Since our family has grown, we are no longer 4 Big Heads, but thanks to little Esther's big head, we have grown to five. So, please relocate our adventures to FBH (five big heads) at http://5bigheads.blogspot.com/.
Hope to see you there!
What is the deal? I went to bed late and exhausted from a day of kid, kid, kid, work, kid, kid, kid. Why am I awake at 4am with no hopes of getting back to sleep? I have no idea, so I start to pray. I can't even keep my mind still long enough to form a thought to pray. Then I start to pray that my mind will be still. Then I forget that, apologize to the Big Guy for my inability to stay in the moment and hop out of bed for some water. Apparently ice water doesn't soothe ones innards to go night-night. In fact, now I am wondering how I will survive this Wide Eyed Wednesday on little to no sleep. Not ONE of my children, dogs, or husbands are awake (I know I typed husbands in the plural...it is the compound and always keep 'em guessin'). So, I write....I order a pair of shoes (insomniacs must be broke), I work, I read my email, I try to solve world peace and created a new business idea. What's next? Coffee I say...lots and lots of coffee and possibly a round of sweat on the treadmill...if I don't collapse in pure exhaustion on my walk back to my room. Crud-I just heard a noise....big house, big noise....dodododo (insert creepy movie soundtrack here). In case noise comes after me, I love you all and I better click the publish button so my last bit of craziness can change the world in print form. Oh Happy Day!
I realize today is election day and everyone is wrapped up with their moral and ethical voting duty and now glued to cnn, fox, or comedy central for the latest update. I am in my too small "Advocate Mom" shirt with my lovehandles hanging out and my paris ooh laa laa jammy bottoms with open bags of Captain Crunch cereal and Nestle Semi-Sweet Chocolate Chips...enough said. All week my girls asked me who I was going to vote for, all week I told them I don't know and then when I grabbed my last registration notice I realized that I forgot to update my address. CRAP!!! I called the office, they said it would be a provisional vote and may or may not be counted. Where are my brain cells, did the 6 month old take them all or will anything of value be found when the fog clears? POSSIBLY THE BIGGEST ELECTION OF THE CENTURY AND MY VOTE MIGHT NOT COUNT?? Whatever....
So then since I am tired of watching the election that I may not have a voice in anyway, I say to my cold suffering hubby-let's see whats on the DVR. We do...it's Grey's Anatomy from last week and the opening scene is the lesbian wannabe drs and one of them is describing how she is so gay. Then, my 7 year old walks in the room and I have NO idea how long she's been there. What in the world? I remember the worst thing we couldn't watch on tv as kids was Married with Children and now Peg Bundy is playing the "old lady" of a biker bad boy leader in Sons of Anarchy. What is going to be on tv when my kids are thirtysomething? As if the lesbian gone bad scene wasn't enough, then pigs got stabbed, and a 10 yr olds organs got laid out and frozen. I paused it to grab the snacks (Wilbur getting stabbed was more than I could handle without chocolate) and haven't seen the end, but why can't I look away? I went to a state university...I'm not naive to the whole "experimenting" of college (not that I tried it), but I just don't know why the writers had to take it there. I am not surprised, I'm a little disgusted and I know I don't have to watch, but McDreamy and McSteamy draw me in weekly. It sucks to be middle aged and have a favorite show turn too naughty and then you have to bore others by ranting about it....I hope Wilbur lives....
I am an aunt! My sister had her first baby-a girl-Kiah Mary on our mom's birthday, October 30th. Everyone is healthy and good. I spoke to my sister yesterday and gave her permission to have her call me Aunt Susie. I am so not a Susie, but I grew up with everyone in my family calling me that....don't call me that unless we exchange blood. The Susie part comes with several memories for me, how my dad used to sing wake up little Susie every morning....the 3rd grade boy who treacherously called me Susie Sponge (it was the 80's people). Susie to me connotates an easy going, chunky kid who just wanted to get along with everyone. I still want to get along, but I will pass on the chunky. I think when you're an auntie, you get to be the fun playful interim parent....so Susie would be appropriate I guess. Meet me....Aunt Susie and welcome baby Kiah to our crazy world of dysfunctional survival where giggles abound-we are glad you are here!
