Hi Blog and Internet People!
Apparently this blog has become less about funny stories about my kids and more just therapy for me, because today's post is going to be all about me processing a recent sadness. Those of you looking for a light laugh might want to move on.
I am part of a fabulous book group. They are incredible ladies, and we actually talk about the books we read *gasp*! I am all for social time as well, but the English teacher in me craves insightful book analysis every once in a while. And we read deep books--no light and fluffy for us! Well, except for the Nora Ephron memoirs, but she's so funny and insightful that it was worth it.
For this month, we read "The Light Between Oceans," by M.L. Stedman. I had heard of the book before, and I knew it was about a couple who lived on an island south and west of Australia, and that they found a baby in a dingy and decided to keep the baby instead of figuring out who she actually belonged to. I even knew there was some loss in the woman's life before they found the baby. And yet...
And yet, reading about her first miscarriage was like ripping a scab off my heart. It has actually been some time since I really thought about losing the baby. September, when the baby was due, was a hard month for me, but I've been busy and preoccupied since then, and I had somehow convinced myself that I was healed; my loss was dealt with, and I could put my grief away.
For the first 70 pages of the book, I was fine. I enjoyed it; I even wrote down a few quotes that stood out to me as a nice turn of phrase, or a poignant commentary on life. Then the woman got pregnant, and like a train wreck, I couldn't turn away. And as she lost the baby, I saw so much of my own experience in hers. She keeps apologizing to her husband, and I remember the guilt I felt as I lost yet another baby. I could relate to her sense of inadequacy; she says, "How hopeless am I? Other women have babies as easy as falling off a log." Every Sunday at church, it seemed I was surrounded by reminders of my failure as pregnant women thrived right and left. I can understand her sense of blame; "It's my fault, Tom. It must be." I felt that same way; maybe if' I'd started folic acid sooner, if I'd gone to a specialist earlier, if I'd done something different, I would still have those babies. She, too, has a sweet husband, desperate to make things better but no idea how to do so.
The page after the miscarriage shows the woman walking through her house, seeing a half-done christening gown and a picture of her parents; grief has greyed and faded all the things that have previously brought her joy. I have moved past that bleak world, but I remember feeling that same way not so long ago. In fact, I still have a half-full bottle of prenatal vitamins in the cupboard that I avoid making eye contact with.
If you ask me what happens next in the book, I have no idea. That's where I stopped. I am no longer that angry mess of grief and loss, but I remember when I was, and it's too soon for me to read about someone else going through that. I can, however, tell you what happens next for me. I hug my kids, kiss my husband, help make gingerbread houses in my son's kindergarten classroom, take my daughter to yet another soccer practice, make dinner for a friend going through a hard time, and life goes on. I do, however, also see myself avoiding any books with a mention of the word "miscarriage" in the description! This hurts too much to do again any time soon.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Friday, July 5, 2013
Fire works.
Yesterday began much like most Independence Days begin in our world. Allie and I went on a Fun Run in the morning. It was 2 miles, and we finished with a respectable time of 20:03. She placed 5th in the Kids Under 12 category, and we were sweaty, but we didn't get passed. Also, Allie has legs like a gazelle. When that kid decides to get serious about running, she will be a force to be reckoned with. Then we had a pancake breakfast at church, there was a short patriotic program, and I got teary-eyed like I always do. Boden spent most of his time pulling the American flag decorations out of the grass, and at one point had a fist-full of about 15 of them.
Normally, at the end of the 4th of July, we find ourselves at the Sammamish Commons, fighting for blanket space and trying desperately to keep the kids entertained until the show starts. This year, however, events took a decided turn for the better. A friend of ours invited us to his family's house to celebrate the 4th with them. He was rather convincing in his arguments, so we agreed. We were a little concerned about them setting off fireworks in his backyard, because the city has been cracking down and issuing fines for this for the past couple of years. Fortunately, just outside of Sammamish, where his family lives, is unincorporated land, where apparently they can light things on fire to their heart's content.
We showed up to a fabulous party already in the works. The kids bee-lined for the pool. (Can I just insert that this was a milestone for me? This was the first time in the past 8 years that I have been able to sit on the side of the pool and chat with friends, without having to get in the pool myself to help the kids. It might not seem like much to you, but to me, this was HUGE!)
After much chatting, snacking, and socializing, the menfolk announced that the Civil War Reenactment was ready to start. Wait, what?!?
Some people read fireworks warnings and take them as warnings. Not this bunch... Apparently, they read the warnings and saw suggestions. So the men and teenage boys put on protective eyewear and non-flammable shirts, and then proceeded to leave their common sense behind. They divided into teams and each team had a pile of bottle rockets, Roman candles, and Bazookas. These fireworks state very clearly, "Do not hold in hand." I'm sure the "Do not point at other people" warning is implied. And yet, that is exactly what Alex and the other guys did, for about 20 minutes. We found out later that in addition to the fireworks they were shooting at each other, some of the men had set up fireworks in the field earlier, and rigged them to remote detonate on trigger when one of the teams got too close to them. I was reassured that we did have a fire chief in the audience, and I decided that I would only panic if he did.
As the men and teenagers ran around the field like idiots, shooting rockets at each other, the women and children stood a fair distance away to watch. (Not far enough, though. A few stray Roman candles sent us scurrying out of the way.) The field filled up with smoke and we felt a little like war wives, hoping our husbands got out alive. What is it with men and the need to shoot at moving targets? I imagine women through the centuries have asked themselves the same question.
Here's a short clip of the insanity. Please don't mind the cackling in the background. It was all absurdly funny.
After the "battle" was over, the boys and men all came back up to the house, counting burn holes on their shirts, showing off ash streaks across their skin, and bragging about how many people they had hit. Alex reenacted the famous kiss picture from WWII, storming over to me with an announcement that "I survived!" and then kissing me in a low dip. While this (the reenactment and the kiss!) was the highlight of the evening, our hosts also put on a great fireworks show with a professional-grade fireworks once it got dark.
Here are my take-home messages from the 4th of July this year: 1. Having a party with a small group made up of people I already know was soooo much better than bickering over blanket space at the city fireworks. 2. All men are idiots, especially when they have fire in their hands. 3. Bug spray should be applied every half hour to avoid being eaten alive or sucked dry. 4. Boden will still sleep like a champ, even after he has guzzled several sodas.
