Backyard Camping

"We'll roast marshmallows." they tried bribing me.

"I don't like marshmallows."

"That's weird, Mom. How 'bout we give you the comfortable bed?" they tried again.

"The bed in my bedroom is comfortable."

"Come on, Mom. It'll be fun!"

When I agreed to let the kids open the pop-up camper, I didn't know they planned on having me sleep out there with them. 

I used to love camping. Matt and I used to camp so often we could set up a camp sight - tent up, sleeping bags unrolled, fire going - in 10 min. flat. I loved the hiking, cooking over a fire, late-night star gazing. I had always assumed when we had children we would camp just as often. Then we had children. Camping became work and I became a worrywart.  Instead of hiking merrily through the woods, I began to see bears behind every tree, bears that might want to snack on one of my little ones. I worried someone would get lost. Instead of relaxing around the campfire, I spent time keeping little people from getting burned. We camped less and I grew out of practice. Now when the children wanted to camp they would take Daddy with them and I would stay home with whoever was the youngest at the time. Trouble was Daddy wasn't here. 

We had a camper now. We would be in the backyard instead of the woods. I was being a wimp. I sighed deeply, grabbing my pillow and blanket from my bed. "Okay. I'll sleep out there with you."

It was surprisingly cozy in the camper. Still early in the year for camping, the weather was cool. We snuggled under piles of blankets.We read stories. We listened to chirping frogs. Hopped up on marshmallows, noisy children joked and giggled. Pillows were tossed. Eventually everyone settled down and fell asleep. 

I awoke to the sounds of snoring children and the sun just peeking over the horizon. Sadly, there was no Matt building the fire for breakfast. Instead I crept from the camper, walked across wet grass and into the house to start the coffeemaker and get a shower. We had all survived the night. No one was eaten by a bear. No one had gotten lost. They might still be slightly sticky, but no one had gotten burned roasting marshmallows. It had been a different experience camping without my husband - not bad, just different. I could see us doing this again. 

Maybe. 

Prayers for Oklahoma

My thoughts and prayers are with those in Oklahoma. 

Lord, have mercy.

One Small Step

Note found on my fridge: 

To Mom: 
I'll be back from the moon by dinner.
-Mary

I'm On A Roll

Third post in less than a week? What is going on here? Too much caffeine? Actually, this one might not count since I'm only linking to what someone else wrote. Read it anyway.

Hey, America: The March for Life just happened to you

BY KRISTEN WALKER HATTEN

 

Genny

This is my youngest sister. She is 13. She amazes me.

Plus, I Was Bit By A Donkey

Blog? What blog? Oh. You mean this blog. This blog that I've been neglecting since...October.
In the words of Indigo Montoya:

November: 

• The twins turn 12. Twins. I should be over it by now, but there are still days I see them and think "Oh my gosh! There's two of 'em."

We celebrated with a barber shop themed party. We all wore paper mustaches (I look awesome with a handlebar mustache.) and played silly games.

• Matt came home for Thanksgiving! It was WONDERFUL. I was so busy being happy to see him that I forgot to take any pictures of his visit.

December:

• Lots of cold. Lots of snow. 
• Advent candles. 
• Van sliding backwards on a icy hill.
•  St. Nicholas Day. 
• Matt home again. His ship had a schedule change and he was able to come home for Christmas! Whoo Hoo! 
• Christmas tree hunting.

Once again we headed out to the Korbisch Tree Farm. We traipsed over the bridge and wandered across the hills looking for a tree that was just right. Joey was old enough to walk on his own and I loved watching him tromp through the snow in his tiny boots.

Tromping  Joey

Tree Hunters - (left to right) Annie, Joey, Alex, Brendan, Mary , and David.

Matt's mom brought that lovely, warm, red alpaca hat home from her trip to Peru. Matt received it as a Christmas gift. He loves it. Teenager Annie was slightly less enthusiastic about the style. Being a good Daddy, Matt offered to wear it to the next teen's function at our church. Annie politely declined (read -  "Was utterly mortified and begged me to intervene.")

After cutting down our Christmas tree we stopped to pet the animals. That's when David was bitten by a donkey. He reminded us of that terrible tragedy many times in the days that followed. It usually sounded something like this:

"Let me have that seat. You got it last time. Plus, I was bit by a donkey." 