We are in a post-candy haze and thoroughly enjoyed our bundle of trick-or-treaters that journeyed up our darkened walkway. Thanks to my husbands genius, full size candy bars were given to middle schoolers and older and I do believe the word will get out next year and we may have to double up on the King Size stash. My waistline is in a love/hate relationship with the big bowl of leftovers and I am trying to use it as my own personal reward system, but have resorted to diving in without the earning part of it (don't judge me...).
So, as we recover and get ready for our week of much anticipated celebration (James' birthday and Esther's finalization), I have been "haunted" (excuse the pun) by several things, but this morning especially is one of being invisible. There has been an email going around called the Invisible Mother (or something like that) and I could relate, but being that I am a mom of high functioning autism, I tend to explain what I am doing for all my kids, as I'm doing it. Not to get the credit that may be deserved, but to explain the step by step logic of the social situations, chores, communications with teachers and coaches, etc. For that reason I don't always feel like an invisible mom. What I did have hit me over the head this morning is that I have somehow become a ghost of my former self. I am not what I thought I was going to be. I thought I was going to be a dr....I don't do needles. I thought I was never going to be married....I'm 15 years in. I thought Utah would be the LAST place on earth I would ever live....2 years in. I thought I would have my parents walking in relationship with me through my adult life.....not the case. I thought I was a handful.....I am.
That last one is the one that's getting me on this rainy Sunday morning, as my family walks out to go to church without me and the baby....I'm a handful.
I have met "handful" people several times in my life and it has been disguised in different forms of talks too much, doesn't follow social cues, borders on stalking, doesn't listen, angry, bitter...you get the drift.
I have been angry, I have been bitter, I may talk too much and not be the best listener, but I didn't think I truly bought into the concept of me being a handful until I was wiping stinging tears from my eyes on the toilet this morning and thinking I am a handful.
I think satan lies. I know that's an obvious statement, but I truly think he pushes and pushes until we, as believers, buy into his lie. I have bought in. Not only have I bought in, but I banked the house, my marriage, my relationships....me on this lie. It's one I have heard my whole life..."Good luck with that one-she's a handful" was the response of someone close to me to my new fiance. I played and continue to play the role of handful because that's what I know. That's how I was labeled (along with a lot of other things I'm sure), but what if that's not ok anymore? How does one break a pattern of buying into a lie that prevents them from embracing the happiness in front of them? How does one give up the expectations that a "handful" person holds over those around them? Why are there so many times that I can't see myself as God sees me and only feed on the unwarranted feelings that plague me?
I realize the gift that being a "handful" brings as well. It means when a school district tries to withhold services from your child, you make sure the district superinterdent and all those below know that you know your childs rights and you won't be rolling over....you are an advocate. It means that when you see a kid that you don't know hitting another child on pick up from school that you pull your car over, roll down your window, tell them to knock it off, and get their mom's phone number...waiting there until the mom can come pick up the offender.....you defend the helpless. It means when you order your steak well done and it comes back mooing, you send it back....even though you know you're risking retaliation from the cook....you are fair and want what you ordered and paid for. It means throwing all social correctness to the wind in choosing to become a transracial family because it's not only the right thing to do, but it became the only ONLY thing to do....I love...I am an advocate.
A flamboyant chunky red head that likes to make people smile should not be seeing herself as invisible. The confidence displayed in an advocacy situation needs to be applied within...instead I'm crumbling and unsure of my decisions and walking around hurt and angry at a time when my soul should be rejoicing for the week ahead. I instead go to bed with a headache pounding the needs of those around me and wake up with a stomach ache knowing I have to face it all again. Alone in my role of handful, I blame those closest for their lack of esp and begin to resent their presence and ignorance of the burdens I carry. Let the pity party begin...do you hear violins? Don't cry for me Utah begins to play as I look at myself in the mirror I see not a powerful Godly woman, but a broken, lonely, too busy, too distracted, complaining, misunderstood shadow of the person I want to be. "I'm done" does not even begin to describe the doneness I am with that person in the mirror. I have somehow lost myself in the shuffle to soccer practices and have excuses a mile long as to why I can't find me.
The challenge comes in the one word I hate the most....balance. How to bring out the best qualities of a "handful" without resonating in the nastiness of the unworthy lies that satan whispers to me as my head bounces on the toilet paper roll in a fit of frustration and insight that brings me to my knees. All I heard is he was right, you are a handful...you are a burden....you cause chaos...they would be better off without you. Enter string quartet....
