Category: Family

My Birth Story – Part Two

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Dear Mama To Be

Yesterday I told you of my first birth experience. Today I’ll share the second.

We started trying for number two when Fish was almost two and a half. We also decided to sell our house, put everything we owned in storage, move in with my in-laws, and start building a new house. Stress much? And I wondered why I didn’t get pregnant! I was unhappy with my new doctors and in general annoyed that my body couldn’t just get pregnant!! So, I talked with A-Man (who wasn’t as adament about a second child as I was), and we put an end to the quest for baby number two. We traded the minivan for a smaller car, and I made several work and volunteer commitments, and yes, six weeks later, I was pregnant (truly know how annoying this to those out there still trying to get pregnant).

The second time, I still desperately wanted that vaginal birth, but because I was a VBAC, my only option was a hosptial delivery, still I went the mid-wife route for pre-natal care.

Fish told everyone who would listen that she was getting a baby brother on June 1st. I told her again and again, that a) we don’t get to pick, we get what we get and b) that babies come when they are ready. Didn’t I go into labor at 5:15 am on Monday June first! It is worth noting that A-Man was on a 5am bus to Boston. I got Fish off to pre-school, called him and told him to finish whatever was urgent and to get on bus home. Again, start and stop. I did everything I could to keep labor progressing. When A-Man got home, I got permission from the mid-wife to get in the hot tub. That helped, but still with the stop and start. I called the midwives in tears. I wasn’t going 60 hours again. The nurse wasn’t particularly sympathetic. We went and registered A-Man’s new truck, picked Fish up from pre-school and I came home ang got in the shower (we have two heads oooooo, ahhhhh). That did the trick. I ate something, we sent Fish home with my in-laws and called the mid-wife. She asked if I could wait half an hour and I said yes if I could get in the hot tub (we kept it a 100 degrees). She said yes, so I did.

She called in half an hour and I could barely talk. It was time.

We drove to the hospital and during admitting, I puked on the nurse (2 for 2) and we did the tub again. I got cold and by 10 something at night 17 hours of labor at this point, it was time to push. I pushed, and pushed, and got nowhere. Rest, Try again, no go. The mid-wife went to get the doctor for a consult. I knew where we were headed and I didn’t care. This time I knew, it was just a process and what mattered was the end result. The doctor came in and had me push through a contraction and he agreed, they weren’t productive. Time for a c-section.

A-Man looks at me and says “Do you want me to call anyone?”. We flew solo this time because all of my close friends lived an hour and a half a way. No, I said. About 10 minutes later it occured to me that he wasn’t asking for me. I said, “Do you want to call someone?” Yes, yes he did! Ooops.

My Sister-in-law came and she was TOTALLY into the surgery. I was more with it this time and got a kick out of her interest. The doctor said “It’s a boy” and I clearly remember thinkging “What am I going do to with a boy?” then the doctor said “Ow!” Mim bit him on the way out. His APGRs were off the charts.

On his post-op visit, the surgeon told me that Mim was posterior too and that my hips were very small. He said the first surgeon should have noted my small birth canal and that frankly I should not have been allowed to attempt a VBAC. Even it the baby wasn’t posterier, it is likely he would have broken something on the way out.

I tell you my stories not to frighten you everyone’s experience is different. I own my choices. I’m horribly independent and hate medical intervention. In hindsight, I wish I had scheduled the second c-section, but at the risk of repeating myself, the final result is all that matters.

I know how hard you worked just to get pregnant and how much you have enjoyed pregnancy. By your own words, you are a control freak and a planner. I tell you my story to demonstrate that things don’t always go as you plan them. When it comes to labor and delivery, that couldn’t be more true, so do your best, but keep and open mind and be prepared to be ok if things don’t work out according to the pictures in your head.

Oh, an relax, you are going to be an awesome mom!!

Love,
Reesie

My Birth Story – Part One

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Dear Mama To Be,

I’m sure you’ve already received bucketloads of a$$vice from people about everything pregnancy, labor and delivery and parenting related. You’ve probably heard more birth stories than you’d care to think about. If you are overwhelmed or feel like you’ve got it under contol than leave now, no hard feelings. If you are open to yet one more perspective, keep reading, and I’ll share my experience with you.