In the tradition of my mission, I am going to include a bug bite count on my posts this summer, just for sympathy. Feel free to feel bad for us.
Alex: 0 (Alex claims he found one just now, but I think that is just his competitive spirit kicking in. Oh, wait. Now he says he's up to 2... No, I take that back. Now he's at 4. Think he'll be up to 14 before I finish this post?)
Kami: 4
Allie: 13
Boden: 1
Normally, at the end of the 4th of July, we find ourselves at the Sammamish Commons, fighting for blanket space and trying desperately to keep the kids entertained until the show starts. This year, however, events took a decided turn for the better. A friend of ours invited us to his family's house to celebrate the 4th with them. He was rather convincing in his arguments, so we agreed. We were a little concerned about them setting off fireworks in his backyard, because the city has been cracking down and issuing fines for this for the past couple of years. Fortunately, just outside of Sammamish, where his family lives, is unincorporated land, where apparently they can light things on fire to their heart's content.
We showed up to a fabulous party already in the works. The kids bee-lined for the pool. (Can I just insert that this was a milestone for me? This was the first time in the past 8 years that I have been able to sit on the side of the pool and chat with friends, without having to get in the pool myself to help the kids. It might not seem like much to you, but to me, this was HUGE!)
 |
| Boden being social with a lady friend. |
After much chatting, snacking, and socializing, the menfolk announced that the Civil War Reenactment was ready to start. Wait, what?!?
Some people read fireworks warnings and take them as warnings. Not this bunch... Apparently, they read the warnings and saw suggestions. So the men and teenage boys put on protective eyewear and non-flammable shirts, and then proceeded to leave their common sense behind. They divided into teams and each team had a pile of bottle rockets, Roman candles, and Bazookas. These fireworks state very clearly, "Do not hold in hand." I'm sure the "Do not point at other people" warning is implied. And yet, that is exactly what Alex and the other guys did, for about 20 minutes. We found out later that in addition to the fireworks they were shooting at each other, some of the men had set up fireworks in the field earlier, and rigged them to remote detonate on trigger when one of the teams got too close to them. I was reassured that we did have a fire chief in the audience, and I decided that I would only panic if he did.
 |
| In those trucks were all the other fireworks for the big show later that night. Smart place to make home base, right? Please note my sarcasm here. |
As the men and teenagers ran around the field like idiots, shooting rockets at each other, the women and children stood a fair distance away to watch. (Not far enough, though. A few stray Roman candles sent us scurrying out of the way.) The field filled up with smoke and we felt a little like war wives, hoping our husbands got out alive. What is it with men and the need to shoot at moving targets? I imagine women through the centuries have asked themselves the same question.
After the "battle" was over, the boys and men all came back up to the house, counting burn holes on their shirts, showing off ash streaks across their skin, and bragging about how many people they had hit. Alex reenacted the famous kiss picture from WWII, storming over to me with an announcement that "I survived!" and then kissing me in a low dip. While this (the reenactment and the kiss!) was the highlight of the evening, our hosts also put on a great fireworks show with a professional-grade fireworks once it got dark.
 |
| Even their sparklers were much more flammable than the wussy ones I have been using up until now. |
Here are my take-home messages from the 4th of July this year: 1. Having a party with a small group made up of people I already know was soooo much better than bickering over blanket space at the city fireworks. 2. All men are idiots, especially when they have fire in their hands. 3. Bug spray should be applied every half hour to avoid being eaten alive or sucked dry. 4. Boden will still sleep like a champ, even after he has guzzled several sodas.
In the tradition of my mission, I am going to include a bug bite count on my posts this summer, just for sympathy. Feel free to feel bad for us.
Alex: 0 (Alex claims he found one just now, but I think that is just his competitive spirit kicking in. Oh, wait. Now he says he's up to 2... No, I take that back. Now he's at 4. Think he'll be up to 14 before I finish this post?)
Kami: 4
Allie: 13
Boden: 1
Thursday, April 25, 2013
So Good for My Self-Esteem
This morning, Boden asked me, "Why is your belly so big?", "Why do your feet look so old?", and "Why do you have all these moles on the back of your arm?" My, he's good for my self-esteem. After the foot comment, however, he did say, "Well, your feet look old, but you look young on the top." Thanks, kiddo. That makes me feel better, I think.
Silly Things I Am Sad About
I have been working my way through the grief process in fits and spurts. I am just fine, fully functional 95% of the time. Dentist appointments, soccer games, music classes, teaching, homework... all of that is still happening smoothly and easily. And then silly things like this happen:
And then I go to Target to pick up birthday presents for upcoming parties, and the baby changing table in the bathroom starts me crying. I am in no way wanting to use a changing table in a public bathroom, but I was anticipating it, you know? It was an element of the future as I knew it, and now it has no place in the future as I know it.
Or getting the kids in the car, something I do about 18 times a day. And usually, it is just fine, normal, full of "Do you have your seatbelt on?" and "Please roll up your window" and "Stop bugging each other!" But every once in a while, I look at that space where a car seat would have gone, that place I was anticipating putting a baby those 18 times a day when we loaded up in the car, and it makes me sad. It makes my kids ask, "Mom, what's wrong?" And I answer, "I just miss the baby."
I look at the toys the kids don't play with anymore--the Little People and the outgrown dress up clothes and the baby dolls and the big Legos. I was ready to give them away or pack them up after Christmas, but then we found out we were pregnant, and suddenly, there was a reason to hold on to them again. Like the Velveteen Rabbit, they were about to find new life. But now... what do I do with them now? Do I save them for grandkids? Or pack them up and send them off to Goodwill? I don't know, because I can barely look at them without crying.
And then there's my garage, full of things we had packed up to take to Goodwill--the changing table Allie performed astonishing feats on when she pooed with her diaper off, a high chair that Boden made the most creative disasters on, a portable crib that they both slept in as newborns, and the rocking chair that I rocked both kids to sleep in. They were all ready to go, once Alex and I resolved our differences over whether to have a garage sale (his idea) or just dump them at Goodwill (my idea). Like the toys, we thought it was inspiration that we couldn't resolve our differences; after all, we would need them now! And now... now we don't. Part of me is looking forward to getting them out of the garage finally, and part of me can barely handle the sight of them and the lost potential they now hold.
