My hero doesn't wear tights...much

Have you ever had a hero? When I was a little kid my heroes were relatively simple (and probably a little lame – although Papa smurf is pretty cool, I don’t care who you ask!)


This hero business was relatively simple until I grew up. When one day I woke up and found myself all growed up with kids of my own having a hero was much harder.

When I sit here tonight I know who exactly my hero is, but it isn’t as simple as a childhood cartoon character or a man in tights (now I have a mental image of Scott in tights. Picture a tall, dark haired, slightly balding but hairy everywhere else (and I mean everywhere) man with a bit of a belly in tights. Yeah, there ya go).

To be able to explain it to myself and to you I did what any intelligent person with an internet connection would do. I googled it.

The first site I found was for kids, which is about my speed, so they say a hero is:

1. A hero is someone who helps other people, or helps to make other people's lives better.

2. A hero is a person who tries to make the world a better place.

3. A hero is a person who does something that is more than what is expected.

4. A hero is someone that doesn't do something for his or her own problems but for the benefit of others.

5. A hero is a person that doesn't want to be a hero just to be famous.



I browsed through several more sites before I realized I had it all wrong. It wasn’t hero that I should be looking at, but more aptly heroine. Unfortunately Google doesn’t have a spell checker and I kind of forgot the e on the end the first time around. Let`s just say that what I found had nothing to do with being brave and now I`m probably on some internet watchdog`s naughty list. (Sorry Santa).



So when I retyped my spelling and pressed enter, the two best answers I got for heroine were:



1. A woman admired and emulated for her achievements and qualities

2. The central female figure in an event or period



My heroine isn’t really a traditional heroine and I have to admit, a bit unexpected. I never imagined when I worshipped Papa Smurf and He-Man that my true hero or heroine would be a thirteen year old girl. She doesn’t wear tights (much) and she hasn’t worn a cape since she got over her Teen Titan`s fixation at the tender age of eight. She doesn’t leap tall buildings with a single bound and she still has a bedtime (that we rarely actually make).

My hero is my daughter Meghan. Now it seems a bit weird to have a hero that is less than a third of your age and hasn’t had that much life experience but I have to be honest, sometimes Meghan has more wisdom then older people i know.

So why is she my hero you ask? There are too many reasons to count but let me think of some:

1. As much as I’ve tried to teach her about life, about right or wrong, about ethics and humanity she has taught me more than I could ever pass on to her

2. She is smart and I don’t mean that “I’m her mother so I think she’s a genius because she can count to 10” kind of smart. I mean she is REALLY smart.

3. She’s kind

4. She’s responsible. More responsible than many adults i know.

5. She thinks and she questions and she does so many things because it’s the right thing to do not because it’s popular or easier.

6. She is so artistic it makes me cry to see the beauty of her work. She doesn’t see it but every creation she makes I melt just a little more inside with pride. They say Pride is a sin, well, then I am a sinner because I couldn’t be more proud

7. She is talented and smart but more importantly modest. She would never even think that she was “better” than anyone else. She would cheer her friends when the won an award and compliment someone when they accomplished something. She meant that praise with all of her heart.

8. She cares, not just her own feelings but about everyone else’s first.

9. She notices things, like if I’m upset or someone is not feeling well or if someone is stressed, worried or tired. She feels those things right along with them, all the time trying to help them through.

10. She looks me in the eyes and I see the person reflected and want to be that better person in her vision

11. She is the bravest person I know. We had a chat about how bravery is not the absence of fear but taking action despite the fear and she understood. I don’t mean she nodded her head and said “yeah, whatever mom” to shut me up. I mean she looked me in the eyes with those beautiful hazel eyes of hers and she understood.

12. When she was six she found a quarter on the grocery store floor. She had a choice to get a gumball or put the coin into the donation box at customer service. She chose the donation. I would have chosen the bubblegum at six, and maybe even now.

13. She has held my hand, wiped away my tears, shard hers with me, let me pretend that I was teaching her valuable lessons when all the while it was really the other way around.

14. She trusts me with every part of her being. That scares me and wows me and makes me want to keep that trust more than anything else in this world.

15. She talks to me, even though she’s thirteen and hormonally supposed to hate me at this age. I think she actually likes me. Makes my chest swell even thinking about it.