This has become a favorite line in our house.

Donkey

• Some people have "Secret Santas". We have "Secret Angels". At the beginning of Advent the children draw names, then pray for and perform secret acts of kindness for the person who's name they drew. On Christmas Eve they revealed who they had drawn and gave a small gift to their special person. 

Alex and David each gave the other a box inside a box inside another box. The most interior box held... an IOU. (Real gifts were exchanged shortly after.) I don't know when I've seen them laugh so hard! We all thought it funny that they had both come up with the same idea!

December also brought a little of this:

A Christmas surprise - Norman Radagast Rabbit

And this:

It feels so good to have Daddy home!

And a little bit of this:

Contentment. 

January:

• The flu round one - respiratory. Trip to the E.R. 
• The flu round two - stomach. Eww. 
• Flu round three? Stomach again? Is that possible? Oh, wait. No. Norovirus. Yeah. That makes more sense. 

• More snow. More cold. Oh, and frozen pipes.

Before the flu.

The cause of the frozen pipes.

God continues to take care of us. We live among truly caring neighbors. The pipes thawed. We are finally well, and we are waiting for the next time Matt will be home with us. There now, I think that sums it up nicely.

I will eventually get back into blogging rhythm, but it may take a while. Finding time is a challenge.

Plus, I was bit by a donkey.
(Not really.)

Have You Met Sandy?

There she is. 

We live far enough away from the east coast that moderately gusty winds are all we will see from Hurricane Sandy. My dear hubby, on the other hand, is right in the thick of it. We have been able to keep in touch via email and brief, broken-up phone calls. He keeps reassuring me that they are perfectly safe and I keep praying, convinced that they are not. We are a well balanced team, he and I.

I talked to Matt this morning. The storm is still raging, but it looks like the worst is over. Matt was on duty yesterday and all through the night. He had to walk the lines (massive mooring lines) at least once an hour. Outside. On the pier. In the wind and rain. With waves crashing over him. Let me say that again. WITH WAVES CRASHING OVER HIM. Yeah. Just the kind of thing a wife likes to hear.

He did have a couple funny stories to relate. Both involve working to secure the lines. At one point he and and one other were really struggling to (Here's where I admit that despite 23 years as a Navy wife I still don't remember most of the technical terms.) wrap the line around a ... thingy.  A voice behind them asked what he was doing. Thinking it was another guy from duty section he responded in true boatswain's mate fashion - a.k.a. my hubby can cuss like a sailor. 

"I'm trying to get this #@%$@ line wrapped around this #@$&! Why don't you grab a hold and help instead of @#$! standing there?" 

The voice replied, "Hellooo. Captain."

Sure enough it was the C.O. He laughed it off and told Matt to carry on.  Personally, I think he should have lent a hand - captain or not.

I think I enjoyed the second story better. Yesterday they lost a line and had to get a new one attached. Eight less experienced sailors were hauling on a line trying to pull the heavy thing across the pier and attach it to a cleat (?). Handling mooring lines looks something like this:

Disclosure: This is not my husband's ship.

Only it was not a pleasant, sunny day. The weather was more like this:

Disclaimer: This is not my husband's pier.

They were taking too long, and tired, wet, and cold, Matt's patience washed away with the crashing waves. He had had enough. That was the moment he, as he calls it, "went Bosun on them". He grabbed the line away from them, told them to stand clear, and single-handedly hauled the line to the cleat and in a flash had it secured. The sailors stood, gaping at him. News travels fast and by the time he got to the foc'sle (area  inside the ship where he works) he was greeted by several seamen on their knees, bowing to him.

"We don't need to secure the ship to the pier. Just have Boats (his nickname) stand outside holding the lines!" 

It was a moment of silliness in the midst of a very tense day.

My husband is very strong, but he assures me this was simply his greater experience that allowed him to move that line on his own. "Anyone can do it if they know how." I tend to react more as the young seamen did. My hubby is my hero and I am amazed at the things he can do. Here he is on the ship:

My hubby. My hero.

We are keeping everyone still in Sandy's path in our prayers. I pray that the good Lord will send those in need a angel to lend a helping hand. Or at the very least, an experienced Boatswain's Mate.