And the books...don't even get me started on the baby books! The book corner in the kids room is a mess, just a jumble of books, Nerf guns, cast off socks, and American Girl doll clothes. I have been needing to organize that corner for a while now, but I keep putting it off, because I know that at the bottom of that pile, there are baby books. They are those books that my kids are no longer interested in because they are too babyish for them now, too young and too chewed on. And when I look at those books, I see all those nights I won't be reading them to our new baby. So the pile of clutter just grows.
So, these are the silly things I am crying about lately. And when I look at them with an objective eye, I do feel silly. But with my mother's eye, with a glance of grief and loss, I see those babies we lost and I miss them. But every day is a little bit better, every day I can cope better. Someday, I will reach the point where I can deal with all these jobs I keep putting off, hopefully some day soon, because that pile in the kids room is threatening to take on a life of its own. But for now, I just ignore them and cry. I do just have one favor to ask: If you ever see me crying in a Target bathroom, please just avoid eye contact and pretend it never happened.
And then I go to Target to pick up birthday presents for upcoming parties, and the baby changing table in the bathroom starts me crying. I am in no way wanting to use a changing table in a public bathroom, but I was anticipating it, you know? It was an element of the future as I knew it, and now it has no place in the future as I know it.
Or getting the kids in the car, something I do about 18 times a day. And usually, it is just fine, normal, full of "Do you have your seatbelt on?" and "Please roll up your window" and "Stop bugging each other!" But every once in a while, I look at that space where a car seat would have gone, that place I was anticipating putting a baby those 18 times a day when we loaded up in the car, and it makes me sad. It makes my kids ask, "Mom, what's wrong?" And I answer, "I just miss the baby."
I look at the toys the kids don't play with anymore--the Little People and the outgrown dress up clothes and the baby dolls and the big Legos. I was ready to give them away or pack them up after Christmas, but then we found out we were pregnant, and suddenly, there was a reason to hold on to them again. Like the Velveteen Rabbit, they were about to find new life. But now... what do I do with them now? Do I save them for grandkids? Or pack them up and send them off to Goodwill? I don't know, because I can barely look at them without crying.
And then there's my garage, full of things we had packed up to take to Goodwill--the changing table Allie performed astonishing feats on when she pooed with her diaper off, a high chair that Boden made the most creative disasters on, a portable crib that they both slept in as newborns, and the rocking chair that I rocked both kids to sleep in. They were all ready to go, once Alex and I resolved our differences over whether to have a garage sale (his idea) or just dump them at Goodwill (my idea). Like the toys, we thought it was inspiration that we couldn't resolve our differences; after all, we would need them now! And now... now we don't. Part of me is looking forward to getting them out of the garage finally, and part of me can barely handle the sight of them and the lost potential they now hold.
And the books...don't even get me started on the baby books! The book corner in the kids room is a mess, just a jumble of books, Nerf guns, cast off socks, and American Girl doll clothes. I have been needing to organize that corner for a while now, but I keep putting it off, because I know that at the bottom of that pile, there are baby books. They are those books that my kids are no longer interested in because they are too babyish for them now, too young and too chewed on. And when I look at those books, I see all those nights I won't be reading them to our new baby. So the pile of clutter just grows.
So, these are the silly things I am crying about lately. And when I look at them with an objective eye, I do feel silly. But with my mother's eye, with a glance of grief and loss, I see those babies we lost and I miss them. But every day is a little bit better, every day I can cope better. Someday, I will reach the point where I can deal with all these jobs I keep putting off, hopefully some day soon, because that pile in the kids room is threatening to take on a life of its own. But for now, I just ignore them and cry. I do just have one favor to ask: If you ever see me crying in a Target bathroom, please just avoid eye contact and pretend it never happened.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
We Will Survive
As we went through the D&E today, I received kind and supportive emails, asking how was I dealing with everything. As I think about how I am doing, I am surprised to find that I am doing better than I had thought. Maybe this is because I have been through this process before, and I understand better how I go through the grieving process and can better understand my emotions as I grieve. But there may be another reason I am handling things well. As I lay here in bed, waiting for the grogginess of the anesthesia to wear off, I can hear Alex teaching Allie and Boden tongue twisters. They are lisping their way through "Sally sells sea shells by the seashore" and struggling through "Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers." With such funny family memories happening, even in the midst of my grief, is it any wonder we will survive? I think that is the very reason we will.
Friday, April 12, 2013
Odd Child
Today, a friend watched the kids while Alex and I went to the doctor. After we picked them up, she texted me and said that Boden was making her laugh, trying to convince her that her skin was blue. She asked if he normally does things like that, and it got me thinking. Boden has announced to a whole soccer field of people that he has to go potty; he has walked around the craft store with his pants down, looking for me to wipe his bum (if he had just turned around, he would have seen me); he has randomly kissed and hugged strangers; and he used to give "high five" with a closed fist, causing him to earn the nickname "nutcracker" from my brother-in-law. So in the grand scheme of things, convincing someone their skin is blue is pretty mild.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Of Loss and Hope
Yesterday, in spite of all we could do to prevent it, our baby's heart stopped beating at 16 weeks. I went in to the doctor's office on a whim, wanting to hear the baby's heart beat between ultrasounds. They couldn't find it on doppler, they couldn't see it beating on an ultrasound. More powerful ultrasounds confirmed that the baby had died.
When we came home to tell the kids, Boden's first question was, "Does this mean the baby won't slime my toys?" That's my guy, focusing on the positive. Allie didn't respond like I thought she would initially. She just wanted to go jump on the trampoline at a friend's house. But last night, when I came in to kiss her good night, she told me she had said a long prayer for me that I would be happy. I told her that while I may be sad for the next little while over the baby, I am blissfully happy because I have her and Boden. She then had so many questions, like "What if the baby's heart starts working again? What if the baby is actually fine? Will they check before they take the baby out?" Her sweet innocence and faith are so precious to me.
Like Allie, I, too, have so many questions. Why did this happen? Why didn't the shots prevent this? What am I supposed to be learning from these experiences? How can my heart survive this painful roller coaster ride again? Will we ever find our equilibrium? While I don't have any answers for why it happened, I do know there is a great deal I can learn from this, if I will let myself be humble and faithful. Right now we are working through our grief, and I am sure that will continue for a while. But at some point, I do feel we will be able to look back on this and see how the experience, not the loss but the experience, benefited our lives.