She is everything I strive for in myself, smart, funny, human and brave. I am still working on it. She is light years ahead of me. So when people talk to me about her and say that she is a lot like me I nod and smile and pretend that is true. The truth is though, she is so much more. I was NOT like her as a child, I was a little more, um, precocious. I was a slow learner.

Now my sons are also high up there on my list, they teach me to laugh and love and play and I love them just as much. But if I had to tell you who my hero is today, it is Meghan, the 13 year old girl who has taught me who I am, who she is and who I want to be.

Not my usual attempt at humour and over sharing but close to my heart. I thought I would let you see the soft and squishy part of me. Take a close look; it doesn’t make an appearance often. Just ask the man in tights. (And no I won’t pay for your therapy for that image).

What I'm thankful for...really.

On Friday morning when I was driving the kids to daycare/school before heading to work I remembered that it was Thanksgiving weekend. I asked my kids what they were thankful for.


Logan piped up first and said he was thankful for all the things we have. I asked him to specify what he meant, to which he said our house, clothes, food. I smiled as I thought of his mature response.

I looked at Meghan next, who said she was thankful for having parents she can talk to. That made me smile, and I again marvelled about how mature and deep my daughter is.

Finnegan did not say anything but then, he is only three, so I don’t expect a mature and deep response from him. He just looked at me with his giant green eyes and even bigger eyelashes and I knew he was thankful for everything. The kid has the most soulful eyes I’ve ever seen.

We drove along silently for a couple of minutes before Logan looked up from his Nintendo DS and asked “What are you thankful for mommy?”

“My bed” I said without hesitation.

I got a “MOMMMMMMMMMMMM” from Logan and laughter from Meghan.

I think they thought I was joking...

No seriously, I’m thankful for many things and here they are:

1. My kids – thank you kids, for first stretching the crap out of mommy’s body before rocketing through said body with your 15 inch heads through a 10 centimetre opening. Then sucking the life out of me, literally for a year each. Thank you for keeping me awake every single night of my life, because sleep is truly for the weak and I always wanted to be strong. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to clean the interior of my car on a regular basis when you vomited from car sickness and for providing items so I would always have a full load of laundry. Poopy pants were very much appreciated so I could test out the true power of both my gag reflex and the strength of my laundry detergent. Thank you for helping assist my natural paranoia into full bloom wondering first if you were breathing, then if you would ever talk, then if you would ever shut up, then if hormones would hit as hard as they did me at puberty. It’s good to know I am not alone in serious PMS. Thank you for making sure I get my daily reading in, I really enjoy Captain farty pants or whoever that was or the teletubbies touch and feel book. I always wondered what Tinky Winky’s purse really felt like. Thank you for making sure I always have “me time”. The hours between 11pm and 5am are paradise, when you haven’t had night terrors, wet the bed or snuck in to “snuggle” and are now lying diagonally across the entire bed.



2. My job – Thank you job for keeping me busy and out of trouble, if it weren’t for you I would have way too much time on my hands to get into mischief. Thank you for placing me in a “box” and reminding me that out of the box thinking is preferred. A box is a box, and when you are in a box, aren’t you thinking IN the box?





3. My family – thank you mom, dad, sisters, cousins, other relatives I’ve stolen or procured along the way. It’s important to know where you come from and just how messed up you’re going to be in the future. It’s always fun to get together and compare who is the most dysfunctional. I win. Competition is a good thing and it’s a good lesson that the person with the louder voice always gets heard. Yes, my piece was bigger because mom and dad clearly love me more.



4. My friends – thank you friends for reminding me that I may be messed up but I have great company along the way. Thanks for telling me I look good when I haven’t had any sleep, have toddler toothpaste (or worse) on my black shirt and have my hair in a pony tail because the 3.4 minutes I Have to get ready in the morning dictated it was pony tail day today. Thanks for providing the vodka when it was needed and not saying anything when I cried real tears complete with snot, leaking like a faucet from my nose.





5. My husband – Thank you for groping me in the morning when we pass in the hallway on the way to our parallel lives, intimacy is important in a marriage. It’s good we get quality time when the kids go to bed, we snore in tandem, which is a great demonstration we are truly in sync. Thank you for bringing me flowers the four times you have in the last seven years, it was a great demonstration of love and romance. Thank you for always giving me an opportunity to have meaningful conversations with you when I remind you for the tenth time to please fix the shower that is now leaking even when the tap is off. It’s good that your nano second memory keeps the passion alive in our relationship. Who said anger wasn’t passion? Thanks for bringing fun into our lives by acting like the biggest kid of all. Making sure my laptop continues to work well is so thoughtful, I totally understand that the five hours a night you play games on it is for “testing” purposes.