As much as that is true in a lot of things, I have to let go of the label. It has me bound up and isn't that where satan wants me? Bound up....ineffective....invisible.....
A simple Halloween weekend where the biggest trick will be me navigating my way through this.......my treat I'm hoping will be more fulfilling relationships with those I love.
Happy Halloween!
I really don't have much to say, but am tired of seeing Code Orange everytime my blog comes up.
Remember after 911 and still sometimes today at the airport we have the colors indicating the level of terror threat? When those began to pop up everywhere, my reaction was...duh!!! I grew up in smog central Riverside County California where color codes were an every day news occurance in letting us know if we could safely step outside for a brisk walk or if an oxygen tank was recommended. Since we lived in a one step in the grave retirement community, it was usually the latter. Speaking of one step in the grave, does anyone else think it's inappropriate for 2nd graders to be making R.I.P. tombstones with made up peoples names and info on them????? I almost yanked my kids into home school today.....then I came to my senses....due to code orange.
Someone asked how I was today. I have this bad habit of saying one thing...the right thing....the thing I think people want me to say.....the thing that will allow me to continue going to bible study at my church and not get my children completely ostracized in this community, while all the while having a COMPLETELY different reaction/answer/conversation going on in my head. Kind of like that Zack guy on the tv show Scrubs, but without the big hair (because I'm going bald). It really is sad when a guy has nicer hair than you. So, back to the innocent question of how I was today. I said fine, I asked how that person was, I tried to concentrate, but as I was bending over to get the baby's barf catcher out of the diaper bag in the bottom of the stroller, I felt this twinge. We all know it....I was a human wine bottle and my cork was slowly slipping out. You get the drift. As if I needed this, I have a baby, she poops a lot, she throws up a lot, she talks a lot during group meetings....I adore her and wish I could be as open with my bodily functions and chatter. So as I was politely trying to listen to how this other person was, I was SCREAMING in my mind-CODE ORANGE! CODE ORANGE! Terror (AKA Tampax) levels high....leakage imminent. And that my friends is why I always say pad up. Especially during tp season...pad up. BTW-how did our fine friends at Tampax decide what color to label the levels of absorption? Always is always green no matter if the wings look like a Boeing 500...always green....no discrimination. Not Tampax though, they got crafty....I personally think it was a man because if a woman would have done it they would all be in the one color that takes off the 10 pounds of bloating....black. Tampax black...period.
This is the view this morning at 7am as I stumbled to let the dogs in. The first snow of the season. It seems that the Utah way is to skip a season in between. For example, last week we were almost 90, today's high will be 38 (if we're lucky). Sore throats be darned, winter is here. We had to scramble yesterday to even find long sleeve shirts and some semblance of a coat. BUT it is beautiful and the kids screamed in the yard of the compound as they ran out in their pj's (don't judge) and the 100 pound lab was trying to eat it all. He may have an eating disorder (again, don't judge). So, when I finally got the courage to open the sliding glass door to the arctic wind to let the dogs in, we had a problem. The 7 pound Maltipom was having waaay too much fun....or so I thought. She wouldn't come to me and as she ran to the wrong porch steps, into the concrete, to my horror I realized she couldn't see! She has CLUMPS of snow stuck to her fur that made for an unsightly blinder! The poor baby was BLIND! By the way, her hearing must not be too great either because it took her a long time to get her bearings and follow my voice. I now know how little dogs don't survive in the wilderness....frosty the snowballs disorient them as they keep trying to scrape the clumps off, more gather. Not the smartest Maltese in the Pom....but we don't judge and a good warm bath did just the trick. She may be scarred for life and we may need to pull her hair in a pony tail before her next trek. Aaaah, the joys of snow....
So, the test results came back negative-THANK GOD! When the relief set in, I then became obsessed with then why am I still dizzy. Is it possible it's something more?
In the 90's they had this show, Herman's Head. I LOVED that show. I LOVED the fact that they divided this guys head into different people talking, reacting...living. That is how, on most days, I am....divided reactions, wanting to be doing one thing when I'm doing something else, feeling high, feeling low...talking to myself, etc. No, I'm not crazy (although I do think that is in the eye of the beholder or your spouse), but I do have moments where I think that a weeks stay in a padded room with no cell phones or kids asking where their soccer socks are and why I didn't pack their sweatshirt (am I the only one who can find outerwear?) would be of great value to me.