One of the hardest parts of losing babies like this is having to re-imagine the future. As I think to this summer, I have to keep reminding myself that there isn't a reason any more to stay around home. This September, my mom won't be coming to help with the kids while we have the baby, and there is now no longer a reason for me not to be involved in PTSA next year. All those things I was looking forward to: holding a sweet newborn, nursing, rocking the baby to sleep--I have to face that those aren't going to happen now.
Right now, I am just talking to God and reminding myself that we can do hard things, and that hard things are indeed what we are here to do, so that we can learn and grow. I am spending time with Alex and the kids, and enjoying sweet words of encouragement and comfort from friends and family.
This being the 4th time we have lost a child in pregnancy, the 3rd loss at 16 weeks, we have grappled with the reality that our family may not be as large as we had hoped. Alex and I, at one point, had very excellent reasons for why a family with two kids is just about perfect for us. We just need to dust those reasons off and remind ourselves again. Alex and I have great hope and confidence that our lives will be rich and complete, and we are so thrilled to have Allie and Boden with us.
To those who have reached out to us, thank you, thank you, thank you. While I can't seem to get through a conversation without falling apart, we do appreciate your texts, your meals, your willingness to watch the kids. You have seen us through this before, and I know that we will get through it again.
And to our sweet babies, I don't feel as though you are a senseless loss. Rather, I hope and pray that one day, you will know us, and we will know and love you. We love you and miss you already.
When we came home to tell the kids, Boden's first question was, "Does this mean the baby won't slime my toys?" That's my guy, focusing on the positive. Allie didn't respond like I thought she would initially. She just wanted to go jump on the trampoline at a friend's house. But last night, when I came in to kiss her good night, she told me she had said a long prayer for me that I would be happy. I told her that while I may be sad for the next little while over the baby, I am blissfully happy because I have her and Boden. She then had so many questions, like "What if the baby's heart starts working again? What if the baby is actually fine? Will they check before they take the baby out?" Her sweet innocence and faith are so precious to me.
Like Allie, I, too, have so many questions. Why did this happen? Why didn't the shots prevent this? What am I supposed to be learning from these experiences? How can my heart survive this painful roller coaster ride again? Will we ever find our equilibrium? While I don't have any answers for why it happened, I do know there is a great deal I can learn from this, if I will let myself be humble and faithful. Right now we are working through our grief, and I am sure that will continue for a while. But at some point, I do feel we will be able to look back on this and see how the experience, not the loss but the experience, benefited our lives.
One of the hardest parts of losing babies like this is having to re-imagine the future. As I think to this summer, I have to keep reminding myself that there isn't a reason any more to stay around home. This September, my mom won't be coming to help with the kids while we have the baby, and there is now no longer a reason for me not to be involved in PTSA next year. All those things I was looking forward to: holding a sweet newborn, nursing, rocking the baby to sleep--I have to face that those aren't going to happen now.
Right now, I am just talking to God and reminding myself that we can do hard things, and that hard things are indeed what we are here to do, so that we can learn and grow. I am spending time with Alex and the kids, and enjoying sweet words of encouragement and comfort from friends and family.
This being the 4th time we have lost a child in pregnancy, the 3rd loss at 16 weeks, we have grappled with the reality that our family may not be as large as we had hoped. Alex and I, at one point, had very excellent reasons for why a family with two kids is just about perfect for us. We just need to dust those reasons off and remind ourselves again. Alex and I have great hope and confidence that our lives will be rich and complete, and we are so thrilled to have Allie and Boden with us.
To those who have reached out to us, thank you, thank you, thank you. While I can't seem to get through a conversation without falling apart, we do appreciate your texts, your meals, your willingness to watch the kids. You have seen us through this before, and I know that we will get through it again.
And to our sweet babies, I don't feel as though you are a senseless loss. Rather, I hope and pray that one day, you will know us, and we will know and love you. We love you and miss you already.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Stars and Hoops
Boden, the 5-year-old, has just started soccer. Last week, during their game, his team was losing miserably. There were some good little girls on the other team. Boden, of course, was usually looking the other way, running the wrong way, generally not really getting what soccer is supposed to accomplish. But he noticed all the goals the other team was scoring. So he planted himself in front of his team's net, and blocked the ball when it came in his direction. He actually won an award for being an excellent goalie. Later that day, I asked him why he decided to do that. His coach hadn't asked him to be goalie, he just decided. This was his explanation, "Well, the other team was getting all the stars when they got the ball in their hoop, so I wanted to get some stars, too, so I guarded my hoop."
From this, I take away two main points:
1. He clearly plays too many games on the tablet, where he has to earn stars.
2. While we need to work on terminology a little, I think he has the basic idea of how soccer works. Yay!
From this, I take away two main points:
1. He clearly plays too many games on the tablet, where he has to earn stars.
2. While we need to work on terminology a little, I think he has the basic idea of how soccer works. Yay!
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Whose Idea Was This?
Slumber parties--whose idea was that? How could slumber parties ever be a good idea? Ok, let's set aside all the *really* bad things that can happen at sleep overs. Even then, you have a group of kids who have moderately good judgment in the best of circumstances, sliding to somewhat questionable judgment if there isn't an adult nearby. And then we throw these kids together, all... night... long. Who makes a good decision at 3am? I know for me, that is the time when my thought processes are most scrambled, when logic and common sense have completely abandoned me. Why then would we think it is a good idea for a bunch of seven- and eight-year-olds to have sleep overs!?!
As you might have guessed, Allie went to a slumber party this last weekend. And let me be clear, she didn't even stay the night. We have dealt with Allie's alter ego, Grouchy Girl, before, and we knew that being awake all night long would be a disaster. So we let her stay through the main party and the first (FIRST!) movie. We picked her up at 10:30pm. Now, I knew that Grouchy Girl would rear her ugly head, but here we are three days later, and she is still ornery! You would think that mothers through the generations would have figured out what a bad idea sleep overs are, and have done something to stop them.
For example, I can imagine an Israelite mother, in captivity in Egypt, complaining, "That Miriam! Ach! We let her sleep over at her friend's house, and now she is worthless with putting the straw in the bricks!" Or a mother homesteading in colonial Boston saying, "Goodness, Eliza! You spent the night with Anne, and now the cow won't give milk for all your screaming and pouting." Surely one of these moms could have said, "Enough! No more sleep overs!" Surely at some point some parent somewhere would have realized that the joy of having the kid away for the night can not ever outweigh the pure drama and pouting and angst that follows these disastrous events. If there had been an organized outcry against these, we would know by now how hazardous they can be, and be forewarned to avoid them.