Before anyone gets offended, please note that I am (mostly) kidding! The people in my life are my anchor, without you all to drive me crazy I wouldn’t be who I am. I’d be a much quieter, saner version. Now THAT would be boring.

Love ya,

Shan

SImple truths nobody shares

I have a pregnant friend who is experiencing all of the joys of pregnancy and new motherhood for the first time. I remember that time. When you’re pregnant with that first baby, oblivious of what the future holds except for the psychologically sound baby advice read from the crisp pages of your baby book. Well that and the hundreds of tidbits of advice you receive from every well meaning, “been there, done that” relative, friend, co-worker, stranger in the grocery store line up. People are full of advice. Tips and tricks about what to do and how to tell if your child is a boy or girl, how to cure hiccups, what and how to feed, diaper, speak to, do, not do in every situation. Unfortunately the advice you’ll receive will contradict one another, be decades and six theories too late or downright ridiculous until you don’t remember what you read was acceptable and what the well meaning lady fondling mangos in the produce section said.


It really doesn’t matter though, if you’ve given birth or even just have a vagina, it seems you have an opinion about pregnancy, birth and babies. Yes I’ve been there and done that, three times as a matter of fact. I have three wonderful kids who I love dearly but if anyone tells you motherhood is such a beautiful experience they just aren’t telling you the whole truth. I’m not going to give you any such advice except to maybe ignore every single word of advice you get and do what seems right for you. Simple but often effective for sure.

So instead of typical advice I’m going to regale you with some truths that those well meaning people fail to mention and when you come across it, you think “What the F...?!” Unfortunately these truths are not in any particular chronological order but as random thoughts come, it’s just the way I roll. That and every pregnancy sucked a little more of the intelligence from my brain until it left me forgetful and sleep deprived.

Truth #1 – Me time

Nobody tells you that “me time” stops being between the hours of 6pm and 10pm and ceases to exist. With new infants, “even the good ones” alone time becomes a thing of myth. The hours between midnight and five am become your “me time” if you’re lucky and don’t kid yourself that this will change as baby becomes a little more independent. That too is a myth; the little leeches continue to feed off of your energy for a very long time, maybe even forever. As an infant if the kid isn’t attached to your boob, on the change table while you try to wrestle the sixteenth poopy diaper in three hours off, they’re in your arms as you try to rock them in every position you can think of, which leads me to my next truth:

Truth # 2 – kama sutra

You know you’re a parent when trying out new positions isn’t by looking into your handy copy of the most current sex manual but by shuffling junior to the football position instead of the cradle position, all the while wishing you were in the foetal position. Sex becomes a hurried chore where the foreplay consists of “hurry up I’m tired and the baby’s going to wake up soon”.

Truth #3 – stretch marks

I know there are women out there that would say to me “I didn’t get any stretch marks” and to them I say quite sincerely “I hate you”. During my first pregnancy I slathered on cocoa butter lotion on my body until I was more lubricated than a pig roasting over an open flame. I diligently applied said lubricant twice a day, thinking arrogantly “I, am not going to get stretch marks”. Before kids I knew everything, sadly after three kids I realize I don’t know squat. Back to the stretch marks, I managed to get almost all the way through pregnancy before my skin finally gave way to the inevitable. There is not much more horrifying than to wake up with pinstriped skin. I like to pretend they’re just an interesting roadmap to my interesting life but I’ve always had a warped imagination and really I’m trying to make them sound all exciting. They aren’t, not even in the smallest sense, although being a roadmap would be great except it would be on the road to nowhere except in crazy circles. Then again, they just may be the roadmap to my life!

Truth #5

Newborns are not usually very attractive. Motherhood does something to our brain cells to make us believe they are. When Meghan, my oldest was born I thought she was the most beautiful sight in the world. I recently took a look at her newborn photo and went “Whoa, what the heck is that”. She looks like a pint sized extra terrestrial boxer who lost the match. She’s beautiful now but man was she scary looking at birth.



Now the question remains, can you handle more truths?

