Well, it's that time of year at Chez Counce: the birthday season is upon us. Yes, my baby girl is turning six next week. I simply can't believe my chubby toddler is now a very grown up young lady. Raising daughters is a special privilege. It's easy to get all worried about her, though. How do I make sure she's strong and confident in a world that will hyper-sexualize her? How do I make sure she writes and lives her own story, without constraints or limitations? Is it even possible?
Here are some keys to making sure our daughters develop the confidence in their abilities to think and cope, to be happy, to feel worthy and deserving, entitled to asserting their wants and needs and to enjoy the fruits of their efforts:
Help your daughter form an identity as an achiever. It's important she thinks of herself as an achiever as a pre-adolescent, and to achieve for the right reason: her own internal satisfaction. Provide her activities she can use to learn to articulate and define who she is. Expose her to role models and strategies for successfully mixing career and family. Help her appreciate herself as an individual based on who she is, not gender roles.
Help your daughter develop a hardy personality. Teach her how to recognize and tolerate anxiety while acting anyway. Separate fantasy from reality: being a princess is not a career. Set goals for her. Teach her to ask assertively for what she wants and to trust herself and her own perceptions, to make choices consistent with her values and goals. These skills make sure your daughter approaches life with enthusiasm and weathers challenges well.
Remember the parental rules of thumb: Unconditional love. A physically and emotionally safe and secure environment. Respect for her individuality. In the end, your relationship is more important than if she goes to school with purple hair. Time and attention: step away from your electronics and pay full attention. Open and honest communication. Flexibility. And provide good role modeling. Learn to listen. When your daughter tells you something, be aware she may be looking for approval or recognition.
Teach her work is fun, that she is a good worker, that she can be anything she wants to be. Send the message that a woman needs to be able to support herself financially. And most important of all? Teach her she can do it! Career awareness begins in childhood. Take a girl to work! Encourage her to be a leader. Acquiring skills in sports, games of skill, conquering the outdoors, activities like working at computers and building models is a definite boon to self esteem.
Happy birthday, baby girl. May I be able to provide you with all of the above. I leave you with Tina Fey, who sums it all up for me in a prayer:
First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth
nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.
Guide her, protect her: when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean,
swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform,
crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms,
getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing,
leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels,
roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of
Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,”
and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something
where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled
and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.
What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course
design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it.
May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the
sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses
and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short –
a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long.
O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the
misspelled invective of her peers and the online marketing campaign for
Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of
Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab
in front of her friends, For I will not have that. I will not have
it.
And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I
may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once
exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is
leaking up its back.
“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans
feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed
gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will
make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know,
because I peeped it with Your God eyes.
Amen.
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Friday, May 17, 2013
Friday, May 10, 2013
What Mom Really Wants
Mother's Day! Let the frantic googling for gifts ideas begin, right? What to get the woman who carried you for nine months and changed your diapers for another two or three? She deserves the best. Fear not. As the mother of three under ten, I am here as resident expert to demystify for you what Mom really wants for her special day. Because the Mother's Day media machine might lead you astray. We don't really want roses or that strange necklace that Jane Seymour sells that looks vaguely like boobs and a butt. Here's a list of fifteen things Mom really wants for Mother's Day:
1. Wine. Wine pairs nicely with trashy magazines and/or an episode of Say Yes to the Dress.
2. Precious alone time. Ah, the sound of my own thoughts in my head. Bliss. Please take the kids and go away.
3. A Mother's Day brunch date with the girls. Mommy wants to come home drunk on bloody marys, mimosas, and mirth.
4. Homemade cards. The more glitter and glued macaroni, the better.
5. The sweet sound of silence. Did I mention we want to be alone?
6. The complete absence of any and all kicking, screaming, and arguing for a full 24 hours. Bonus points for no flailing in the floor.
7. Frequent and copious hugs and kisses.
8. To be alone in the house. Why are you still here? Get out.
9. Chocolate. The good stuff. We're totally worth at least a Whitman's Sampler just for the dishwasher loading and unloading we do daily. And laundering elementary age boys' underwear? Upgrade to Godiva.
10. Spa treatments. We moms spend all of our waking hours ensuring nothing befalls these creatures who some how, inexplicably, were left in our care. Paying someone to take care of us for even an hour while we lie down? Having nails that don't look like you've been digging in the earth? THIS.
11. Not to have to spend Mother's Day cooking for, cleaning for, or fighting with our own mothers or mothers-in-law.
12. Not to have to spend Monday morning cleaning up the house from the burned breakfast in bed and the accumulated chaos of having not done anything all Sunday.
13. Get out. Of the house. Seriously.
14. A long, leisurely soak in the bath with all the accoutrement: candles, bubbles, the aforementioned wine and trashy magazine. Instead of the usual prison-style shower.
15. A chance to move my bowels without an audience.
There it is, folks. Mother's Day made easy. Stretch marks, varicose veins, floppy body parts, c-section scars, grey hair: you were worth it all. All the cliches are grounded in truth: no one loves you like your mother. There is no love like a mother's love. So show your love and gratitude for the lady every day, not just on the Mother's Day holiday. Some people, though death or estrangement don't enjoy the unconditional love you get from your mom. So. Now. Please. Take the kids and leave already.
1. Wine. Wine pairs nicely with trashy magazines and/or an episode of Say Yes to the Dress.
2. Precious alone time. Ah, the sound of my own thoughts in my head. Bliss. Please take the kids and go away.
3. A Mother's Day brunch date with the girls. Mommy wants to come home drunk on bloody marys, mimosas, and mirth.
4. Homemade cards. The more glitter and glued macaroni, the better.
5. The sweet sound of silence. Did I mention we want to be alone?
6. The complete absence of any and all kicking, screaming, and arguing for a full 24 hours. Bonus points for no flailing in the floor.
7. Frequent and copious hugs and kisses.
8. To be alone in the house. Why are you still here? Get out.
9. Chocolate. The good stuff. We're totally worth at least a Whitman's Sampler just for the dishwasher loading and unloading we do daily. And laundering elementary age boys' underwear? Upgrade to Godiva.