My overwhelming advice for you about labor and delivery is hope for the best, plan for the worst and know reality will be somewhere in between. almost ten years after my first delivery, I can assure that while at the time it seems momentous, in the overall picture, it is a point for reference, just like many others in your baby’s life.

Keep in mind, Fish was a Clomid baby and I wasn’t even supposed to get pregnant that cycle because my ovaries didn’t show enlargement (turns out I had a cyst masking the size of the ovary). Not only did I get pregnant that cycle, but at first, I was pregant with twins, the second sac self terminated within 10 days. I didn’t fight nearly as hard as you did for my baby, but it was work none-the-less.

Some would call my labor and delivery of Fish, a nightmare, I would call it an experience of my own making. I wouldn’t do it again (and I didn’t sort of), but I own my choices and have no regrets.

I read all of the literature about natural delivery. I’m not fond of lots of rules and I really don’t like medicine. Like you, I wanted to deliver at a birth center with limted medical intervention. I went into labor on a Thursday night and we immediately called my friend JS to come over. She and A-Man alternated by my side throughout the night. Labor started and stopped and started and stopped. Come morning we sent JS home. Labor started and stopped through out the day. I called the birth center, they didn’t want to see me yet. The start and stop when on all day Friday and Friday night. Finally, at 11pm Friday night, the mid-wfe suggested some wine to relax me so I would sleep. I only had hard liquor in the house (not even a beer). At this time, A-man didn’t drive, and JS is a recovering alcoholic, so getting wine was out of the question. Let this be a lesson to you :).

I was BEGGING the midwife to let me come in so I could get in the tub. Ours wasn’t big enough and I was convinced that time in the water would get things moving. No go, I wasn’t far enough a long and they were short staffed.

I took a long hot shower and went to bed. Again with the start and stop labor. Saturday afternoon, I got permission for JS to take me to the Y so I could get in the pool. I swam throughout my pregnancy, so they were used to seeing me. I was right. We got in the pool and almost instantly contractions started coming at a regular interval and then buliding with intensity. We swam for an hour and then headed home. Finally I was allowed to come to the birth center. It was 7pm. I was in that soaking tub as soon as she checked me. Labor kept building, but I wasn’t getting anywhere. I rested and tubbed and nothing. Mostly the mid-wife left us alone to labor, which was what I thought I wanted. JS was growing concerned that I wasn’t progressing and after the mid-wife checked me at 3am, Jeanne followed her and advocated for me, strongly. We had notced a valley in my stomach and a tight band around my abdomen. The mid-wife thought that maybe she should call the doctor. I knew at that point, we were going to the hospital. It was more than 50 hours at that point and no doctor was going give any advice without seeing me. I was right. Part of me was dissapointed, most of me was exhausted. I knew I’d given it my best, and I just couldn’t do anymore. I remember sitting in admitting and the very young girl asking me questions and growing impatiet when I wouldn’t answer. “Contraction” A-man growled at her. A-man doesn’t growl at anyone. The doctor checked me and Fish was ok, but showing signs of fatigue as was I. “I know you don’t want a c-section, but I think it is best for both of you.” At that point, I just wanted it to be over. Then, my concern switched to A-man, medical stuff ain’t exactly his bag. I told him if he didn’t want to come in, that was ok. He said he was good, but JS would likely be a little closer to the action than he was.

They prepped me for the ER (including giving me something to empty my stomach), I vommited bile all over a nurse, lucky her. A-Man told me he called his mom and he & JS were prepped for the OR with me. I went in first and the anesthesiologist told me to roll on my right side. I told him to go to hell. Enter the world’s smallest nurse. I swear she couldn’t have been more than 4’ 8’‘ and maybe 80 lbs. soaking wet.

”Sqeeze my hand“ she said.

”I’ll hurt you.“

”Squeeze my hand“ she barked. I did and the anethesologist gave me the epidural, at which time they rolled me on my back and I promptly told him he was my best friend.

The surgery was painless. JS was right beside me and A-Man, behind her.

It’s a girl YESSSSS, I was right.

”Oh and she has the brightest blonde hair“. No shock there really.

Fish had some meconium in her lungs, so she and A-Man went to the NICU while JS stayed with me as they finished up.

They brought Fish to me in revcovery and after a little encouragement, she latched on.

