boat. Those suckers can swim, fast and hard. After reeling in the first 2, you practically cry when you feel the tug on your line and hear the line whizzing out of the measly pole in your arms, and are forced to yell, "fish on!" Then you start the fight. Pull, reel, pull, reel, pull reel, getting close, I see it, yell "got color" then the beautiful sparkly thing you worked so hard to see, gets a second wind and dives while you watch helplessly as line goes out making that, now annoying, whizzing sound. Pull, reel, pull, reel, pull, reel. My arms hurt and my stomach is bruised from wedging the pole into it because I don't have big strong biceps like the sweaty burly men beside me. No way will I complain, or ask for a belt though, must "man up" and I do.

Sometimes it really gets fun, when you all have "fish on" and the fish decide to mess with us human types. They start swimming circles around each other, causing me and sweaty-bloody-burly men to do some form of a square dance with poles and invisible fishing line trying not to tangle up. Like I said, this was fun! I am sure if the Tuna didn't have some hook stuck in its throat it would have a great laugh at us do-si-do-ing.

34 times we did this, and for those of you who don't know, that's a great day of fishing. OK, I personally didn't reel in all 34, I am probably responsible for 8ish, but today I feel all 34. If anyone ever needs a really good lower back and bicep workout, get a guide and go out. I highly recommend it. For all the pain, there is nothing like the rush, when you hear a line start whizzing, then another and suddenly you're there in a school of Tuna for a couple of hours near tears, covered in blood and wanting more.