Not being fully aware of the peril of having her go to a sleep over, we succumbed. And now, dealing with Grouchy Girl, I have become the worst kind of parent. As I was trying to get her to do her homework tonight, I threatened everything from no dinner to no driving privileges when she turns 16. I know there are moms who can make life fun and a game, but when Allie comes home from school and glowers at me, then tells me that I don't care that she nearly almost could have choked on that candy (that she wasn't supposed to eat), I get defensive and panic, trying to force her to my will. Then, mid-rant at her, I realize that absolutely nothing is sinking in, so I proclaim, " Never mind. Go to your room. You can come out when you are 21."
Needless to say, there will be no more slumber parties for the Smiths. At least, not until Allie turns 21 and is allowed back out of her room.
As you might have guessed, Allie went to a slumber party this last weekend. And let me be clear, she didn't even stay the night. We have dealt with Allie's alter ego, Grouchy Girl, before, and we knew that being awake all night long would be a disaster. So we let her stay through the main party and the first (FIRST!) movie. We picked her up at 10:30pm. Now, I knew that Grouchy Girl would rear her ugly head, but here we are three days later, and she is still ornery! You would think that mothers through the generations would have figured out what a bad idea sleep overs are, and have done something to stop them.
For example, I can imagine an Israelite mother, in captivity in Egypt, complaining, "That Miriam! Ach! We let her sleep over at her friend's house, and now she is worthless with putting the straw in the bricks!" Or a mother homesteading in colonial Boston saying, "Goodness, Eliza! You spent the night with Anne, and now the cow won't give milk for all your screaming and pouting." Surely one of these moms could have said, "Enough! No more sleep overs!" Surely at some point some parent somewhere would have realized that the joy of having the kid away for the night can not ever outweigh the pure drama and pouting and angst that follows these disastrous events. If there had been an organized outcry against these, we would know by now how hazardous they can be, and be forewarned to avoid them.
Not being fully aware of the peril of having her go to a sleep over, we succumbed. And now, dealing with Grouchy Girl, I have become the worst kind of parent. As I was trying to get her to do her homework tonight, I threatened everything from no dinner to no driving privileges when she turns 16. I know there are moms who can make life fun and a game, but when Allie comes home from school and glowers at me, then tells me that I don't care that she nearly almost could have choked on that candy (that she wasn't supposed to eat), I get defensive and panic, trying to force her to my will. Then, mid-rant at her, I realize that absolutely nothing is sinking in, so I proclaim, " Never mind. Go to your room. You can come out when you are 21."
Needless to say, there will be no more slumber parties for the Smiths. At least, not until Allie turns 21 and is allowed back out of her room.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
*Yawn!*
Hi! So, when I started this blog, I promised my mom that I would post twice a week, and I was really good at that, in the beginning. Since that, recent unexpected developments have come up in my life, mainly that I got pregnant. It was rather unexpected, but very welcome all the same. While in some ways, this pregnancy is outside of normal, in some ways it is exactly what is expected; I am tired all the time, and I have constant low-grade nausea, which sometimes spikes into actually throwing up. So, Mom, I am sorry I haven't posted anything funny that the kids or Alex have done lately. I am sure they are still doing funny things, but I think I have either been sleeping or throwing up when it happened.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Keep On Yelling
Hi folks! It's 9:23pm right now, and I am sitting here on the couch, grading papers. I'm exhausted, (a permanent state of being these days; more explanation to come shortly), and I keep falling asleep and typing a big line of fddddddddddddddddddddd across student papers, depending on what key I had my finger on when I dozed off. This does not make for a good grading session, plus napping with a laptop on my lap is no fun either.
Fortunately, I have this wonderful husband who likes to play video games like Halo. For those who don't know, Halo is a first-person shooter game; this is not a game that I would generally want in my house, but Alex really enjoys it, so fine--just another of those wonderful little compromises to create a happy marriage. Alex likes to play on teams, real guys on his team all sitting in their parents' basements, playing against nerds from all around the country sitting in their parents' basements. (No, no preconceived notions here, no sirree.) But Alex isn't necessarily the most generous or compassionate person when he is frustrated with someone who he thinks could be doing better. He is a fabulous, generous, compassionate man in a myriad of other ways, just not this one. And when he doesn't like what his teammates are doing, because they killed him or drove them off a cliff or keep going in the wrong direction, he isn't shy about letting them know.
Normally, this would drive me bonkers. When we drive on the freeway and he yells at the other cars who aren't driving in a way that makes it easier for him to drive, it does drive me bonkers. But tonight, as I type lines of repeating letters while grading, I am grateful for Alex's "Seriously?!? Anyone could have hit that guy!" or "You moron! Why did you just drive us right into this mess?" I'm grateful, because it's the only thing keeping me awake. So keep on yelling, hon, so I can keep grading papers. Or maybe I'll just go to bed. Good nighhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Fortunately, I have this wonderful husband who likes to play video games like Halo. For those who don't know, Halo is a first-person shooter game; this is not a game that I would generally want in my house, but Alex really enjoys it, so fine--just another of those wonderful little compromises to create a happy marriage. Alex likes to play on teams, real guys on his team all sitting in their parents' basements, playing against nerds from all around the country sitting in their parents' basements. (No, no preconceived notions here, no sirree.) But Alex isn't necessarily the most generous or compassionate person when he is frustrated with someone who he thinks could be doing better. He is a fabulous, generous, compassionate man in a myriad of other ways, just not this one. And when he doesn't like what his teammates are doing, because they killed him or drove them off a cliff or keep going in the wrong direction, he isn't shy about letting them know.
Normally, this would drive me bonkers. When we drive on the freeway and he yells at the other cars who aren't driving in a way that makes it easier for him to drive, it does drive me bonkers. But tonight, as I type lines of repeating letters while grading, I am grateful for Alex's "Seriously?!? Anyone could have hit that guy!" or "You moron! Why did you just drive us right into this mess?" I'm grateful, because it's the only thing keeping me awake. So keep on yelling, hon, so I can keep grading papers. Or maybe I'll just go to bed. Good nighhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
I'm Fired
So, Boden fired me today, because I wasn't making his lunch fast enough. When I told him that I don't have to make his lunch now, because he fired me, he decided to hire me back on. I asked him what I would get for working for him. He said, "One dollar." When I told him I deserve more than a dollar, he threw in a fortune cookie, and another one if I told him, "You're welcome," when he thanked me for making his lunch.