Something Beautiful

Someone recently reminded me to listen to - to sing along with - praise music. "There is nothing like praising Our Lord to lift a hurting heart." What a blessing it was to bump into this recording. It's made even sweeter to my ears because I actually know these lovely girls. Enjoy.

Pea Soup, Angels, and a Birthday

I raised my eyebrows at the baby as the dog licked split pea soup off my socks. Joseph was throwing a fit for no apparent reason and had splattered my clothes with a spoonful of the thick, green stuff. Why do babies wake up so horribly cranky? I don't like waking up either, but you don't see me throwing a fit - or soup.

Perhaps today he had an excuse for tantrum throwing. Matt was home for a brief visit and left again in the blink of an eye. These past few days have felt so off. I know Joey feels the loss. We all do. The reason for Matt's visit was a happy one. He came to celebrate my 40th birthday, and celebrate we did, but first I had to bring him home from the airport.

I have never been a very confident driver, and driving long distances or through areas I am not completely familiar with cause my hands to get sweaty and my stomach to knot. The airport was over an hour away and the only route I knew was closed for road construction. It was also the middle of the night... and it was raining...hard. Really.

 I started on my way, nervously praying, straining my eyes in the darkness to see the deer I knew waited to spring in front of my car. I had looked up an alternate route and the map sat on the passenger seat beside me. The sound of the wipers swishing across the windshield was strangely calming. I was going to make it, on time, even. Minutes ticked by and as I drew closer to my destination, excitement took over. In a few moments I would see my husband! ROAD CLOSED. Wait. What?!?

I had forgotten to check for construction on this new route and there it was - orange cones, flashing lights, and everything. From where I sat I could see several other roads had likewise been blocked off. I had no idea which way to turn. I was a woman alone (wearing a skirt and heels, I might add), at night, in a strange part of town, and had the distinct displeasure of knowing Matt's plane had just landed without me there to greet it. 

Taking a chance, I made a turn down a side road and found a gas station. Oh relief! I would ask the attendant for directions! The lights were out. The station was empty. It was a little creepy.

"What do I do, God?"

A car pulled in around me and parked. Two women were inside. Women! Not scary! I pulled beside them and popped my head out the window. "I'm lost. I need to pick my husband up from the airport, but I can't find my way around the road work!" The response was immediate.

"I'll take you there. Just follow me."

She navigated through the maze of roadwork, driving slowly enough for me to follow, and several minutes later - the airport. Had I just been assisted by angels? I'm inclined to think so. But, whether angels or no, I am convinced they had been sent to help me. God is so good.

It was wonderful to see my husband again. (He had only been home for a week since May. Stinky ol' Navy...) I couldn't believe he had been able to come for my special day! He had planned something special. The following day I was instructed to pack a swimsuit and a dress, and off we went for a romantic overnight get-away.

The drive was beautiful. Fall color is just beginning to appear. For the first time in years I got to swim, really swim. (I'm usually too busy making sure children aren't drowning.) It was so much fun. We dressed for dinner and headed out to a local casino for a fabulous seafood buffet we'd heard about. Visions of crab legs danced in my head.

We're not gamblers and neither of us had been to a casino before. (I did peek inside one as a child.) We had no idea what it would be like. Once we arrived we headed straight for the restaurant only to be told there was a two-hour wait. How would we pass the time? (As if the casino didn't know.)

Matt ordered a margarita for me and while I sipped at the pretty drink we talked and people watched.

"Is this what old folks homes are like in Vegas?"

There were old ladies using walkers and old men on oxygen support (some puffing away on cigarettes) seated before slot machines with names like "Lucky Tornado" and "Million Dollar Goldfish". We walked past a craps table where a man with an extremely serious-looking expression rolled dice across a table.

"What exactly IS craps? It sounds naughty." I looked at Matt. He shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea."

We passed blackjack tables and more slot machines. "We still have an hour and a half. Do you want to try a game?" Matt turned to a slot game called "Party Time" that featured a polar bear in a birthday hat. "It's your birthday. You try it. This one lets you make penny bets." He put a dollar bill in the slot. We must have looked ridiculous, pushing buttons at random. "What is 5 line?" "Don't know. Try it." "Hey, I won 45 cents! Hit the cash out button. I want out while I'm ahead." Yeah. I think I'm what they call a high roller.