I ponder - words by Shan, Art by Meg

relaxing in the country

So dear blog readers (a.k.a people I force to read my crap), life is well here in South Carolina, where I’ve temporarily taken up residence and am currently mooching off of my sister. For the first time in months I’m not thinking, doing, organizing work related things!


Today I did fun and exciting things like be chased by a goose (although my sister got bit by the stupid thing, I have way more meat on my bones so I would have been the better choice!)We walked around Swan Lake and got a bit burnt on the arms and neck. I have a farmer’s tan, which I guess is appropriate since I’m staying in farm country!

My sister’s husband Brett took me for a ride on his four wheeler, which was fun and scary as hell all at the same time! He said we hit 60 MPH, and then proceeded to do a popawheelie!

It’s beautiful here, the only things missing are my kids and that guy I married, who keeps me warm at night.

Nothing much funny to report; too busy trying to stay awake. Must be that fresh country air, or the fact that it’s a three hour time difference here than it is at home! It’s after midnight here, which is funny since I just called my babies to say goodnight.

I’m sharing a room with my mother and sister, which they may come to regret considering we had Mexican food for dinner, complete with beans...

Gotta run, pass out, once I smother that snoring old woman, I mean my mother to stop the chainsaw sounds! Apparently I snore too, but I can’t hear me so that’s ok. I think they may have bigger things to worry about than snoring this night. The beans are coming back.

Didn't need to stop for gas...

help me, I'm in a sardine can wirh wings

So here I am on an airplane, hurtling toward South Carolina, sitting between my mother and sister. The vodka is $7 per miniscule little bottle. I think I may need ten or so, it’ll be the best $70 I ever spent! Seriously, I sitting here a little bored, which is stupid considering I have my textbook to read, my kindle e-reader with about 800 books loaded on, my laptop, a puzzle book I bought in the airport and my ipod. I could talk to the weirdos sitting on either side of me. Instead, I’m sitting here not sure what I want to do. Go figure.


You may be wondering, where the hell is she going? I’m going to visit my sister in South Carolina for her fortieth birthday. Five days without work, kids, housework, school, PAC or Pathfinders. What the heck am I going to do with all of my time? Visit family you say, what a novel idea. Is it pathetic to miss your work? Yep, I thought so.

Oddly, I also miss my children. I may talk the talk about how exciting it was to be leaving the kids with the husband for a few days of rest and relaxation. Even I bought into the lie. Last night I hugged and kissed the kids and waved goodbye. I wasn’t even two minutes away when I got all weepy at the thought of leaving them. I got over it, but still!

Now sitting on the airplane like a sardine, I’m a bit punchy, hyper and tired at the same time, which is difficult to accomplish while squished between my sister and mother. It is their fault though; they wouldn’t stop giggling last night in the motel room! When you’re tired it’s amazing what you’ll find funny. We stayed in a motel near the airport on a park and fly deal which was very cheap. The room was clean but not too fancy. For some reason we all thought the paper thin toilet paper with woodchips in it was hilarious. The fact that you needed half of a roll to wipe would have sent Scott the toilet paper Nazi into a tizzy.

Scott has a theory about toilet paper. You should only ever have to use four squares. He tried to teach that theory to our eight year old son, which went over really well. He gave up on trying to convince me to buy into his theory. I’m a one roll kinda girl, it’s just the way I roll (pun totally intended).

Being in such a small space is never a good thing, especially when you have a bad reputation regarding flatulence. Let’s just say day two of Jack in the box fast food is bubbling, bubbling, toiling, troubling. The line up to the bathroom is half down the very tiny aisle, which is also littered with Flight attendants and drink carts. Sadly my family will have to suffer the consequences. (The guy in front of me who just put his chair back to have a little nap is going to regret it.)

I’m logging off because first of all I farted and am worried I may melt the plastic in my laptop and second, it’s very hard to type with your arms pressed up against your sides and my tray crammed into my belly courtesy of the guy napping in front of me. No worries, I will have my revenge, I’m classy like that.

gotta love 'em

As you know, my husband is very often a topic of my blog and not always in the most flattering way (sorry honey you’re just the easiest person to throw under the bus when it comes to my humour). I wanted to say that, although my honey is often doing things (or not doing things) that make him ripe for the picking, he’s also does things that I don’t often talk about because either it’s too naughty (rawrrrrr) or not all that funny.