10. Spa treatments. We moms spend all of our waking hours ensuring nothing befalls these creatures who some how, inexplicably, were left in our care. Paying someone to take care of us for even an hour while we lie down? Having nails that don't look like you've been digging in the earth? THIS.
11. Not to have to spend Mother's Day cooking for, cleaning for, or fighting with our own mothers or mothers-in-law.
12. Not to have to spend Monday morning cleaning up the house from the burned breakfast in bed and the accumulated chaos of having not done anything all Sunday.
13. Get out. Of the house. Seriously.
14. A long, leisurely soak in the bath with all the accoutrement: candles, bubbles, the aforementioned wine and trashy magazine. Instead of the usual prison-style shower.
15. A chance to move my bowels without an audience.
There it is, folks. Mother's Day made easy. Stretch marks, varicose veins, floppy body parts, c-section scars, grey hair: you were worth it all. All the cliches are grounded in truth: no one loves you like your mother. There is no love like a mother's love. So show your love and gratitude for the lady every day, not just on the Mother's Day holiday. Some people, though death or estrangement don't enjoy the unconditional love you get from your mom. So. Now. Please. Take the kids and leave already.
Friday, May 3, 2013
Five Things Not to Worry About this Week
Hey. You. Chicken Little. The sky is not falling.
Yeah, I know. The news would have you feeling differently. The media would have you believe you need to be afraid. Very afraid. Acts of violence. Child abuse. Global warming. Societal decline. America in financial ruin. Culture wars. And some of you are really hyped up: we're turning into a communist nation bent on creating a fascist government that will invade our privacy and take our property. I'm here to say: take a breath, America. We're working ourselves up into a lather. Don't believe the hype. And yes, I just quoted NWA (look it up).
Cool your jets, Sparky. Here's five things you don't need to worry about this week and why:
Terrorism. Yeah, the Boston bombings have dominated the news for weeks now. It's tempting to get caught up in the fear that something unexpected and violent could happen in your home town. But these were two people out of over 300 million of us in America, people. It's not the norm. Compared to other nations, we're ridiculously secure. It's statistically highly unlikely that you will ever be involved directly in an act of terrorism. Want to really beat the terrorists at their game? Refuse to be terrorized.
Gay marriage. The marriage movement—which now claims, erroneously, that the incursion of gays and lesbians into its hallowed halls will weaken the institution—actually began as a response to a real threat to the contract of matrimony: the no-fault divorce. Thanks, Ronald Reagan (a divorcee himself). All 50 states now sanction no-fault divorce, making marriage the only legally binding contract that a person can break without the consent of the other party and without facing any penalty. Under those terms it’s almost hard to call it a contract at all. To wit: they're here, they're queer...and giving them the same rights you have doesn't threaten you or the institution of marriage.
Gun control. President Obama is not coming for your weapons, people. I have a relative who is so delusional he's convinced the government is reading his emails, so he's contacting everyone to say he's getting rid of all his guns...so the gub'ment will think he doesn't have any and won't come to confiscate them. This, dear reader, is frankly crazy talk.
For whatever reasons, America's gun culture is deeply ingrained. Liberals and conservatives alike share a fondness for weaponry, violent movies and video games, and armed bodyguards. Just because most of us would like you to have a background check before you own one? Doesn't mean a registry. I mean, really: one guy makes his sneakers into a bomb one time and we're forever doomed to take off our shoes in the airport. Thousands of gun deaths, and we make no changes. It's schizophrenic. Don't worry, America. You can and will be able to continue to carry your pistol into Walmart at will, for better or for worse.
The economy. Good news on the job front this week! As expected, the economy grew more quickly at the beginning of this year than at the end of 2012, according to Friday morning’s GDP release. Real GDP was up at a yearly rate of 2.5% over the first quarter, compared to a mere 0.4% in the prior three months. Woo hoo! For those of you unfamiliar with the vernacular, loosely translated these numbers are the best since September of 2008. And those of you panicking about the falling price of gold? People. It's a metal. Intrinsically, it only has the value we assign it. America's economy is miraculously recovering at last.
Cultural "decline." I think Grampa from The Simpsons put it best: " I was with it once. Then they changed what 'it' was. Now what 'it' is is scary and strange. It will happen to you." I get it: now that I'm forty-mumble, I don't get a lot of what's popular with the kids. I'm particularly puzzled by music featuring growling and the popularity of reality shows and insult humor. I don't get it.
But what I know hasn't changed? Older people's reactions to cultural change in the world. In the 50s, it was Elvis who led "cultural decline." The hippies in the 60s. Every decade has it's assigned booger-bear supposedly responsible for the "coarsening" of our country. It's not decline, folks: it's change. And change is inevitable. And really? There's nothing new under the sun. And if the tragedies in Boston and West, Texas have taught me anything, it's that there are many, many more helpers than bad guys. America does take care of its own in dark times. That's not decline.
When you think about it, worry is a lot like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but it doesn't take you anywhere. If you're worrying, chances are you're living in the future. Most of what scares us never even happens. Remember: the media wants you to watch for the commercials. If you're worried, you'll keep checking the news. Instead, I'm choosing to be grateful: America is the greatest country in the world, and we're lucky it's our address. In the end, it's not what happens that worries you. It's what you believe about what happens. Change is inevitable. Your reaction to it? Is all up to you.
Yeah, I know. The news would have you feeling differently. The media would have you believe you need to be afraid. Very afraid. Acts of violence. Child abuse. Global warming. Societal decline. America in financial ruin. Culture wars. And some of you are really hyped up: we're turning into a communist nation bent on creating a fascist government that will invade our privacy and take our property. I'm here to say: take a breath, America. We're working ourselves up into a lather. Don't believe the hype. And yes, I just quoted NWA (look it up).
Cool your jets, Sparky. Here's five things you don't need to worry about this week and why:
Terrorism. Yeah, the Boston bombings have dominated the news for weeks now. It's tempting to get caught up in the fear that something unexpected and violent could happen in your home town. But these were two people out of over 300 million of us in America, people. It's not the norm. Compared to other nations, we're ridiculously secure. It's statistically highly unlikely that you will ever be involved directly in an act of terrorism. Want to really beat the terrorists at their game? Refuse to be terrorized.