Once I could move my legs, We were brought to our room. JS, went home, and Grammy and Grandpa arrived. They took A-Man back to the house and out to breakfast (where he fell asleep sitting up), Fish went to the nursery (something I had not planned on, but I was SOOOOO exhausted, I knew it was for the best).

We all got a few hours sleep and they brought her back to me to nurse. From then on, she was with us unless we went downstairs to grab a bite in the cafeteria.

All totaled, I was in labor for close to 60 hours. Fish was head down, but posterier (facing the wrong way) and there was no way she would have made it out vaginally. Because of the c-section, I had a 4 day stay at the hospital. For someone who vehemently did not want a hospital birth, I had a great hosptial experience. I even wrote a letter to the director of nursing to complement her awesome staff.

Coming out of that experience, my advice to any who asked was a) trust yourself b) listen to your body and c)remember it is the end result that matters.

Tomorrow, the arrival of Mim.

Insuring We Never Forget

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http://www.boston.com/news/local/massachusetts/articles/2009/09/11/schools_grapple_with_how_to_teach_911/ I read this article this morning and I could only shake my head in agreement.

Mim was not even 18 months old on September 11, 2001. She has no recollection of the fear, the panic and the tears that surrounded that time. We were fortunate not to lose anyone in the attacks, but we were directly impacted by the events of 9/11. We lived just outside of Boston, the origin of two of the planes. We heard the jets overhead in the hours that followed and in the days that followed, my husband’s company would be adversely affected as a result of the attacks.

I wrote a detailed journal entry for her that night, but I’m not sure she’s old enough to completely process what happened. She’s an anxious kid and she stews on things, chews on them and ponders every angle of a situation. She worries. She’ll want to know about all the the dead, how they died and what happened to the families they left behind. Details, she’ll want the details.

Make no mistake, I want her to have this information. I want her to know the villains who committed the heinous act and more importantly, know and remember the heros “who died, just doin’ what they do”. The challenge is knowing what to say and how to present it in a way that makes it real, but not overly threatening.

The topic came up at dinner recently. A-man, said something and the questions started coming rapid fire. We weren’t prepared and her little brother was right beside her. The age difference added yet another layer to the discussion. I think we did ok, but out of respect to those who died, and lost so much, we both want to do better.

What have you said to your children?

Stepping Away

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Fish: “Momma, it’s kind of embarrassing, I mean, I’m in fourth grade, and it is kind of embarrassing that you have to meet me at the bus everyday.”

I knew it was coming, I just wasn’t sure when. Truth is, I thought she was ready, but didn’t want to push her before she thought she was ready.

You have to understand, the bus stop is the end of our driveway, but I can’t see the bus stop from the house. It takes us almost three minutes to walk down there in the morning. I’m not complaining, I’m just pointing out, that it isn’t right outside our front door.

In kindergarten and first grade, it is district policy not to let the kids off the bus unless there is an adult present. She wasn’t ready to walk by herself in second grade. Halfway through third grade I finally told the driver he could leave her if I wasn’t there, that someone was on their way (her little brother occasionally made me late). Now, she wants to walk up by herself. It has to happen. She has to take these steps towards independence and I have a feeling there will be many more coming very quickly in the next few months. I’m excited for her and I know she can do it. I am ready to let go, just a little sentimental about it.

Her: “So do you think that we could pick maybe one day a week when I can walk home by myself?”

Oh good, ready, but not running. That’s my girl.

Edited to Add:
This morning I asked if I was to meet her at the bus this afternoon. No, a few seconds passed “unless it rains”. Ah it is good to be useful :).

Alcoholism Blinds Us All

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I wrote this a few weeks ago, but didn’t post it because it seemed out of date by the time I completed it. Then yesterday, I read this by DaMomma, and this by One Crafty Mother. Since they brought it up again, I thought I’d post my two cents.

First, I want to offer sincerest condolences to the Bastardi, the Hames, the Longo, and the Schuler families. I cannot begin to imagine the hell you are living through right now.

For those who may have missed it there was a fatal crash on the Taconic Parkway in New York on July 27, 2009. The fact that everyone agrees on are that Diane Schuler was driving home from a weekend camping trip in her minivan with her two-year-old daughter, five-year-old son and three nieces aged nine, seven and five. She was traveling northbound in the southbound lanes of the Taconic Parkway when she crashed head on into a SUV carrying Michael Bastardi, his father Guy Bastardi, and long time family friend Daniel Longo. Both cars burst into flames killing everyone but Schuler’s five-year-old son.

