My name is Ali. Or Alison (no redundant second "L"). An ex-boyfriend used to call me Ali baba. My husband's pet name for me is Neftanga, which we translate to silly thong. In second grade I attempted to adopt the moniker Ali-cat. Probably because in first grade Josh Lee repeatedly called me "Ali Diaper" since diaper sorta-not-really rhymed with my maiden name. And we all know that a surname of "Diaper" does not get one's resume to sit at the top of a pile.
Most importantly, my name is Mom. Though, I prefer "Mommy."
I'm a closet lactavist, part-time vegetarian, wanna-be-earth motherer, seltzer drinker, Goodwill shopper, weekend flosser, junior varsity procrastinator, fake photographer, professional catastrophizer, obsessive folder, Google doctor, stellar napper, loud laugher, and failed cloth diaperer-baby wearer-co-sleeper-and potty trainer.
Although I currently spend 40+ hours in the witness protection program doing some clandestine job that pays my mortgage, I think my most impressive skills include master boo boo kisser, certified nightmare extinguisher, midnight hand holder, PB and nutella maker, toddler dance partier, cancer kicker-butter, word creator, shameless gloater, and family lover.
Outside of my wedding pictures, here is one of the only pictures I like of myself:
Kate T. Parker photography!
I am surrounded by testosterone, and terrified I might grow a legit mustache in a few years. Maybe my gray roots and leg stubble will distract from any lip hair. Maybe you just thought I went too far. Maybe you should just navigate away from this page.
I have an amazing husband, Eric, and two boys who couldn't be more different from each other: Miles and Felix. And no, they are not twins. And yes, I love that Miles's ear is crinkled on his Daddy's leg and that Felix has a boogie dripping from his nose. My blog is about reality, folks. And Kate T. Parker (linked above) is a sick photographer--sick as in takes my breath away, not H1N1.
I started this blog in 2007 when I was pretty certain I was dying from an intestinal parasite, or as some people call "pregnancy." And from that point on, it has chronicled the banality of my life, which a handful of people (read: my mom), find interesting. I've made a point to ignore all the rules of writing, including speling and grammers, because it gets in the way of my thoughts.
Sometimes what I write makes me laugh.
Sometimes what I write makes you yawn.
Sometimes I hit "publish" and then go cry in the bathroom that I just revealed the insanity of my life.
But it always tells the truth. I lived a relatively insular and privileged life until around 2007 when I say the mustard poop blew out of the diaper. In the past 4 years my family has survived a high risk pregnancy and vacation in the NICU, early intervention, an infant kooky foot and broken leg (all before 1 year), another high risk pregnancy, oral cancer, colic, torticollis, chronic clogged ducts and pumping tragedies (Mamas, you *know* that can be life altering) ear tube surgery (x two), high levels of anxiety, a pregnancy loss, and I'm calculating no more than 7.5 nights of 6 straight hours of sleep. Ask my husband, and he would probably say the only problem we've had since 2007 was the drain in the back yard we finally got fixed. I married an eternal optimist. And a cancer warrior.
So, yeah. From my perspective, I have had a lot of material to work with. But don't feel sorry for me (and if you are one of those who think I need to suck it up and not complain, just don't subscribe to my blog), because I have learned not to feel sorry for myself. In part, because I use this blog as inexpensive therapy.
I have enough readers to encourage accountability (I'm an awful pen and paper journaler), but not enough to openly welcome criticism and negative comments. Although, I give anyone license to post scathing comments or reflections. I'm omnipotent in Blogger and can delete any comment I want. (Unless you threaten my family, comment on my roots or chest, or defame anything related to the series Arrested Development, I'll probably let it slide.)
It's taken me 4 years to write this profile, which makes me wonder what more I will add in the next 4 years.
Please. Join me. I'm certain to make you feel better about your life. But I'll always contend my kids are the cutest, my husband the smartest, and my hugs the best.