Gay marriage. The marriage movement—which now claims, erroneously, that the incursion of gays and lesbians into its hallowed halls will weaken the institution—actually began as a response to a real threat to the contract of matrimony: the no-fault divorce. Thanks, Ronald Reagan (a divorcee himself). All 50 states now sanction no-fault divorce, making marriage the only legally binding contract that a person can break without the consent of the other party and without facing any penalty. Under those terms it’s almost hard to call it a contract at all. To wit: they're here, they're queer...and giving them the same rights you have doesn't threaten you or the institution of marriage.
Gun control. President Obama is not coming for your weapons, people. I have a relative who is so delusional he's convinced the government is reading his emails, so he's contacting everyone to say he's getting rid of all his guns...so the gub'ment will think he doesn't have any and won't come to confiscate them. This, dear reader, is frankly crazy talk.
For whatever reasons, America's gun culture is deeply ingrained. Liberals and conservatives alike share a fondness for weaponry, violent movies and video games, and armed bodyguards. Just because most of us would like you to have a background check before you own one? Doesn't mean a registry. I mean, really: one guy makes his sneakers into a bomb one time and we're forever doomed to take off our shoes in the airport. Thousands of gun deaths, and we make no changes. It's schizophrenic. Don't worry, America. You can and will be able to continue to carry your pistol into Walmart at will, for better or for worse.
The economy. Good news on the job front this week! As expected, the economy grew more quickly at the beginning of this year than at the end of 2012, according to Friday morning’s GDP release. Real GDP was up at a yearly rate of 2.5% over the first quarter, compared to a mere 0.4% in the prior three months. Woo hoo! For those of you unfamiliar with the vernacular, loosely translated these numbers are the best since September of 2008. And those of you panicking about the falling price of gold? People. It's a metal. Intrinsically, it only has the value we assign it. America's economy is miraculously recovering at last.
Cultural "decline." I think Grampa from The Simpsons put it best: " I was with it once. Then they changed what 'it' was. Now what 'it' is is scary and strange. It will happen to you." I get it: now that I'm forty-mumble, I don't get a lot of what's popular with the kids. I'm particularly puzzled by music featuring growling and the popularity of reality shows and insult humor. I don't get it.
But what I know hasn't changed? Older people's reactions to cultural change in the world. In the 50s, it was Elvis who led "cultural decline." The hippies in the 60s. Every decade has it's assigned booger-bear supposedly responsible for the "coarsening" of our country. It's not decline, folks: it's change. And change is inevitable. And really? There's nothing new under the sun. And if the tragedies in Boston and West, Texas have taught me anything, it's that there are many, many more helpers than bad guys. America does take care of its own in dark times. That's not decline.
When you think about it, worry is a lot like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but it doesn't take you anywhere. If you're worrying, chances are you're living in the future. Most of what scares us never even happens. Remember: the media wants you to watch for the commercials. If you're worried, you'll keep checking the news. Instead, I'm choosing to be grateful: America is the greatest country in the world, and we're lucky it's our address. In the end, it's not what happens that worries you. It's what you believe about what happens. Change is inevitable. Your reaction to it? Is all up to you.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Fired...and Fabulous
So, my new favorite guy this week is AJ Clemente. Did you miss his adventures this week? On Sunday, April 21, Clemente made headlines when he dropped several choice on-air swear words on his first day on the job at NBC affiliate KFYR-TV in Bismarck, North Dakota. Both he and his co-anchor Van Tieu
later acknowledged that they were put on-air a little earlier than
scheduled, which may have explained why Clemente was obliviously
muttering profanity as Tieu attempted to introduce him.
I'll admit, I laughed as I cringed for ol' AJ when I saw the clip. Others found him and his firing funny, too: the video went viral. I then started to feel badly for AJ about how his professional debut went. Haven't we all had those moments when your mouth keeps moving and horrible unplanned words are coming out but your brain is somehow locked and frozen inside your skull shouting an internal NO! STOP TALKING NOW! but it's too late?
Of course you have. We all have. We've all been fired, too probably, at one point or another in your life. It's not a good feeling. And aren't you glad that unlike AJ Clemente, your gaffe and dismissal wasn't captured on tape and featured on every social and internet media site in existence? And on his very first day. Getting fired can be a punch in the gut anyway. But to get served in the national news? Man.
And AJ did respond initially like most of us would: he admits he crawled in bed and called his mom and dad immediately after he was fired. He had his moment of depression and shame. But here's what I love about AJ Clemente: he also tweeted, almost cheerfully, "Well, that could not have gone any worse!" right after it all went down, readily acknowledging his mistake. He admits to looking like a moron on TV. But AJ Clemente, as it turned out, was down but not out.
The fresh-faced TV talent didn't necessarily walk away from the job empty-handed. Though he admits that he is still "the butt of the joke" after being fired from his new position for cursing on-air, Clemente is now focused on moving on. He admits he didn't want to start his career like this, but was quoted as saying:
"But to be right here right now, it's like, wow. Maybe this is what's supposed to happen."
AJ went on to be invited to the Today, Live With Kelly and Michael, and The David Letterman Show, and when Kelly and Michael asked him to work the red carpet for the premiere of Pierce Brosnan's new movie, he agreed. A little karmic payback, perhaps, for the public pants-down spanking he experienced at the hands of the media this week.
But this is why I like AJ. Speaking with David Letterman, Clemente said, "The next day, you gotta pick yourself up and laugh at yourself and keep going." At that, Letterman praised Clemente for being brave enough to own up to his mistakes and talk so candidly about his firing.
I, too, gotta admire AJ and his attitude. Sure, mistakes were made. He initially got depressed. He slinked into bed for awhile, needed some emotional support from his parents. The universe clearly had plans to thrust him into a a national spotlight, and he could have disappeared in shame, become angry, or rail against his dismissal. I love that his first tweet was what it was: he owned his mistake and refused to disappear in humiliation.