Deciding that was a good deal, I finished making his lunch. As I put it on the table in front of him, he said, "Thank you, servant." Sadly, I didn't get a second fortune cookie, because there was no way I was going to say "You're welcome" to that!
Deciding that was a good deal, I finished making his lunch. As I put it on the table in front of him, he said, "Thank you, servant." Sadly, I didn't get a second fortune cookie, because there was no way I was going to say "You're welcome" to that!
Friday, February 1, 2013
Everyday Magic
Yesterday, I was talking with a friend of mine about how great Harry Potter is. (I know, my friends are nerds. It's what I like about them.) Anyway, she commented that it makes her sad when people choose to not read the HP books because they are concerned about the "magic" in the book. As we discussed it, we realized that we both like the idea of there being magic in the world. It's kind of nice to think of the mystery and wonder of it all. It made me think of another friend of mine who, when he was eight years old, was told by his parents that there is no such thing as Santa Claus, or the Easter Bunny, or the Tooth Fairy. They ripped all magic out of his life. (He also got the sex talk in that little chat, but that's a story for another time.) And while yes, I secretly hope that elves live in the forests outside of Seattle, and that Baba Yaga is somewhere in Russia flapping around in her big chicken house, and that fairies glean the raspberries that we don't pick in the summertime, I know none of that's probably true.
However, I do believe in the magic of everyday things. For example, when Boden giggles so much that his chest sucks in and his whole body shakes, that's pure magic, as far as I'm concerned. Or when someone says just the right thing, the thing you didn't even know you most needed to hear until they said it, that's magic. Opening a jar of homemade raspberry jam, and finding not just jam in it, but a lifetime's worth of memories of picking raspberries with my family, of chasing Boden up and down rows when he was in his "fight or flight" stage of life, of Allie helping me find the best sections to pick, and of my dad teaching me the "Two for the mouth, one for the bucket" strategy of picking raspberries, that's magic. When Allie turns to a friend and asks her a question, drawing out a shy little personality and letting her express herself, that's magic. Randomly flipping through the scriptures and finding the exact story or verse that helps me deal with whatever crisis I'm facing... is magic. When an embroidery piece on the wall can conjure the image of a peaceful evening of sitting with my friends, quietly commiserating and laughing and swapping ideas about how to deal with our husbands and our children and our other responsibilities, that's magic. And books! Who can question the power of a book, to completely transform the world around us? That's magic!
So, I accept that "Accio remote!" will never make the remote fly through the air and land in my hand. And seriously, I don't really need it to. But that everyday magic? Oh, now that I need. That's what makes life worth it. Sometimes, that's the only thing that sees me through the day. I hope you can find everyday magic in your own lives.
However, I do believe in the magic of everyday things. For example, when Boden giggles so much that his chest sucks in and his whole body shakes, that's pure magic, as far as I'm concerned. Or when someone says just the right thing, the thing you didn't even know you most needed to hear until they said it, that's magic. Opening a jar of homemade raspberry jam, and finding not just jam in it, but a lifetime's worth of memories of picking raspberries with my family, of chasing Boden up and down rows when he was in his "fight or flight" stage of life, of Allie helping me find the best sections to pick, and of my dad teaching me the "Two for the mouth, one for the bucket" strategy of picking raspberries, that's magic. When Allie turns to a friend and asks her a question, drawing out a shy little personality and letting her express herself, that's magic. Randomly flipping through the scriptures and finding the exact story or verse that helps me deal with whatever crisis I'm facing... is magic. When an embroidery piece on the wall can conjure the image of a peaceful evening of sitting with my friends, quietly commiserating and laughing and swapping ideas about how to deal with our husbands and our children and our other responsibilities, that's magic. And books! Who can question the power of a book, to completely transform the world around us? That's magic!
So, I accept that "Accio remote!" will never make the remote fly through the air and land in my hand. And seriously, I don't really need it to. But that everyday magic? Oh, now that I need. That's what makes life worth it. Sometimes, that's the only thing that sees me through the day. I hope you can find everyday magic in your own lives.
Friday, January 25, 2013
The Bike Chronicles, Part 2
Yesterday, I went on what was sadly a completely delightful and event-free bike ride. Disappointing, I know. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled that I didn't fall over or run into anything, but it doesn't give me much to work with here. So today, I'm going to tell you about things that could have happened on the ride, but happily, didn't.
1. I didn't slide and crash on the gobs of geese poop that covered certain parts of the trail. (Yes, I realize I talk about poop a lot in these posts. I would apologize, but it is just the time of life we're in here at the Smith house, so I hope I don't offend your delicate sensibilities.)
2. I could have gotten high from all the marijuana smoke in the air in Fremont. Seriously, what is it with that town? Good thing marijuana is legal in WA now, or I would have been really worried.
3. I could have been mugged in Ballard, but happily wasn't.
4. I could have run over a shockingly slow pedestrian in the U District. (I realize statements like this make me a bike snob. And to be honest, if I had been strolling through the U District on my lunch break when a bike came zooming up behind me, I probably would have slowed down, too, just to make a point.)
5. I could have been trampled to death by a roving herd of ravenous pygmy elephants. Ok, maybe it's not plausible, but it could have happened, and happily didn't.
All told, it was a dream of a bike ride.
The real challenge came after the bike ride. After taking off all my warm cycling gear and throwing my bike in the back of the car, I had to hurry to pick up the kids from school. But I had just finished a 58-mile bike ride. I'm not particularly pretty under the best of circumstances, and throw some sweat, grease, and road debris all over me, and I'm a walking disaster. So, the dilemma: do I leave my helmet on to pick up the kids, or take it off and scare everyone with my matted, sweaty clump of hair? I realize walking around with a helmet on carries certain connotations, but let's be honest. I'm sure half the parents I interact wouldn't be surprised if I suddenly started sporting one. On the other hand, how early do I need to start the shame and embarrassment responsibilities that all parents have for their kids? I didn't think I could do that to them while they are still so young and vulnerable. So, helmet off, and glasses on my head to cover the worst of the matting, bird's-nest chaos that was on my head. Did I make the right choice? I'm not sure there was a right choice in this scenario. And if you are one of the unfortunate souls who saw me, let us never speak of this again.