Now it was Matt's turn. I chose a game for him and he put in the money. By now we had figured out which buttons to push and knew we could make this tiny amount of money last a long time. Then Matt pressed the button for the second time. A light began to flash and a bell sounded "cha-ching, cha-ching!" "What did you do?" I asked. "I think I won the jackpot." The numbers on the screen kept going up and when it finished our penny had turned into $26.70. "Cash out!" we laughed. Neither of us had any desire to continue. I don't think we would make good gamblers. "This will pay for dinner." Nice. Very nice.

Dinner was even better than we expected - crab legs, oysters on the half shell, smoked salmon, and even caviar! (Okay. The caviar was icky, but now I can say I've tried it.) And, thanks to that silly jackpot, it was on the house. I felt so spoiled.

On leaving we bumped into some friends...from church(!) who were just arriving. They looked at us and we looked at them. I had to laugh. "So, this is where all those sinning Catholics go - to the casino!" Of course word would get around. The very next day... No. The very next morning we met another man from our church and his first words to us were, "So I heard you two went to the casino."

The rest of Matt's visit was quieter and was over before we even had the chance to feel settled into his presence at home. Other deployments during Matt's 23 years in the Navy were so hard, but this one... this one is the hardest yet, with the possibility things will get harder still. Some days I am sure I have reached my limit and just don't have the strength to carry on. I'm leaning on my God. Sometimes I fear how much it will hurt before we are through, but I know He will see us through it.  I'm grateful Matt was here. I'm sorrowful that he has left. I feel like... I feel like... I feel like ... throwing pea soup!

In Defense of Trudging

William: Oi sir, what are you doing?

Chaucer: Uh... trudging. You know, trudging? To trudge: the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply soldier on.

Trudging. It feels as dreary as it sounds. When feeling overwhelmed, I must admit the thought of giving in - plopping down in a chair, closing my eyes, and ignoring the world -  flickers through my mind, (for all of about ten seconds.) 

"Ugh. Breathing. Not really feeling it today."

That is when reality (often in the form of my very busy toddler) smacks me on the forehead and demands that I get moving. Of course I must keep moving. I must plod onward. I must trudge ahead. There are children to care for, dishes and laundry to wash, lessons to plan, and lots and lots of lawn to mow. The wood needs to be split and stacked. The car needs an oil change. There's butter to churn. (Okay, not really.) There are fitted sheets to fold, toilet paper rolls to be changed (over, not under), and shoes to be found.  Oh, and then there is dinner to cook...

I think trudging gets a bad rap. Perhaps I would rather be seen as striding, cantering, or even sauntering through my day, but truly, trudging will do. Trudging implies an act of the will to keep moving when everything in you begs you to go take a nap. Trudging means I haven't given up entirely. Trudging means... Dare I say it? Hope. Yes, that's it. Hope. Hope that if I just keep on keeping on things will get better.  

Here's hoping that in time my trudging will give way to a forward motion that better resembles the slo-mo-hero-walk toward the camera. 

Oooh, yeah.

I Want This On A T-Shirt.

I laughed when I saw this on facebook. I have no idea who created it, but wanted to share it anyway. Don't we all need to be dragged a bit sometimes?

Fessing Up

Washing migraine pills down with a gulp of cold coffee is not my favorite way to start the day. I'd rather still be in bed. And it's not just the headache that's bothering me. The fact is I am a fraud. Despite my brave posturing, I have been the guest of honor at my very own pity party. And even though I have realized that fact, rather than ending the party, I'm still hanging decorations. Balloons? Streamers? Oh yeah. The works.

He left again. It was hard the first time. It was worse the second. Matt was with us for a week. A very short week. I reveled in it. I snuggled up to him on the couch, I sat beside him at the table, I watched as he played with our children. I washed his laundry. He made dinner. We stayed up late into the night catching up on all the little things that never made it into our phone conversations. It was happy and sad at the same time. Happy that he was home, sad that it wouldn't last. Sad that this had been the shorter separation and the next would be longer. Perhaps many months longer.

I usually try to look for the best in any situation or at the very least take on a "suck it up" attitude. I well know that there are so many who are facing difficulties I cannot even imagine. My piddly problems are so small in comparison, and yet, here I am feeling sorry for myself. Not just a little - I'm wallowing in it. Pitiful. Even worse, I'm not sure I want to feel better. Like a little kid who refuses to calm down and shouts, "No! I'm not done being mad!" How dumb is that? Even I'm rolling my eyes at me.