And so AJ ends up on the set of national talk shows. And he gets it: everything does indeed happen for a reason. The universe is actually carefully ordered to support us and to designed for our growth. There is no such thing as coincidence. This series of events indeed was what was supposed to happen, and they're taking AJ where he needs to go. Good for him for being able to learn from the situation (yes, AJ, do treat every mic like it's a hot one), good for him and us that he has a sense of humor and as Letterman pointed out, bravery for speaking so candidly about his widely-viewed screw up.
What can we take away from AJ? Bad and good is mixed up. What seems wrong will take you to the new right thing. Feel what you feel about it. Then, it's time to be in the moment. It's over. Shed any shame you have. AJ's producers started taping early. It wasn't all his fault. Usually, it's not all yours to own. Don't take yourself or the situation too seriously. Use your dilemma to help others. Keep your sense of humor. And don't worry. It IS supposed to happen this way. It's gonna make you bigger and better than you were before. Even if it feels wrong or worst at first. Just keep moving.
Godspeed, AJ! I know you want to work at ESPN. Well, they've heard of you now. I just hope Bismarck forgives you and has you back even though you've evidently shocked and offended the older and more conservative news viewers. It was just a couple of cuss words. Geez. Because it seems to me you might, in spite of yourself, be a good guy to have on the team. And you, dear reader, too: when you can own your mistakes, can learn from them, know what is unfolding was meant to be, can keep a sense of humor and not take yourself so seriously as you move on? You're a great addition to the group.
I'll admit, I laughed as I cringed for ol' AJ when I saw the clip. Others found him and his firing funny, too: the video went viral. I then started to feel badly for AJ about how his professional debut went. Haven't we all had those moments when your mouth keeps moving and horrible unplanned words are coming out but your brain is somehow locked and frozen inside your skull shouting an internal NO! STOP TALKING NOW! but it's too late?
Of course you have. We all have. We've all been fired, too probably, at one point or another in your life. It's not a good feeling. And aren't you glad that unlike AJ Clemente, your gaffe and dismissal wasn't captured on tape and featured on every social and internet media site in existence? And on his very first day. Getting fired can be a punch in the gut anyway. But to get served in the national news? Man.
And AJ did respond initially like most of us would: he admits he crawled in bed and called his mom and dad immediately after he was fired. He had his moment of depression and shame. But here's what I love about AJ Clemente: he also tweeted, almost cheerfully, "Well, that could not have gone any worse!" right after it all went down, readily acknowledging his mistake. He admits to looking like a moron on TV. But AJ Clemente, as it turned out, was down but not out.
The fresh-faced TV talent didn't necessarily walk away from the job empty-handed. Though he admits that he is still "the butt of the joke" after being fired from his new position for cursing on-air, Clemente is now focused on moving on. He admits he didn't want to start his career like this, but was quoted as saying:
"But to be right here right now, it's like, wow. Maybe this is what's supposed to happen."
AJ went on to be invited to the Today, Live With Kelly and Michael, and The David Letterman Show, and when Kelly and Michael asked him to work the red carpet for the premiere of Pierce Brosnan's new movie, he agreed. A little karmic payback, perhaps, for the public pants-down spanking he experienced at the hands of the media this week.
But this is why I like AJ. Speaking with David Letterman, Clemente said, "The next day, you gotta pick yourself up and laugh at yourself and keep going." At that, Letterman praised Clemente for being brave enough to own up to his mistakes and talk so candidly about his firing.
I, too, gotta admire AJ and his attitude. Sure, mistakes were made. He initially got depressed. He slinked into bed for awhile, needed some emotional support from his parents. The universe clearly had plans to thrust him into a a national spotlight, and he could have disappeared in shame, become angry, or rail against his dismissal. I love that his first tweet was what it was: he owned his mistake and refused to disappear in humiliation.
And so AJ ends up on the set of national talk shows. And he gets it: everything does indeed happen for a reason. The universe is actually carefully ordered to support us and to designed for our growth. There is no such thing as coincidence. This series of events indeed was what was supposed to happen, and they're taking AJ where he needs to go. Good for him for being able to learn from the situation (yes, AJ, do treat every mic like it's a hot one), good for him and us that he has a sense of humor and as Letterman pointed out, bravery for speaking so candidly about his widely-viewed screw up.
What can we take away from AJ? Bad and good is mixed up. What seems wrong will take you to the new right thing. Feel what you feel about it. Then, it's time to be in the moment. It's over. Shed any shame you have. AJ's producers started taping early. It wasn't all his fault. Usually, it's not all yours to own. Don't take yourself or the situation too seriously. Use your dilemma to help others. Keep your sense of humor. And don't worry. It IS supposed to happen this way. It's gonna make you bigger and better than you were before. Even if it feels wrong or worst at first. Just keep moving.
Godspeed, AJ! I know you want to work at ESPN. Well, they've heard of you now. I just hope Bismarck forgives you and has you back even though you've evidently shocked and offended the older and more conservative news viewers. It was just a couple of cuss words. Geez. Because it seems to me you might, in spite of yourself, be a good guy to have on the team. And you, dear reader, too: when you can own your mistakes, can learn from them, know what is unfolding was meant to be, can keep a sense of humor and not take yourself so seriously as you move on? You're a great addition to the group.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
And We Always Will: A Message of Hope
Holy cats. And how has your week been? To say it's been a tough one for Americans is quite the understatement. This particular week has been a beating, no?. Mondays alone are enough to make me kind of stabby anyway, and it was tax day. So this Monday already hadn't endeared itself to me when I got the horrifying and disturbing news that someone or some group had packed pressure cookers with ball bearings and nails and left them to explode at the finish line of America's most prestigious foot race. As a distance runner myself, I was more than a little chilled: I've crossed many finish lines in my life, too. The finish line is a happy place. It's supposed to be where you feel the most pride. And in Boston, it was where runners lost their legs and innocent bystanders lost their lives.
But this week wasn't done with America. Tuesday, Senator Roger Wicker of Mississippi and our president, Barack Obama, both received letters laced with the deadly poison ricin. There were a few fevered hours while America shared a September 11, 2001 post-traumatic stress attack while we wondered if the bombs in Boston were somehow connected with the murderous mail. Luckily, this incident was isolated from the Boston bombs; thanks to police prowess and a perp that was not exactly a Rhodes Scholar, the hillbilly Elvis impersonator from Tupelo, Mississippi was quickly rounded up.