1. I didn't slide and crash on the gobs of geese poop that covered certain parts of the trail. (Yes, I realize I talk about poop a lot in these posts. I would apologize, but it is just the time of life we're in here at the Smith house, so I hope I don't offend your delicate sensibilities.)
2. I could have gotten high from all the marijuana smoke in the air in Fremont. Seriously, what is it with that town? Good thing marijuana is legal in WA now, or I would have been really worried.
3. I could have been mugged in Ballard, but happily wasn't.
4. I could have run over a shockingly slow pedestrian in the U District. (I realize statements like this make me a bike snob. And to be honest, if I had been strolling through the U District on my lunch break when a bike came zooming up behind me, I probably would have slowed down, too, just to make a point.)
5. I could have been trampled to death by a roving herd of ravenous pygmy elephants. Ok, maybe it's not plausible, but it could have happened, and happily didn't.
All told, it was a dream of a bike ride.
The real challenge came after the bike ride. After taking off all my warm cycling gear and throwing my bike in the back of the car, I had to hurry to pick up the kids from school. But I had just finished a 58-mile bike ride. I'm not particularly pretty under the best of circumstances, and throw some sweat, grease, and road debris all over me, and I'm a walking disaster. So, the dilemma: do I leave my helmet on to pick up the kids, or take it off and scare everyone with my matted, sweaty clump of hair? I realize walking around with a helmet on carries certain connotations, but let's be honest. I'm sure half the parents I interact wouldn't be surprised if I suddenly started sporting one. On the other hand, how early do I need to start the shame and embarrassment responsibilities that all parents have for their kids? I didn't think I could do that to them while they are still so young and vulnerable. So, helmet off, and glasses on my head to cover the worst of the matting, bird's-nest chaos that was on my head. Did I make the right choice? I'm not sure there was a right choice in this scenario. And if you are one of the unfortunate souls who saw me, let us never speak of this again.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Theory versus Reality
Today was a real eye opener for me. It marked Day 3 of staying home all day with two semi-sick kids. I say "semi-sick," because I couldn't in good conscience send them to church or school with their hacking coughs and sneezes that they don't remember to cover, but they weren't lethargic enough to just sit docilely on the couch. So, at 7am for the past 3 mornings, I listened to them hack themselves awake and gleefully rejoiced--no lunches to pack, no karate to get ready for, no library books to find and send back to school! Sick kids sounded a little like a vacation at 7am. By 9am, on our 4th, or was it 5th?, Valentine's Day craft, I realized I had woefully deceived myself. By 5pm, I was ready to duct tape them to their beds with Barry Manilow songs on repeat, so they could be tortured as much as they were torturing me. And that was just the end of Day 1. Sadly, I go through some kind of amnesia through the night and have the same optimism at the beginning of Day 2 and Day 3.
Now, as Day 3 closes, I find myself with several uncomfortable choices to make. Do I value my sanity over the health of perfectly innocent 2nd grade and preschool children who happen to have the bad luck of sharing a class with my children? Or do I let these kids (and their parents) deal with Germfest 2013, solely so I can find a little peace and quiet? Am I glad to have germy yet hyper children? Yes, absolutely. But would I prefer a little more docility and lethargy with their illnesses? Maybe... Ok, Yes! Yes! I know, I know this makes me a bad mom. But I have what feels like a drill grinding its way into my left temple, and it is solely because of the cabin fever I've gone though with my pseudo-sick children. Would it be so hard for them to lay calmly on the couch and weakly request "a little more chicken broth, if it wouldn't be too much trouble"?
Here is what I know: the kids ARE going to school tomorrow. I feel like we're past the worst of it, but I may just be saying that to sooth my conscience. I AM going to take a nap tomorrow. And I am going to try to not think about those moms who really DO have sick, lethargic kids who they would love to see running around, twirling with their siblings, kicking soccer balls at the ceiling lights, and tackling the dog. Because if I think about them, my left temple throbs even more and my guilt index skyrockets. I AM going to pretend I don't hear either of the kids coughing right now. And finally, I AM going to hang a sign that I will see at 7am, reminding me that "sick kids" does not equal "vacation."
Now, as Day 3 closes, I find myself with several uncomfortable choices to make. Do I value my sanity over the health of perfectly innocent 2nd grade and preschool children who happen to have the bad luck of sharing a class with my children? Or do I let these kids (and their parents) deal with Germfest 2013, solely so I can find a little peace and quiet? Am I glad to have germy yet hyper children? Yes, absolutely. But would I prefer a little more docility and lethargy with their illnesses? Maybe... Ok, Yes! Yes! I know, I know this makes me a bad mom. But I have what feels like a drill grinding its way into my left temple, and it is solely because of the cabin fever I've gone though with my pseudo-sick children. Would it be so hard for them to lay calmly on the couch and weakly request "a little more chicken broth, if it wouldn't be too much trouble"?
Here is what I know: the kids ARE going to school tomorrow. I feel like we're past the worst of it, but I may just be saying that to sooth my conscience. I AM going to take a nap tomorrow. And I am going to try to not think about those moms who really DO have sick, lethargic kids who they would love to see running around, twirling with their siblings, kicking soccer balls at the ceiling lights, and tackling the dog. Because if I think about them, my left temple throbs even more and my guilt index skyrockets. I AM going to pretend I don't hear either of the kids coughing right now. And finally, I AM going to hang a sign that I will see at 7am, reminding me that "sick kids" does not equal "vacation."
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
What I Will Miss/What I Won't Miss
In one of my book groups, I have been reading Nora Ephron--brilliant lady, she wrote the screenplay for Sleepless in Seattle, When Harry Met Sally, and You've Got Mail. In the back of one of her books, I Remember Nothing, she has a list of things she will miss and things she won't miss after she dies. Part of our "homework" for book group (beyond, you know, reading the book), was to make our own lists. And what's the good of a list if you don't share it? So here are my lists.