For instance, he does most of the cooking. How can I make fun of that? The only comment I can make is I’d be much skinnier without him cooking me all that great food! It’s to the point that on potluck days at work people ask me what Scott cooked. It’s probably a good thing he does the cooking, I’m not a very creative cook. I cook spaghetti, except for the garlic toast. Apparently I’m banned from cooking garlic toast. You light it on fire one time and they never let you live it down. Geesh.

Scott’s also a great playmate for the kids. The fact that he speaks geek and plays Pokémon is a definite asset when it comes to kids. I am just not that much fun. In fact, last week Meghan was helping me study and told me Liability Insurance was um, REALLY boring. When I asked her “What, when you grow up you don’t want to be an insurance professional?” She replied, with not just a little sarcasm, “No, no, I’m good”.

Scott does however really need to work on his toddler supervision skills! Last week when he was home with Finnegan it was a one after another toddler clean up extravaganza! First Finnegan pulled all of his books off of his book shelf. When Scott was cleaning that up Finnegan wandered into the bathroom, squirted all of his bubble bath into the empty tub, took his bucket and proceeded to squirt my apricot face scrub into his bucket which he’d also stuffed full of wet toilet paper. When Scott discovered this mess, he started cleaning it up, only for the toddler to wander downstairs pull out the crayons and start colouring on the floor.

Last night when I got home, I opened the door to a giant brown smear on the wall and chocolate toddler tracks leading down the stairs. When I looked around the corner I discovered Finnegan’s abandoned mac and cheese with a full bottle of chocolate syrup squirted over it, the table and the floor. I followed the toddler trail of footprints and hand prints and found him grinning at me from the family room sofa where he was happily sitting, covered head to toe in chocolate goo, watching Sponge Bob Square pants. It would have been handy to have a giant talking sponge to clean up the mess.

So ladies, I think I’ll keep him around, he makes me laugh, sometimes he makes me want to pull my hair out and he makes me feel whole. And besides, he has a big, um, heart.

Letter of Expectation for a mister Scott McEwen

Dear Scott,




Based on the tasks that I have asked you to complete over the past few months without success, I am hereby giving you this letter of expectation. It is my expectation that you will complete the following list of tasks on your next days off:



1. Finish touching up paint and put the paint on the stairway back where it belongs

2. Take the toddler bed pieces away and clean up the back deck

3. Clean the spots off the couch

4. Clean the basement stairway where it looks like chocolate milk was spilled

5. Re-organize the storage space under the stairs so that we can open Meghan’s bedroom door and get at the camping gear and not the Christmas decorations

6. Fix the Wii



If these items are not completed by the end of your days off, the following consequences will happen:



1. You will lose “special” privileges’ for as long as the list remains incomplete

2. You will receive regular nagging and whining about it not being done yet

3. You may wake up with your face painted, the toddler bed crammed up an orifice, the contents of the storage closet resting on your side of the bed where you will no longer be allowed to sleep in and your computer unplugged and replaced with the broken wii.



This will remain in my memory for 18 months at which time if you have kept up to date with your husbandly tasks (which we both know is a slim to none chance) there will be something else to nag at you for.



Sincerely

Your wife.

c see where Scott is going next!  husbands in the doghouse

New residents in my brain

Definitions, regulations and rules
File in, uniform and in perfect order
See all of the empty spaces

Smile smugly
Unaware of the fate
That truly awaits

In the other room
Where random chaos
Plays the warden

And before a chance to settle in
A whirlwind collects them
And takes pleasure in his work

when wrong numbers become your only entertainment

It’s been so long since I’ve written in my blog, well except the odd post to whine about how busy I am or express sadness over a dear friend. So, this morning instead of studying I think I’ll write. I have until December 10th to study for my final exam, so I have plenty of time, I can study in all of my free time.


When I tell my kids mommy is having free time they may look at me like I’ve grown a third boob but at least it will be entertaining. Although the two and a half year old will try to join me in “free time” which will then consist of him trying to sit on my study notes, throw the blankets over our heads so we can giggle madly and “hide”. Yep, we’re invisible.