This isn't the first time I've fallen far short of the me I thought I was. I much prefer the heroic, virtuous woman I am in my own head. The imaginary me is awesome. The real one, not so much. I take comfort in knowing that my Lord is not surprised by my shortcomings. He knows all about my true self, and rather than pushing me away in disgust, He calls me to come closer. I am thankful.

I'm slowly shaking off off the depressing effects of my own self-pity. I am leaning hard on the knowledge that my God is beside me every step of the way and that His grace is sufficient. It's a good thing. Left on my own I'd probably be hanging a disco ball about now.

Talk of the Town

Did you add lime?

Yes.

Did you mix in manure?

Yes.

He scratched his head. I waved away a fly that kept buzzing my face. The seconds ticked by as the hot sun beat down on us. Quietly, I waited for the wisdom I knew would be forthcoming. He was an expert. At last he spoke.

Do you ever water them?

I tried to keep a straight face.

Water them? Do tomato plants need water?

He just stared at me 'til his wife nudged him in the ribs.

Of course she waters them, Dear.

This was embarrassing.

Earlier that morning another neighbor from the farm down the road had stopped by and I gathered the courage to ask his advice on my failing tomatoes. Farming here for most of his 70+ years, I figured that if anyone knew this soil and how to get things to grow in it, it would be him.

I had been so proud of the lush, healthy seedlings I started weeks before in my window sills. I carefully followed directions for hardening them off and planted them in much anticipation of a crop of the loveliest tomatoes anyone had ever seen. Oh, yes. This would show all my neighbors that I truly belonged out here in the country.

But there I was, asking if there was any way to save the spindly, shriveled up, pitiful remains of my plants. My neighbor tried very hard to encourage me, but I could see it on his face. There wasn't much hope for this novice gardener. He made a couple of suggestions (You could try some Miracle Grow.) then headed for his truck. As he drove off I thought I heard him saying something about stopping by another neighbor's to ask if they had any ideas. Surely not. I probably misheard him over the noise of the truck tires on the dirt driveway.

It didn't take long. I wanted to hide my face as a four-wheeler rumbled up my driveway. The man and his wife carried four good-sized leafy plants.

You like cherry tomatoes, don't you? We had too many. It was either throw them away or bring them to you.

The lie was meant to protect my pride. I had no use for that pride anymore. It quickly vaporized in the face of such kindness.

Thank you, yes! We love cherry tomatoes. *sigh* Come take a look at my garden. Maybe you can advise me.


We planted the tomatoes, covering them with empty plastic milk jugs with the bottoms removed. This would shelter them a bit while their roots became established in their new home.

We then visited for a good while. We discussed the merits of various soil additives and plant types. We talked about cows and dogs and children and chickens. I listened with interest to tidbits of information about the goings on in the neighborhood and town. They knew everybody it seemed, and everything about everybody, too. They weren't the only ones who knew. There were no secrets in this tiny town. I wondered how long it would take for the news of my tomato troubles to make the rounds. I didn't have long to wait.

A couple of days later we were asked over to see some newborn calves. I was introduced to a very nice young man who upon hearing my name politely asked how my tomatoes were doing.

Wow. I've never been famous before.

Just wait 'til they see my radishes.

He's A Genius I Tell You

Little Joey is just so smart and helpful.





It would never have occurred to me to use an entire bottle of baby shampoo to clean the bathroom floor. 

It only took me two large bath towels, a few million gallons of water, and 15 minutes on my hands and knees to create a large sparkling clean spot on the floor in front of the tub.



As a bonus, the room now smells like the top of a baby's head.

Sweet!

A Little Perspective

I know.
It's been a while.
I have an excuse.
There have been some CHANGES. *sigh*

I want to whine. I want to complain. I want to tell you how awful, lonely, hard, unfair it is; how I miss him so much it hurts to breathe. I want to sit in a corner and cry. (Oh. Wait. I guess I can check that one off the list.) I want the little peon responsible for my husband's oh-so-sudden-totally-not-expected-he's-too-close-to-retirement-and-they-promised-he-could-stay-put deployment (ugh) to come down with a bad case of poison ivy... in places he can't scratch in public. (Guess I still have to work on that whole not holding grudges thing.)