So, part of my head, like most of us, is filled with resonating thoughts and images of our parents. That part of mine is a little jacked up, but when the newly turned 7 year old called my mom to thank her for her bday gift, I was quick to grab the phone and relay my woes. Her response was poignant to me. She asked if I was stressed...I scoffed at that. I told her we had the 2nd and final post placement interview with the social worker, I told her I'm doing my best to juggle my job with the demands of a growing family, I told her the renters were moving into our daybreak home and how are we ever going to manage this new mortgage? I laid it all out there and what she said to me was this. She asked me to think back to the first few months when the older girls came home from the hospital. She asked me to remember how that felt for me, what kind of stressors, what kind of "not enough"ness was brought out. Then she said this is part of your process with E. It's a little delayed and coming in bits and pieces, but when it comes, it comes. She reminded me of my worth. She reminded me that I am teaching these girls to love themselves and to know what that looks like (even though I am at times petrified as to what they are seeing from me).
I feel like my body has betrayed my emotions. Emotions can be hidden, for a time, and I guess mine was done hiding. I am not feeling much better, but I am at least grateful that she helped me identify that this is, in fact, part of my process and it's up to me to find ways to change it if I don't like it.....to that, I say, Chunky Monkey Yoga anyone?
Do I dare....? Chubby chicks in spandex...the image continues....although I could go fully clothed in a snowsuit so they wouldn't know if that bulge was me or the suit. Snowsuit Yoga...sweatin' to the chakras. Namaste.
So, I've missed bible study, mops, and life in general these past couple days due to an overwhelming bout of dizziness and disorientedness. No bueno. That was in the middle of a stomach flufest and Aunt Flo decided to join the party. There were no hats and blowers, just a messy redhead. Apparently it takes almost crashing the car to say "yes please" to the next available appointment at the drs. So, we had a chat. Wasn't a fantastic chat and blood was drawn....not his. Tonight as I'm typing this, I feel old. The gratitude I was feeling in my last post has dissipated in an anxiety ridden haze of "what if". I feel like my efforts to take care of myself the past 2 and a half years may have been futile. Darn the gene pool.....I am hating those with no allergies, those without back problems, those that are naturally thin. I am, in this moment, a hater. It's not personal, if you are one of those, it's my own struggle, my own road to walk, whatever it may or may not be. I just typed the words, isn't God good...all the time in my other blog and I am now choosing to say yes, no matter what phone call I get tomorrow, yes. My hope has to be in Him, not in this mole ridden face of mine or in my hubby's goatteed jaw or in the know it all doc. My hope has to be in what I know is true....God is good, all the time. My reaction(s) to my circumstance is just that...my emotion, my reaction. He doesn't change, I do.
Ok-so those things are so easy to type and that's what I really want to believe, act, and be. Truth is I'm scared, I'm trying not to worry, and I'm at least grateful I've made an effort to prevent some health things from happening, but it may not have been enough....that's my fear....that I'm not enough, what I do isn't enough, I am not enough. How do I get over this...the I'm not enoughness? Especially when I live in a culture that it seems women wear silent veils that resonate this theme. I don't want to be like that. I want to trust that all will be ok, I don't want to go from happy to panic in 3 seconds flat. I guess it's a choice. It's maturity in my relationship with Christ, but I want to be real and voice my vulnerabilities in the hopes that it will allow others to do the same, but also because it will eat me alive if I keep it in. I realize this is somewhat of a ramble blog. Let's face it...ramble blogs happen. I feel better, you may be confused, but the authentic jaggedness of my thoughts, feelings, and emotions have always been consistent in their inconsistencies. So, as I try to remember where I left my pillow, I pray that my reactions will not require a tranquilizer and will update when I get the test results back.
This blogging thing truly is cheaper than a therapist....with less feedback and prescription meds. Whoever thought of this thing should be making millions.