Diane Schuler’s autopsy results would later show a blood alcohol level of .19, more than double the legal limit. Her husband, Daniel Schuler denies his wife was an alcoholic. The family’s attorney claims the crash was caused by an undiagnosed medical condition.

I believe that Daniel Schuler didn’t know his wife had a drinking problem, but that doesn’t mean Diane Schuyler was not an alcoholic. In fact, it lends more credibility to the idea that she did indeed have addiction issues.

The burning questions everyone has are how did this happen? And, why would a mother knowingly put children she loved at risk? The answers are neither explanatory nor comforting.

When an event occurs that is this catastrophic everyone wants someone to blame, blaming a disease does not provide the reward we seek. This must be someone’s fault. Still, alcoholism is a disease and alcoholics are slaves to their master. An active alcoholic can lie and rationalize away the problem in ways that the average person would find inconceivable and completely illogical.

An alcoholic does not have a problem everyone else does. An alcoholic can look you straight in the eye and tell you that white is black and to them this is not a lie because they actually believe white is black. And, for the life of them, they can’t understand why you can’t see the truth. An alcoholic can be so convincing and the signs of trouble so subtle, that those around them start to question their own sanity. You start to think ‘oh, it must be me, I’ll try harder’. You don’t realize you aren’t living “normal” until a) something catastrophic happens or b) someone not so close to the situation asks “What the hell is going on here?”

I speak from personal experience with an active alcoholic who lives in denial, but sadly I have found too many others with friends or family members with addiction issues share my experiences.

In a perfect world Daniel Schuler would have known his wife had a drinking problem. In a perfect world he would’ve gotten her help, or at the very least he wouldn’t have let her drive. But, in the real world, he had no clue. Diane Schuler is the only responsible party. She paid the ultimate price and yet it still isn’t enough.

If you even THINK someone close to you has an issue with addiction of any type, get help, help for you, help for them. No doubt if you broach the subject with the addicted individual, you will be rebuffed (sometimes harshly), but there are numerous free support groups (e.g. Al-anon and Alcoholics Anonymous), that provide information and support. You can also share your concerns with your loved one’s doctor. They can’t talk to you without permission, but you are free to share background and experiences. Ask your own doctor for a referral to a counselor experienced in dealing with families of addicts. Make no mistake addiction not only impacts the addict, those closest, be they friends or family are affected as well. You don’t have to live this way.

The First Day of School

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Today is the first day of school. The 5th first day for Fish and the 1st first day for Mim. Both are ready and excited.

We practiced getting up, eating, and getting dressed early enough to catch the bus. The bus, that according to the schedule, would be arriving 20 minutes earlier than last year. Last night, showers were taken, lunches and snacks assembled, and backpacks packed. We were ready.

Mostly.

When we practiced our morning routine, we forgot to include applying sunblock, and THAT, can be a painstaking process.

Our bus driver is a wonderful man who is NOTHING if not prompt, so there was copious encouragement from mom to pick up the pace. We were a little later than I would have liked, but when we finally made it to the bus stop Grammy and Grandpa (who arrived ahead of us) assured us, the bus had not come.

So, we waited.

No bus. Hmmmm, this IS odd, but hey, it is the first day of school, we’ll roll with it.

5 minutes late, (unheard of on this bus route)

10 minutes late (wow, something’s wrong)

12 minutes late Fish has to go to the bathroom. Uh, are you sure? YES. Ok, we’ll ride the bus tomorrow, everybody up to the house. Mim wants to ride the bus, but I’m not keen on putting him on by himself the first day, if only because he’d tell the entire bus that his sister had to go POOP! (That is to say nothing of the fact that I just told the entire Internet).

When we get back to the house, I put him in the car and grab, my keys. Then, I try to find the schedule online, so we can jump the route and I can put them on at a later stop. Fish finishes before I can locate it, so we hop in the car and speed back down the driveway, where Grammy & Grandpa are still waiting.

No bus. We all laugh.

Last year the schedule had our pick up at 8:20. We sauntered down at 8:10 to find the bus pulling up to our driveway. The posted schedule was wrong. Clearly, the schedule is wrong again.