So I had something funny happen to me recently that I thought I’d share. It all started on Halloween morning at 3:30 am, when I received an odd text message. The message said “Hey it’s me Eagon, the Irish guy, I just wanted to make sure you got home ok, I had fun tonight”. When I read the message I thought, have I finally cracked? Has my personality finally split and taken separate directions? Since I was sitting in my bed, where I’d been for several hours I figured maybe not. I chalked it up to some drunken guy misdialing after a “fun night”.

Scott and I were grocery shopping the next day when I received another text message, which commented on my dancing skills, and how I had some good moves but needed to work on them. While I agreed with the assessment, I was pretty sure it wasn’t my moves that Eagon the Irish guy had been observing. I suppose I should have texted back and let the poor sap know he had either received an incorrect cell phone number or had written it down wrong.

For the next couple of days, no more text messages, so I assumed that Eagon had realized the situation or forgotten. No such luck.

On Wednesday I was at work drowning in emails when my personal cell phone rang. (I have two cell phones now, one for work and a personal one, I feel kind of like a drug dealer). I don’t have call display on my personal cell, so wondering who would be calling me in the middle of the day I answered.

It was my new friend Eagon and the conversation went something like this:

Irish guy: “Um, hi, I have this number in my cell phone and am just trying to figure out who it is”

Me: “Hello?”

Irish guy: “Yeah, I was just wondering, were you at a club the night before Halloween?”

Me: “Nope, I was in bed sick”

Irish guy: “oh, you okay?”

Me: “Yes, thanks – what can I help you with?”

Irish guy: “are you sure you weren’t out?”

Me: “pretty positive”

Irish guy: “What’s your name?”

Me: “Shannon”

Irish guy: “Nice Irish name”

Me: “Thanks”

Irish guy: “well...what do you look like?”

Me: “Pardon?”

Irish guy: “Well are you tall or short?”

Me: “Short”

Irish guy: “what colour hair do you have?”

Me (starting to enjoy myself): “dark”

Irish guy: “eyes?”

Me: “two”

Irish Guy (laughs): “What colour are they?”

Me: “Green”

Irish guy (talks to buddy in background): “How big are your boobs?”

Me (choking on my diet coke): “I don’t know!”

Irish guy: “Sure you do, are they big?”

Me: “My husband seems to think so”

Irish guy (awkward silence): “You’re married?”

Me: “Yes I am”

Irish guy: “want to have an affair?”

Me (laughing so hard my cheeks hurt): “no. But thanks for the offer – you’re a funny guy”

Irish guy: “Yes, I am. So...are you hot?”

Me: “I have no idea”

Irish guy: “come one, give me an idea, between 1 and 10, what would you be?”

Me: “Uh, I don’t know, a seven (I was being generous)

Irish guy: “oh, you’re hot then”

Me: choking on laughter “Ok Eagon, nice chatting with you, I have to get back to work now”

Irish guy: “Where do you work?”

Me: “I am not going to tell you that”

Irish guy: “do you work at an engineering company?”

Me: “No”

Irish Guy: “Too bad, I could have asked for a job – what business are you in?”

Me: “government” (ok not entirely accurate but whatever, the conversation was ridicules anyway)

Irish guy: “cool, can you extend my Visa?”

Me: “nope, okay, I’m hanging up now, thanks for the laugh”

Irish guy: “Bye, nice chatting with you, sure you don’t want to have an affair with me?”

Me: “I’m hanging up now”

I have to be honest, that five minute phone conversation made my day, I hadn’t laughed that hard in quite some time, so I did what any sane person would do, I called my husband and told him all about it. I also told him that he better be good because I have connections and could replace him at any time. He just laughed, go figure.

That was the sum of the fun and exciting things happening in my life these days. What can I say; I live vicariously upon misdialed phone calls and toddlers who must touch everything. I can’t quite remember a time when I wasn’t surrounded by chaos, but man, there are moments where I wish I could leave that chaos at the door. CALGON TAKE ME AWAY.

Only problem is, my bathtub is tiny, or I’m huge, either way, all my bathtub can handle is me and about an inch of water, so any bath time escape is futile. Besides, when I do try to have a nice relaxing bubble bath I end up with the eight year old on the toilet taking a giant dump, the two year old wanting to climb in fully clothed, the cat meowing on the counter, the phone ringing from the back of the toilet and the husband coming in to nag the eight year old. It’s super relaxing.



Pathetically, that’s about all I have to report. I know I say this a lot, but I really need to get out more.