How many times has that question been asked of us and what is the first thing we do? We chuckle, we smirk, we giggle, we outright get the loudest laugh we can out so that we can be composed enough to handle whatever's coming our way. I wish this was being asked of me last night, but nooooo......I was the one asking. When you are the asker, you are humbled, you are embarassed, you are sometimes laughing hysterically yourself. I was definitely the asker and I was hoping that in my confiding my accidental stupidity I would get some help with the cleanup....I was wrong. I am actually having to hold myself back from saying EXACTLY what happened, but these things were combined.....a toilet, fresh urine, and a pair of scissors (the little ones from the grooming kit). Enough said. So, as I was warm water diving to retrieve those little boogers, I thought to myself-how old am I? How did this happen? Could I flush them and not get caught? After the retrieval, I used half a bottle of bath and body Pumpkin Cinnamon creme soap to try and alleviate my overactive germfest brain and somehow figure out how to clean them. So, this morning as I re-live the experience in this blog, I can now say for sure that it is MUCH better to be asked this question than to be the one asking it.
Promise not to laugh? But of course......
This is my $1.50 Wal-Mart clearance special that seems to be a must have for a tile ridden home. As I put them on this morning to race around sterilizing and making bottles, feeding the older girls breakfast, switching a load of forgotten-soon to be molding towels (don't judge me), and sipping at a too hot for a McDonald's styrofoam cup of coffee, I think of others who have adorned "house shoes" before me. My first memory of them was when I was a little girl and my Great Grandma Chapman (who died at 90something, she always lied about her age so I'm really not sure how old she was-and had 1 hair left on her wig ridden head-oh if I could be so lucky) was in the tile kitchen cooking up bacon for my pipe toting great-grandpa and all 5 of us in the Cade clan. It was a small kitchen and her feet were so tiny in those house shoes, I could see her bunions (of which she would pay us kids a nickel if we would rub them, that was obviously how I developed my issue with germs). I remember her toothless grin before she put her teeth in, yes she was bald and toothless....my future looks so very bright.....and said "Good Morning Susie, do you want some bacon and eggs this morning?" You know I did....especially before I had to rub those toes...a nickel went a long way in the late 70's!
My other fond experience with the concept of house shoes is my girlfriend Annie. She also had a tile ridden home and I could never figure out why she would be wearing these funky slipperish things all day and not have her feet hurt. She wore them when she hosted bunco, she wore them when she hosted our "wannabe weight watchers meetings", she slipped out of them when I kidnapped her for a Denny's night in the middle of her last minute packing the night before she was to leave on a major vacation. Her house shoes accompanied her in all her many chores and I especially remember my surprise as she took her huge garbage bag out in them (mine is left for my burly hubby to take care of, but she did her own).
So, these simple, cheapo shoes that I never knew I needed have now become my reminder of a couple extraordinary women I've had the pleasure of spending time with and now I have my own. There's pressure to perform in them. There are legacies to be left behind in them (as I tripped over them in my soon to be 7 year olds room this morning). I hope I can live up to my own expectations of what a house shoe adorning woman should be. A simple pair of slippers...or are they?
Today is Thursday, but it feels like a Monday. Today is the first day that I have been left alone (with Esther) after a summer of company from the tonsil healing older girls, visit from my mom, and having James home to help with moving prep. Today I braved the drive to the 20 minute drop off line at the older girls new Charter school....by myself....without having a morning cup of coffee. I made it, they made it, and as I saw them pulling at their knee socks and yelling back at me, Don't worry, I have my lunchpail! I sighed a sigh of gratitude that they had their lunch, but more than that a sigh of wow- I can do this, of wow-another school year in full swing, of wow-they look so grown up in their uniforms!
As I opened the door to come into our house of ready to move boxes, I am grateful for the time I had with them this summer, the cancelled vacation that forced us to get creative and play Twister in the middle of the living room floor, the fighting, the giggles, the loss of two front teeth. Summer is leaving, we can feel the weather changing, and so my spirit is changing with it. I have had a sense of loss this week, of saying goodbye to a home we have enjoyed, of saying goodbye to first and second graders and newborn clothes and hello to second and third graders and 3 to 6 months outfits. Could everyone please freeze and stop growing? The fluidity of life weighs on me like an anchor at sea and yet the waves propel me to continue, to show up and be the best I can be in the moment and to embrace the next season with joy.