May as well relax, we’ve got 6 minutes to wait. Mr. C will be here at 8:13. At 8:12, I can hear the hum of the diesel, at 8:13, he’s stopped at the bottom of the drieway red lights flashing and, they are off!

So long and thanks for the memories

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Today is the last day of summer program for my kids. The program is an offshoot of the preschool they both attended, and since Mim starts kindergarten next week, this is goodbye. My kids have both flourished in this environment so it is hard to say goodbye to such a supportive group of people.

I was fortunate to only need part-time childcare. The truth is with a little shuffling I wouldn’t have needed day care at all, but I firmly believe that my kids and I are both better for the time they spent at in this program.

This post from Julie at The Mom Slant rang true with me on many fronts, but I especially like this quote

” . . . Print and broadcast media have taken up this viewpoint for years – that day care is harmful to children – citing sensational stories and studies to back them up. Even the most tenuous evidence is used to play upon mothers’ fears that they are doing their children a disservice that will have long-lasting consequences.

Such views offend me deeply – not because I’m fearful or guilty, but because I have deep and sincere appreciation for child care providers. I hate that people unintentionally belittle the work they do while simultaneously belittling the parents who employ them.”

People who work with children don’t do it for the money. Those who are good, do it because they love the work. Ms. Amy, the program director came up the hard way. Today, she holds a masters degree and teaches college courses in addition to overseeing the curriculum and operations of the school. She believes in the value of early childhood education and the importance of staff development and it shows in the high staff retention rate. Many of the staff have been there the entire six years my kids have been there and some even longer.

The staff was not only good to my kids, but they were solid resource for me. How can I ease the transition to being a big sister? How do I explain death to a preschooler? How do I potty train a stubborn boy? How can I support my daughter as she deals with queen bees and cliques? How can I help my son battle the wiggles? They were ready with suggestions based on experience with my kids. I know that they will still be just an e-mail away but I will miss the reassurance of having unbiased input on my kids from multiple people.

I’m excited for my son, he’s absolutely ready for kindergarten and he has a great teacher. He will do well at the elementary school. This is just the first of many new beginnings for him and the last of early childhood for me. We are now solidly entrenched in the school age years. ONWARD!!

The Un-Friendly Bathrooms

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My kids love Friendly’s Restaurants.  From a kid’s perspective, what’s not to love about a place where dessert is all but guaranteed with your meal? When given a choice, as a reward for a special honor, Friendly’s always tops their list.  That is, until recently.


Our local Friendly’s has gone green and installed an Xlerator hand dryer. If you haven’t experienced one of these babies, put on your ear plugs and prepare for lift off! Basically, you wash your hands with soap and warm water and then put them under a fire hose of air.


Fish isn’t so keen on public bathrooms to begin with but because of her pea sized bladder, she tolerates them.  Add an automatic toilet or one of these wall mounted leaf blowers to the mix and the experience becomes down right intolerable. Mim has only been potty trained for the last 9 months or so, and in that time, we have visited just about every public bathroom in our home town and the surrounding villages.  He’s not really picky, but even he balked at the Xlerator.


I get the point.  Paper towels are costly and they are not green. I hate conventional hand dryers because they take so long to dry your hands. And let’s not even talk about the water on the door handle left by those too impatient to rub their hands together.  The Xlerator eliminates those problems.  Place your hands underneath that puppy and WHOOOSH, water begone (along with any loose finger nails or jewelry).  It is quick but HOLY ROCKETSHIPS BATMAN IS IT LOUD!


Memo to Exel, (the manufacturer of the Xlerator), hand dryers are typically installed in bathrooms, places with lots of hard surfaces and the acoustics of . . . well, a bathroom.  The sound of these suckers reverberates off ever piece of tile and porcelain until the cacophony is almost unbearable, especially to little ears.


At least in the newer models, the proximity sensor that triggers the blast of air is on the bottom instead of the front.  Once in an airport, I almost suffered from premature urination (e.g. I almost peed mah pants) when, with a full bladder,  I mistakenly walked too close to one and it let forth its holy wrath of air.


Seriously as an adult, I can suck it up for the 15-30 seconds it takes to dry my hands with one of these blowhards, but I really don’t think they are appropriate for a restaurant where the majority of the guests are under 4 feet tall.