But the week was just getting warmed up. Next, the US Senate embarrassed us all by not passing a universal background check law for the purchase of guns, despite research clearly indicating most of the country supporting this measure and the out-of-control gun violence that plagues our country uniquely. Most embarassingly, the fearless woman who wrestled the gun and magazine away from from the Tuscon shooter of Gabby Giffords, Patricia Maisch, was removed from the Senate for shouting "Shame on you!" as the Senate refused debate.
In the end, it was as President Obama said: a shameful day for Washington. I hope the NRA got background checks on the Senators they bought. Oh, I kid, I kid. Despite that Facebook gathers more information on you daily than a background check for a gun ever would, it seemed like once again, greed won and Americans lost. Some of you will disagree; go on with the hating if you must. But you're out of step with mainstream America.
And for the piece de resistance of the week in America from hell, West, Texas blew off the map with a fertilizer factory explosion, leaving around a dozen dead, hundreds injured, and more affected and displaced. A nursing home and a school were flattened. Which begs the question: who builds a school and a nursing home next to a highly explosive fertilizer plant? But I digress. And a charming little Czech community known for its roadside kolaches is a thing of our memories here in Texas.
It was not a week for the feint of heart, this week. A time, as they say, that tries human souls. Perhaps you're struggling with the weight of it all if you're a person who thinks or feels. That's why in this trying time, I found some solace in a quote from Fred Rogers, who said: "When I was a boy and I saw scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find the people that are helping.'"
I look and I see the peace activist in a cowboy hat racing to save the life of a runner he's never met before, saving him from bleeding to death in the street. I see police, firefighters, and EMS workers running towards the chaos to help any way they can. I see supplies being sent by the truckloads and hospitals full of those donating blood. I see strangers attending to strangers. I see prayers and love posted all over the internet. I watched a Boston Bruins crowd sing our national anthem with such gusto I got goosebumps and teared up. I see help for Boston and West pouring in from everywhere, all over the world. And finally, I see this wonderful missive posted by comedian Patton Oswalt:
"I remember, when 9/11 went down, my reaction was, 'Well, I've had it with humanity.'
But I was wrong. I don't know what's going to be revealed to be behind all of this mayhem -- one human insect or a poisonous mass of broken sociopaths.
But here's what I DO know. If it's one person or a HUNDRED people, that number is not even a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a percent of the population on this planet. You watch the videos of the carnage and there are people running TOWARDS the destruction to help out. This is a giant planet and we're lucky to live on it, but there are prices and penalties incurred for the daily miracle of existence. One of them is, every once in a while, the wiring of a tiny sliver of the species gets snarled and they're pointed towards darkness.
But the vast majority stands against that darkness and, like white blood cells attacking a virus, they dilute and weaken and eventually wash away the evildoers and, more importantly, the damage they wreak. This is beyond religion or creed or nation. We would not be here if humanity were inherently evil. We'd have eaten ourselves alive long ago.
So when you spot violence, or bigotry, or intolerance or fear or just garden-variety misogyny, hatred or ignorance, just look it in the eye and think, 'The good outnumber you, and we always will.'"
Amen, brother. It's been a hell of a week, sure. But like our president says: it's not over yet. Take heart in these dark times. Be a little nicer, a little more patient. Smile at strangers. As long as Americans care, we will overcome. In the meanwhile, like Fred Rogers said, we must just look for the helpers. Give solace to others, and reassure yourself. We are everywhere, and we are the army of love. We are America. We are Texas. And the good outnumber the evil. And we always will.
But this week wasn't done with America. Tuesday, Senator Roger Wicker of Mississippi and our president, Barack Obama, both received letters laced with the deadly poison ricin. There were a few fevered hours while America shared a September 11, 2001 post-traumatic stress attack while we wondered if the bombs in Boston were somehow connected with the murderous mail. Luckily, this incident was isolated from the Boston bombs; thanks to police prowess and a perp that was not exactly a Rhodes Scholar, the hillbilly Elvis impersonator from Tupelo, Mississippi was quickly rounded up.
But the week was just getting warmed up. Next, the US Senate embarrassed us all by not passing a universal background check law for the purchase of guns, despite research clearly indicating most of the country supporting this measure and the out-of-control gun violence that plagues our country uniquely. Most embarassingly, the fearless woman who wrestled the gun and magazine away from from the Tuscon shooter of Gabby Giffords, Patricia Maisch, was removed from the Senate for shouting "Shame on you!" as the Senate refused debate.
In the end, it was as President Obama said: a shameful day for Washington. I hope the NRA got background checks on the Senators they bought. Oh, I kid, I kid. Despite that Facebook gathers more information on you daily than a background check for a gun ever would, it seemed like once again, greed won and Americans lost. Some of you will disagree; go on with the hating if you must. But you're out of step with mainstream America.
And for the piece de resistance of the week in America from hell, West, Texas blew off the map with a fertilizer factory explosion, leaving around a dozen dead, hundreds injured, and more affected and displaced. A nursing home and a school were flattened. Which begs the question: who builds a school and a nursing home next to a highly explosive fertilizer plant? But I digress. And a charming little Czech community known for its roadside kolaches is a thing of our memories here in Texas.
It was not a week for the feint of heart, this week. A time, as they say, that tries human souls. Perhaps you're struggling with the weight of it all if you're a person who thinks or feels. That's why in this trying time, I found some solace in a quote from Fred Rogers, who said: "When I was a boy and I saw scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find the people that are helping.'"
I look and I see the peace activist in a cowboy hat racing to save the life of a runner he's never met before, saving him from bleeding to death in the street. I see police, firefighters, and EMS workers running towards the chaos to help any way they can. I see supplies being sent by the truckloads and hospitals full of those donating blood. I see strangers attending to strangers. I see prayers and love posted all over the internet. I watched a Boston Bruins crowd sing our national anthem with such gusto I got goosebumps and teared up. I see help for Boston and West pouring in from everywhere, all over the world. And finally, I see this wonderful missive posted by comedian Patton Oswalt:
"I remember, when 9/11 went down, my reaction was, 'Well, I've had it with humanity.'