What I Will Miss:
1. Alex's cheesy jokes
2. Allie's thoughtfulness and kindness
3. Boden's giggle
4. Book groups
5. Bike rides and all the disasters therein
6. Christmas baking
7. Raspberry picking
8. Piling on the couch with my sisters
9. Dana Point
10. London
11. Sleeping with the fan on
12. Long phone calls with my sisters
13. Shakespeare
14. Jane Austen
16. Adaptations of Jane Austen's and Shakespeare's works
17. Dr. Who
18. The excitement of starting a new book
19. Reading in bed
20. Reading anywhere
21. Kindred spirits
22. My parents and parental figures, and how they all inspire me to be my best self
23. Chocolate and peanut butter (aka the Food of the Gods)
24. Acting out the scriptures with my kids
25. Getting up early to go running, feeling like I am the only person on Earth
26. Sweet-smelling newborn babies
27. A snuggly dog falling asleep on my lap
26. Dutch Letters
27. King County Library System
What I Won't Miss:
1. Pants that are too tight
2. Gray, gloomy days
3. Pine needles in my car and in my house
4. Voicemail
5. Christmas cards and the inherent guilt trips they come with
6. Pasty white skin
7. Guitar riffs in songs I otherwise like
8. The mess my kids make in the car
9. Airplanes and airports
10. PTSA Board Meetings
11. Brushing my teeth
12. Politics
13. Mosquitos
14. White Chocolate
15. Coconut
16. Shrimp
17. Coconut Shrimp
18. My cell phone
19. Emptying the dishwasher
20. 2nd grade homework
21. Frizzy hair
22. That depressing lull when I don't have a good book to read
What I Will Miss:
1. Alex's cheesy jokes
2. Allie's thoughtfulness and kindness
3. Boden's giggle
4. Book groups
5. Bike rides and all the disasters therein
6. Christmas baking
7. Raspberry picking
8. Piling on the couch with my sisters
9. Dana Point
10. London
11. Sleeping with the fan on
12. Long phone calls with my sisters
13. Shakespeare
14. Jane Austen
16. Adaptations of Jane Austen's and Shakespeare's works
17. Dr. Who
18. The excitement of starting a new book
19. Reading in bed
20. Reading anywhere
21. Kindred spirits
22. My parents and parental figures, and how they all inspire me to be my best self
23. Chocolate and peanut butter (aka the Food of the Gods)
24. Acting out the scriptures with my kids
25. Getting up early to go running, feeling like I am the only person on Earth
26. Sweet-smelling newborn babies
27. A snuggly dog falling asleep on my lap
26. Dutch Letters
27. King County Library System
What I Won't Miss:
1. Pants that are too tight
2. Gray, gloomy days
3. Pine needles in my car and in my house
4. Voicemail
5. Christmas cards and the inherent guilt trips they come with
6. Pasty white skin
7. Guitar riffs in songs I otherwise like
8. The mess my kids make in the car
9. Airplanes and airports
10. PTSA Board Meetings
11. Brushing my teeth
12. Politics
13. Mosquitos
14. White Chocolate
15. Coconut
16. Shrimp
17. Coconut Shrimp
18. My cell phone
19. Emptying the dishwasher
20. 2nd grade homework
21. Frizzy hair
22. That depressing lull when I don't have a good book to read
I Already Have Plans
Last night, while tucking Allie into bed, I noticed what a mess her bed is. In case you don't know, she sleeps on a top bunk, and she apparently lives in terror of me throwing away something precious to her, like one of my bed pillows from 25 years ago, or an old tissue that has been used as a cast on a stuffed animal. So she gathers her precious possessions and piles them on to her bed. It gets so bad that she only has a little sliver for herself to sleep on; it's a good thing there is a guard rail, or her stuff would push her right out of the bed. So last night, I was cringing at the mess that is her bed, and I told her that this Saturday was Clean the Bed Day. She said, "No, Mom, I already have plans." Ok, she's seven. What plans does she have that I don't already know about? Turns out, she has plans to play with Legos. From sun-up to sun-down, all Legos, all day. But she was gracious enough to let me know that she is free the next Saturday to clean the bed. I normally would dig my heels in and force the cleaning, but who am I to interfere with her plans? When we do finally get around to cleaning the bed, I'll keep an inventory of all we find up there. I guarantee you will be amazed and horrified.
Read with Caution!!
Just a disclaimer before I begin: I use the word "poo" in this post. You have been warned.
Today, Boden and I were waiting in the car for Allie to finish her music class. Suddenly, Boden started jumping up and down and let me know he needed to poo. Ok, so we walked up to the house and asked to use the bathroom. In we went, and Boden started to take care of his business. When it looked like he was winding down, I asked if he was done. He said no, the poo needed more time. After a couple minutes, Boden said, "Come out, poo. You know you're always happy to come out." Yes, Boden was giving his poo a pep talk. I thought howling laughter coming from the bathroom would freak out Allie's music teacher, but on the inside, I was laughing my head off.
Today, Boden and I were waiting in the car for Allie to finish her music class. Suddenly, Boden started jumping up and down and let me know he needed to poo. Ok, so we walked up to the house and asked to use the bathroom. In we went, and Boden started to take care of his business. When it looked like he was winding down, I asked if he was done. He said no, the poo needed more time. After a couple minutes, Boden said, "Come out, poo. You know you're always happy to come out." Yes, Boden was giving his poo a pep talk. I thought howling laughter coming from the bathroom would freak out Allie's music teacher, but on the inside, I was laughing my head off.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Nothing like a kid to make us feel really good about ourselves...
For dinner tonight, we had chicken pot pie. It was simple--nothing too weird or fancy--just chicken, cream of chicken soup, mixed veggies, and pie crust. Based on Boden's reaction, you would have thought I was feeding him sheep brains breaded with dried worms and covered in a bird poo and booger sauce. Initially, he was planning on just eating grape tomatoes and cucumbers for dinner. In solidarity with the mothers of the world, I tried to shame him into taking four bites by letting him know how hard I had worked on it, how sad I would be if he didn't eat it, and how I am never cooking for him again if he doesn't try it. No luck. Alex then resorted to the sure fire way of making him eat--bribery. Please, nobody model your parenting strategies after us. But the promise of mint chocolate chip ice cream got him to eat four bites. It still wasn't pretty, though. He would take a bite, gag a little in his mouth, and then painfully swallow some of it, before running to the sink to spit the rest out. And Alex wonders why I don't like to cook...
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