Mindy Moo

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My mother-in-law’s dog was killed in her driveway by our neighbor tonight. Mindy was a dark brown collie. She would have been 4 in January.

Mindy came to our little corner of the world in March of 2005. I was traveling at the time and called home to see how things were. “We have a new resident in Skeeterville.” I was told by my husband. Oh good, Grammy, had lost her beautiful sable collie Belle in a tragic accident with a delivery truck the previous January. She’d been looking for another dog.

I called the next night again and heard “We have a new resident in Skeeterville.”
“Yeah you told me about the dog last night.”
“Now there are two.”
OY! It seems the little girl puppy had a brother that was blind in one eye and my mother-in-law lay away all night worrying that no one would adopt him, so, she did.

We took to calling them Muck & Mire and Grammy didn’t like that, so she quickly chose Mork & Mindy. When they would bound up the trail between our houses to greet me, I’d call them Mindy Moo and Morky too.

No doubt about it, Mindy was Grammy’s dog and Grammy spoiled her rotten. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Mork, but she and Mindy had something special. About a year and a half ago, Mindy developed seizures. Then she started having multiple seizures at once. It wasn’t pretty. Grammy spent hours researching seizures on the Internet. She threw out all the lawn chemicals, and changed their diet from commercial dog food to all natural raw food. Eventually, she started Mindy on a regimen of Phenobarbital. Once the dosage and timing was worked out, it seemed to help, but it affected Mindy’s disposition. The Pheno, made her dazed, she moved more slowly through the world, but no less loving.

We aren’t overzealous dog lovers, but we try and do our best by them. Our dog Daisy (also a collie) has a strong dislike for anything with an engine and she taught the puppies well. Mindy became too laid back to care, but Mork would always put up a fuss with or without Daisy’s help.

We have an electric fence that runs between the two houses so they can roam freely yet still be safe. It is designed to keep them out of harms way by keeping them away from MOST cars and delivery trucks. Regular visitors know to back up slowly. The neighbor in question has a deeded right of through our land to the back part of his land. He knows we have dogs and he knows we have kids. He’s a hunter and physically disabled, so he often drives his truck out to his deer stand.

We’re still not clear what happened tonight, the neighbor was very upset. He says he was going slow and expecting the barrage of fur, but some how he caught her, the most docile of the bunch, with his rear tire. He is not malicious, either way this was an accident, but regardless, the result is the same.

Grammy has perspective “It was a dog, not one of the kids.”, but still she was a good dog.

Rest In Peace Mindy Moo. We’ll miss you.

The Age of Independence

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This weekend we undertook some family fall projects.  It was really a lot of fun and provided a bit of perspective at the same time.

Fish is 8 and Mim is 4. Fish had just hit the age of independence when Mim was born and I can remember wondering what the hell I was thinking having a second child!  I wanted two kids for the kids’ sake, I was an only child and really missed that family connection.  Having them four years apart wasn’t my choice, but in hindsight I think that worked out for the best.  Even with four years between them, for me, two kids was a LOT of work.   Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for both of them, and to those who can, and choose to have more than two I say more power to you, but I am D-O-N-E done bearing children.

I love newborns, so snuggly and soft, but holly crow are they a lot of work!  Then they grow in to infants and toddlers and the work grows in some ways (they don’t stay put anymore). Now that Mim has really moved into that independent stage of life, I can really breathe a sigh of relief (It only took eight years). He is now daytime potty trained (WHOOP “O JOY).  He functions very independently (dresses himself, feeds himself etc. doesn’t need a nap) and plays blessedly independently.  That means that we can finally start scheduling our time as a family unit and not have to divide and conquer because he needs a nap or a diaper change and she is raring to go. The kids will always be 4 years apart, but the impact of the age gap on family operations has lessened greatly, so the breadth of activities we can attempt has increased exponentially.

This weekend we tie dyed t-shirts on Saturday and Sunday we went apple picking AND made 5 Gallons of apple sauce on Sunday.  Previously, I would only have dared tackle one of these activities in a weekend never mind all three.

My kids still need me, but as they grow, the need is more about guidance and direction than survival.  There was a time when I thought this stage would never come.  Yes, conventional wisdom says ”Enjoy them when they are young.“, and I think I did as much as I could, but I am finding I really prefer the interactions as they get older.  It is less about strained carrots and smelly diapers and more about living our values and having fun, and I like fun.