But I was wrong. I don't know what's going to be revealed to be behind all of this mayhem -- one human insect or a poisonous mass of broken sociopaths.
But here's what I DO know. If it's one person or a HUNDRED people, that number is not even a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a percent of the population on this planet. You watch the videos of the carnage and there are people running TOWARDS the destruction to help out. This is a giant planet and we're lucky to live on it, but there are prices and penalties incurred for the daily miracle of existence. One of them is, every once in a while, the wiring of a tiny sliver of the species gets snarled and they're pointed towards darkness.
But the vast majority stands against that darkness and, like white blood cells attacking a virus, they dilute and weaken and eventually wash away the evildoers and, more importantly, the damage they wreak. This is beyond religion or creed or nation. We would not be here if humanity were inherently evil. We'd have eaten ourselves alive long ago.
So when you spot violence, or bigotry, or intolerance or fear or just garden-variety misogyny, hatred or ignorance, just look it in the eye and think, 'The good outnumber you, and we always will.'"
Amen, brother. It's been a hell of a week, sure. But like our president says: it's not over yet. Take heart in these dark times. Be a little nicer, a little more patient. Smile at strangers. As long as Americans care, we will overcome. In the meanwhile, like Fred Rogers said, we must just look for the helpers. Give solace to others, and reassure yourself. We are everywhere, and we are the army of love. We are America. We are Texas. And the good outnumber the evil. And we always will.
Friday, April 12, 2013
What To Expect
Remember that charming book for pregnancy, What to Expect When You're Expecting? I loved that book so much when I was pregnant the first time. This week, my baby is the size of an olive. This week, my baby is developing teeth buds. Outside the occasional shame I felt at how very short I fell according to their stringent nutritional standards, I loved that book. It broke down development of the baby month by month and demystified pregnancy. Who isn't charmed by the idea of a grape-fruit sized baby whose eggs are forming in her tiny uterus?
I was equally edified by What to Expect the First Year and What to Expect from the Toddler Years. Again, the advice was lofty, but as an intellectual and a wanna-be scholar, there's no better feeling for me than being able to pull a book off the shelf, do a little research, jab a finger at a passage and say "AH HA!" The pregnancy and toddler books provided me a touchstone. I like to think there's a book out there to answer most of life's dilemma's and puzzles. College told me so. It should be true, right?
But then came babies. And now, I have three elementary school-aged kids: aged five, seven, and nine. I'm looking for the right reference to tell me what to expect in the next stage of parenting, not to mention how the heck to handle it. Because I'm starting to get scared that I'm wandering into some dangerously unknown territory. I'm doing the best I can as I stumble along, but y'all? I am seriously outnumbered. So in the interest forewarning, here's my stab at just an excerpt from what I've learned so far that might be printed in What To Expect from Multiple School Aged Children Living in Your House:
Expect to clean your house thoroughly again maybe ten or fifteen years later from now. Embrace crunchy floors and sticky surfaces. Embrace the fact the children's rooms may, indeed, become condemnable. Expect your furniture to buckle and break under fearless feats of living room gymnastics. Expect full contact football games to break out indoors at any given time. Expect pillows to be used as both weapons and launching pads. Expect your carpet to take on the hues of puke, juice, toothpaste, and/or bright pink children's medicines. If it's valuable, put it in storage now, or expect to sweep up the broken shards.
Expect to fully support your pediatrician's golf habit and retirement fund as you will see him often. Expect to enjoy other people's phlegmy children and the looped "Lion King" on the DVD player in the waiting room. Expect to keep the well children you've brought along to bring their Circque Du Living Room to the waiting room furniture. Expect the little hands in the night that wake you with "Mommy? I don't feel good." Expect to work at your laptop with a feverish sidekick who's SO BORED. Expect to spend your 401K on orthodontia.
Expect your children to behave as characters on professional wrestling: there will be bloody fights, drama, constant bickering, and so, so much screaming followed by the occasion illegal body slam. Your elementary school-aged children will fight over any and everything: time to talk. Toys. A plate of invisible cookies. I kid you not. Expect to don your black and white striped jersey: you are honorary referee. Expect to become a time-out ninja, able to move the dead weight of a nine year old boy gone slack all Ghandi-style at a single bound. Expect the debut of fart jokes and dirty words. Expect them to be told to Grandma.
Expect to spend hours at lessons, in studios, on fields, and freezing your heinie off on a metal stadium bench. Expect to coordinate an activity schedule that requires an Excel spreadsheet and a degree from MIT to keep straight. Expect to borrow money from your own parents to pay fees, supplies, and for uniforms. Prepare to be snack parent knowledgeable about both proper nutrition, peanut allergies, gluten intolerance, and possibly the merits of dye-free beverages. Expect to mandatorily "volunteer" at concession stands doling out sketchy, wrinkly hot dogs and cotton candy.
Prepare for homework. Prepare to admit that, yes, indeed, you are not smarter than a fifth grader and to feverishly Google to delay your child's learning how dim you actually are. Expect to huddle on small chairs to help prepare your child's individual education plan. Expect to attend countless crowded gatherings in school multipurpose rooms to hear small children sing in groups. Expect to be phoned by your school's principal or nurse at the exact moment you are due to give a presentation at work or while you're in the produce section, cart over-topped. Expect to attend to cater and attend holiday classroom parties where you will watch your child become insane on carbs while you stare awkwardly at other parents, count ceiling tiles, or examine your shoelaces.
Oh, I could go on. There are so many surprises of the elementary school years of which I could be your harbinger. It's a wild time, and it's all about them. They're the rock stars; we're just the roadies. The good news is you can also expect some pretty funny conversations, increased availability of child labor, and lots of love and cuddles to go with all of the above. If you're lucky like me, expect to feel your heart fill up as you look around the dinner table at all their little darling dirty faces, even as they all simultaneously argue over the menu. And if I'm truly fortunate? After it's all said and done, I expect them to put me in a really swanky nursing home.