Today is Labor Day. Truly, this past week, every day has been labor day as we have busily tried to pack up the current house and get the girls rooms painted, carpeted, and wipe down the year of dust and dead spiders in our repo beauty. My husband is a work horse. No job, including contact paper, is too miniscule or beneath him to attack like a new program on the computer. He does it and does it well. So, when I called him from the first of many trips to Home Depot this weekend to find out what else we needed, I hear him say Hold on a sec and I heard the phone drop...that was it. He never called me back, a good solid 15 minutes went by before my stalking him with incessant phone ringing prompted him to pick up and tell me what was going on. Unbeknownest to me, he was passed out on the floor that entire time! I digress. Apparently, in his quest to multitask as he began to steam clean the carpets he had turned on the tub to fill it so he could clean it out. That was an hour and a half before my phone call. The reason he was on the floor is because he slipped on wet tile. The wet tile that was a whole master bedroom away from the tub. WE WERE FLOODED!!!!! We have not even moved into the compound as of yet and we were already experiencing the sogginess of flooding. It was everywhere! When he picked up the phone for me, in between children hiding in the electrical aisle (I hate Home Depot) and laughing hysterically when I can't find them, he asked me to buy a small wet/dry vac, that the steam cleaner couldn't pull it all up. So, I do. I come home to admire the flood and an hour later we both realize that this is beyond us. We called the Utah Disaster Kleenup (AKA UDK). The UDK is running some kind of racket, similar to the mob, where when people are in dire need, they rake them over the coals until their pockets are empty and they have given them their first born. Thank goodness we beg, borrowed, and pleaded for a homeowners insurance policy which MIGHT cover the damage (of not one room, but two-but whose counting?) and that is where the thousand dollar deductible comes to play. My poor husband who had nothing but FANTASTIC intentions felt terrible and I was at a crux in fighting my how could this happen reaction. I looked at him and I said, first-I'm glad it wasn't me or the kids. Second, I might need to go work at Starbucks. Third, anything I do from here on out that costs us cash, will not be held against me. I told him I was trying hard to practice thousand dollar grace, that it could have happened to anyone, but last night when he accidentally dumped his ice water on his crotch, I laughed til I almost peed and told him it looked like another flood hit him. The water jokes are endless, but thankfully, so is the grace (and the 10 turbine fans that are currently blowing the carpets dry:)). So, we will not be having a welcome to our compound party until the "towels have been left in the washer for a week" smell has dissipated. Thousand dollar grace....the gift that keeps on giving.
As I read my other bloggers reports, it seems as if half of them are either leaving Utah, looking to leave Utah, left Utah, or going through something bigger than them while in Utah. Utah has this weird boomerang effect feeling that does not allow you to be here unaffected. So, last week my girlfriend (who gets to live where its warm) sent me a magnet with that great phrase, Stressed backwards spells Desserts. It arrived just in time to spend a week on the fridge mocking me as I spooned fat free cool whip into a Pampered Chef 1 cup measuring bowl, mixed with chocolate chips, and sometimes a dab of you guessed it, Hershey's syrup. I'm not proud of this concoction, but it does save me the calories of eating ice cream, and seems to do the trick. Stressed does not begin to describe what has been going on in the Nelson house. After a summer of tonsils and house looking, we kept asking God to pave the way for a home that would give us a little more space and a yard, and less of a drive for James to get through another winter of commuting. We put in a handful of offers on several newer homes and the door kept getting closed. Each time it closed, I thought great we're done and then shapow-I'd see another home that looked fun to go check out and I'd call our wonderful realtor to trek down from Layton to come let us in to another fun filled day of frozen coffees, poopy diapers, and whining kiddos in the 100 degree weather complaining that they didn't want to go into another house. We love our home here in Daybreak. We are so very blessed to have had great friends help us with our basement, guide us in our decisions on what colors, how to design it, etc. It's new. The house that God chose to not shut the door on, is not. It's completely not what I expected us to go for, it's not anything like what we have now, in fact, it is a beautiful mess. If my insides were drawn into a house plan, that would be this. We know it doesn't make sense, but we are drawn. We are scared to rent out our current home, but thank you to all who have prayed with us, we have renters! So, with all the anxiety that comes with taking a financial risk, change of environments, school, etc. we are official owners of what I have affectionately nicknamed as "The Compound" and will be moving Sept. 6th to Draper. This home will be a work in progress for the next 30 years, but we are grateful for the space and the shorter drive for James. I will post pictures soon, but if you see me at Harmon's reaching for the fat free Cool Whip, don't judge.....I'm stressed and it's dessert!