I Miss him!!!

But then comes a day that puts things into perspective.

Then comes Memorial Day.

Why? Why do people volunteer to serve their country instead of themselves? Why would anyone choose to sacrifice comfort, time with family, personal freedom, and sometimes even life itself?

It is the acknowledgement that there is something higher than self,

that liberty is worth fighting... and dying for, 

that the strong are compelled to protect the weak.

It is a God-given call to to confront evil with good whatever the cost,

and a call to hope for the future while honoring the past.

Yes, I do miss my husband. Our whole family feels the loss, but, God willing, it's temporary. Hard as it is, there is a reason he does what he does. We are proud of him and all who sacrifice to serve. Today we remember.

On this Memorial Day
Grant peace to the souls
of all those soldiers who died in war.
We remember the tears and grief of their families,
The pain of mothers, wives, husbands and children
Who lost precious loved ones.

To build a meaningful memorial to them,
We ask God to give us all the will
To work for peace around the world
So no more sons, daughters, husbands, wives, fathers, nor mothers
Are slaughtered by the guns and bombs of war.

We ask Mary, who held the lifeless body of her son
And was pierced by the sorrow of his suffering and death,
To grant us the compassion and wisdom to affirm life
And honor the dead through forgiveness and peace making.

May God have mercy on the souls of the departed.
Grant them peace, O Lord.

May we have mercy on the living.
Grant us peace, O Lord.
In Your name we pray.
Amen.

Victory!

Alleluia!

He is risen!

“Death is swallowed up in victory. 

O Death, where is your victory?

O Death, where is your sting?”

Happy Easter!

What True Love Looks Like

 Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5: 7-8)

Blessed Good Friday

Bittersweet

"You don't want that one," the lady told us as we gazed at the little black and white furball at our feet. "She's not very well behaved." The puppy wagged her tail and frantically kissed the faces of two-year-old Annie and baby Brendan.

"A better choice is this dog over here. She's already housebroken," the shelter lady insisted, pointing at an older dog cowering under the table. Hmmm...

As if to affirm the lady's argument, the puppy stopped licking the children, ran to the middle of the room and peed on the floor.

"We'll take her," I found myself saying. Ignoring the shelter lady's frown, we signed the paperwork and took our newest family member home.

We tried to call her Sadie, after a puppy I had as a child, but somehow the name just wouldn't stick. Every time we tried to say her name it came out "Sassy". After a couple of days, we gave in. Sassy it was. And despite what the shelter lady thought of her, she turned out to be one of the most gentle and well-mannered of dogs.

Annie and Sassy were instant friends. Annie would squish mud pies onto Sassy's head and Sassy would sit very still, only her tail softly swishing back and forth.




Annie and Sassy


Sassy held a soft spot for Brendan, too. Once when little Brendan was being scolded by his daddy, Sassy seated herself between them to shield her boy from his daddy's disapproval. Daddy couldn't help but smile at the sight.

Each new baby in our family was one more little one for Sassy to adore. She followed the twins and Mary everywhere they went, dancing with excitement when one of them would grab the leash. Sassy often walked over to baby Joseph to give him a little kiss on the top of his tiny head.

She traveled with us from Texas to New York, from Wisconsin to California and back. For 14 years she was at our sides giving the kind of love only dogs can, and we loved her back.

It's a sad day when a beloved pet dies. We miss her. Our home, full to overflowing, is now a little less full. We keep looking for her as we move about the house. I was looking for something under my bed and glanced at the spot she used to sleep, expecting to see her there. I teared up as I washed and put away her bowl. I stumbled over my words this morning. "Brendan, please feed the dogs...uh...dog... Please feed Hurley."




Sassy-dog


 Dogs were such a good idea, God. We are grateful for the ways our dogs have enriched our lives. Thank You for 14 years with our sweet Sassy-dog.

Little Joe Is One!

Some surprises are better than others.

Some joys are sweeter.

Some treasures more precious.

Some diversions more enchanting.

Some delights come straight from the hand of God.

On some birthdays - the presents are for everyone.



Happy Birthday, Joseph Michael!

God bless you always!!