I was equally edified by What to Expect the First Year and What to Expect from the Toddler Years. Again, the advice was lofty, but as an intellectual and a wanna-be scholar, there's no better feeling for me than being able to pull a book off the shelf, do a little research, jab a finger at a passage and say "AH HA!" The pregnancy and toddler books provided me a touchstone. I like to think there's a book out there to answer most of life's dilemma's and puzzles. College told me so. It should be true, right?
But then came babies. And now, I have three elementary school-aged kids: aged five, seven, and nine. I'm looking for the right reference to tell me what to expect in the next stage of parenting, not to mention how the heck to handle it. Because I'm starting to get scared that I'm wandering into some dangerously unknown territory. I'm doing the best I can as I stumble along, but y'all? I am seriously outnumbered. So in the interest forewarning, here's my stab at just an excerpt from what I've learned so far that might be printed in What To Expect from Multiple School Aged Children Living in Your House:
Expect to clean your house thoroughly again maybe ten or fifteen years later from now. Embrace crunchy floors and sticky surfaces. Embrace the fact the children's rooms may, indeed, become condemnable. Expect your furniture to buckle and break under fearless feats of living room gymnastics. Expect full contact football games to break out indoors at any given time. Expect pillows to be used as both weapons and launching pads. Expect your carpet to take on the hues of puke, juice, toothpaste, and/or bright pink children's medicines. If it's valuable, put it in storage now, or expect to sweep up the broken shards.
Expect to fully support your pediatrician's golf habit and retirement fund as you will see him often. Expect to enjoy other people's phlegmy children and the looped "Lion King" on the DVD player in the waiting room. Expect to keep the well children you've brought along to bring their Circque Du Living Room to the waiting room furniture. Expect the little hands in the night that wake you with "Mommy? I don't feel good." Expect to work at your laptop with a feverish sidekick who's SO BORED. Expect to spend your 401K on orthodontia.
Expect your children to behave as characters on professional wrestling: there will be bloody fights, drama, constant bickering, and so, so much screaming followed by the occasion illegal body slam. Your elementary school-aged children will fight over any and everything: time to talk. Toys. A plate of invisible cookies. I kid you not. Expect to don your black and white striped jersey: you are honorary referee. Expect to become a time-out ninja, able to move the dead weight of a nine year old boy gone slack all Ghandi-style at a single bound. Expect the debut of fart jokes and dirty words. Expect them to be told to Grandma.
Expect to spend hours at lessons, in studios, on fields, and freezing your heinie off on a metal stadium bench. Expect to coordinate an activity schedule that requires an Excel spreadsheet and a degree from MIT to keep straight. Expect to borrow money from your own parents to pay fees, supplies, and for uniforms. Prepare to be snack parent knowledgeable about both proper nutrition, peanut allergies, gluten intolerance, and possibly the merits of dye-free beverages. Expect to mandatorily "volunteer" at concession stands doling out sketchy, wrinkly hot dogs and cotton candy.
Prepare for homework. Prepare to admit that, yes, indeed, you are not smarter than a fifth grader and to feverishly Google to delay your child's learning how dim you actually are. Expect to huddle on small chairs to help prepare your child's individual education plan. Expect to attend countless crowded gatherings in school multipurpose rooms to hear small children sing in groups. Expect to be phoned by your school's principal or nurse at the exact moment you are due to give a presentation at work or while you're in the produce section, cart over-topped. Expect to attend to cater and attend holiday classroom parties where you will watch your child become insane on carbs while you stare awkwardly at other parents, count ceiling tiles, or examine your shoelaces.
Oh, I could go on. There are so many surprises of the elementary school years of which I could be your harbinger. It's a wild time, and it's all about them. They're the rock stars; we're just the roadies. The good news is you can also expect some pretty funny conversations, increased availability of child labor, and lots of love and cuddles to go with all of the above. If you're lucky like me, expect to feel your heart fill up as you look around the dinner table at all their little darling dirty faces, even as they all simultaneously argue over the menu. And if I'm truly fortunate? After it's all said and done, I expect them to put me in a really swanky nursing home.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Showing Up
Shot through the heart! And you're to blame, Richie Sambora! You had one job. Sorry, folks. Let me back up a bit. I'm gutted this week, and I blame hair metal. Y'all all know I'm forty-mumble, which means my heyday of music was the glorious 1980s. I did: I embraced all music both New Romantic, New Wave, and especially my beloved rock balladeers. Def Leppard, Poison, Motley Crue: if Tipper Gore blamed a band for turning teens into Satanists, it probably found its way into my (vinyl!) record collection. Oh, yeah. What a rebel. Funny to see in retrospect that Twisted Sister did not, indeed, ruin a generation. But grown ups worried about funny things back then.
I was super lucky, though, to have lived in a state college town in the 1980s, too, because I got to see a lot of really popular musical acts come through what was a tiny, tiny town without the college. Not much to do in Starkville, Mississippi. But whoever was in charge of booking acts at Mississippi State University had it going on. Every couple of months or so, it was time to camp out for tickets for the latest, cutting edge band making the college tour.
Tina Turner, The Go-Gos, Dio, Whitesnake, Cinderella: I saw some of the cheesiest, best, and thus most eighties-tastic bands on the planet during the zenith of the times. And in 1987? Be still my hormone-infused teenaged heart: I saw Bon Jovi on their "Slippery When Wet" tour. I even remember what I wore: fringed boots and ripped acid wash jeans (it WAS 1987). What a show. At seventeen in 1987, if you had seen Jon Bon Jovi fly suspended, hair streaming, over a screaming crowd, you could say you had indeed then lived.
Flash forward to today. No longer a teenager, but I like to think I still have a little rock and roll in me. I frequent the occasional live music scene when I can. So imagine how thrilled I was when a good girlfriend of mine asked me a favor: her husband refused to escort her to a Bon Jovi concert (read: would not consider being surrounded by shrieking middle aged women for the night), and she needed a date. Would I be willing to take the ticket? Oh, would I! A chance to howl along to such classics as "Dead or Alive" and "Runaway"? Sign me up, sister!
So plans were made. And as they say: the best laid plans of mice and men...this week, Richie Sambora, he of the bolero hat and star guitarist for Bon Jovi, announced on the band's website he was withdrawing from the band's ironically named "Because We Can" tour. Because...he could, basically. "Personal reasons" were quoted for his going AWOL on Bon Jovi. Effectively immediately and for the rest of the spring tour.
Now, Richie Sambora's had rehab stints in the past. I would get it if you needed some leave for some medical help. But according to TMZ, there's no substance abuse angle to the guitarist's leave of absence. Photogs have captured him, instead, frolicking in Hawaii with his teen daughter for several days.
And I'm gutted, I say! Well, okay, I may be prone to hyperbole. But Bon Jovi just won't be Bon Jovi without Richie Sambora there to play guitar. But Sambora, according to TMZ, is having, God forbid, some man-tension with Jon Bon Jovi. Classic rock and roll Mick/Keith shenanigans. They're squabbling. And here's where the Momma comes out in me. I want to knock their heads together and make them apologize and shake hands. Do they have any idea how many folks paid a pretty penny for their unique services? You play guitar for a living. It's the greatest job in the world. You had this one job, Richie. You're a rock star. You can stand on the stage for a couple of hours with the dude, for the love of Mike.
Oh, well. It's still going to be a fun outing. I'm grateful for the night of music with a good friend. We will refuse to let Sambora's absence keep us from rocking out as only perimenopausal women in a nostalglic frenzy can. I'm told local guitarists will probably replace Sambora, which is cool. But this situation, as all situations do, holds a lesson for me. This situation reminds me that I, like Richie Sambora, have made commitments, too. Commitments unto which I have freely entered.
I have a responsibility in my work and in my personal life to deliver what I promised. At the altar, to my work colleagues, to my community, to my family and friends, to myself. Other people are directly affected when we shirk, phone it in, or don't think about how our actions, or lack of action, can impact or cost others. Or how these actions/non-actions can also subtly darken our own self esteem, if the narcissism isn't too strong with you.
So, a wag of the finger to you, Richie Sambora, for bailing on the "Because We Can" 2013 tour. But thanks for reminding me the importance of really always showing up in life. To notice. It matters a lot to other people, and they're counting on me. It matters to me. Maybe you'll come to your senses before the Dallas show. C'mon, kiss and make up with Jon and play through the end of this tour. Do the job you promised. Keep your commitment to your customers, your fans. You might be surprised how much it matters to you, too.
I was super lucky, though, to have lived in a state college town in the 1980s, too, because I got to see a lot of really popular musical acts come through what was a tiny, tiny town without the college. Not much to do in Starkville, Mississippi. But whoever was in charge of booking acts at Mississippi State University had it going on. Every couple of months or so, it was time to camp out for tickets for the latest, cutting edge band making the college tour.
Tina Turner, The Go-Gos, Dio, Whitesnake, Cinderella: I saw some of the cheesiest, best, and thus most eighties-tastic bands on the planet during the zenith of the times. And in 1987? Be still my hormone-infused teenaged heart: I saw Bon Jovi on their "Slippery When Wet" tour. I even remember what I wore: fringed boots and ripped acid wash jeans (it WAS 1987). What a show. At seventeen in 1987, if you had seen Jon Bon Jovi fly suspended, hair streaming, over a screaming crowd, you could say you had indeed then lived.
Flash forward to today. No longer a teenager, but I like to think I still have a little rock and roll in me. I frequent the occasional live music scene when I can. So imagine how thrilled I was when a good girlfriend of mine asked me a favor: her husband refused to escort her to a Bon Jovi concert (read: would not consider being surrounded by shrieking middle aged women for the night), and she needed a date. Would I be willing to take the ticket? Oh, would I! A chance to howl along to such classics as "Dead or Alive" and "Runaway"? Sign me up, sister!
So plans were made. And as they say: the best laid plans of mice and men...this week, Richie Sambora, he of the bolero hat and star guitarist for Bon Jovi, announced on the band's website he was withdrawing from the band's ironically named "Because We Can" tour. Because...he could, basically. "Personal reasons" were quoted for his going AWOL on Bon Jovi. Effectively immediately and for the rest of the spring tour.
Now, Richie Sambora's had rehab stints in the past. I would get it if you needed some leave for some medical help. But according to TMZ, there's no substance abuse angle to the guitarist's leave of absence. Photogs have captured him, instead, frolicking in Hawaii with his teen daughter for several days.
And I'm gutted, I say! Well, okay, I may be prone to hyperbole. But Bon Jovi just won't be Bon Jovi without Richie Sambora there to play guitar. But Sambora, according to TMZ, is having, God forbid, some man-tension with Jon Bon Jovi. Classic rock and roll Mick/Keith shenanigans. They're squabbling. And here's where the Momma comes out in me. I want to knock their heads together and make them apologize and shake hands. Do they have any idea how many folks paid a pretty penny for their unique services? You play guitar for a living. It's the greatest job in the world. You had this one job, Richie. You're a rock star. You can stand on the stage for a couple of hours with the dude, for the love of Mike.
Oh, well. It's still going to be a fun outing. I'm grateful for the night of music with a good friend. We will refuse to let Sambora's absence keep us from rocking out as only perimenopausal women in a nostalglic frenzy can. I'm told local guitarists will probably replace Sambora, which is cool. But this situation, as all situations do, holds a lesson for me. This situation reminds me that I, like Richie Sambora, have made commitments, too. Commitments unto which I have freely entered.
I have a responsibility in my work and in my personal life to deliver what I promised. At the altar, to my work colleagues, to my community, to my family and friends, to myself. Other people are directly affected when we shirk, phone it in, or don't think about how our actions, or lack of action, can impact or cost others. Or how these actions/non-actions can also subtly darken our own self esteem, if the narcissism isn't too strong with you.
So, a wag of the finger to you, Richie Sambora, for bailing on the "Because We Can" 2013 tour. But thanks for reminding me the importance of really always showing up in life. To notice. It matters a lot to other people, and they're counting on me. It matters to me. Maybe you'll come to your senses before the Dallas show. C'mon, kiss and make up with Jon and play through the end of this tour. Do the job you promised. Keep your commitment to your customers, your fans. You might be surprised how much it matters to you, too.
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