Taking Over

Susan didn't really invite me to guest blog so I guess you could say I am stealing her space to write.  Hopefully, I will be allowed to sleep in the same bed after this evening instead of shunned to the extremely uncomfortable futon in the basement. 

I have been sitting in the recliner enjoying this break and watching Baylor and Washington make me feel even more lazy (it's currently 53-49 at the start of the 4th quarter) when I got the idea of making sure people knew Susan's blog...or now the Newman blog ;)...is still operational.  It's pretty common this time of year to see countdown lists or assessments of the year in review so I thought it might be good to have a list of some things I heard kids under the age of 16 say this year that were pretty intriguing.  For liability purposes these characters are fictional and any similarities with actual events are purely coincidence.

1) Watching CNN Student News with my homeroom the host signs off for the year saying they will be back in 2012 where the big topic will be the end of the Mayan calendar.  A young lady approaches me and says "The world better not end in 2012...if it does my life will be over".  I just nodded in agreement and smiled.  "I won't even be able to get my license either!!" as she stomped out of the room.

2) A witty young man found a picture in a home design magazine of a short balding man with a scarf sweeping his front porch, while working on a Science project.  He promptly delivered the picture to me as a gift and I asked him why he gave it to me to which he replied "It's you!!"  I said it's not me because I wouldn't wear a scarf and I'm too lazy to sweep the porch.  I posted the picture above my desk.  A week later another young man comes up to check his grades with me and asks if that picture is me.  Of course, I just stared at him until he gave me the look like "clearly that was a dumb question".  I told him I would never wear a scarf.  He responded, "I would never wear one either.  Unless I was one of those rich, single guys with a good job in Chicago.  Then I would definitely wear a scarf."

3) A great kid I enjoyed seeing everyday very much made a mix-tape (CD actually) of a bunch of cheesy songs from the 70s-90s.  I don't know why I consented but I allowed him to play a particular selection (Sylvia's Mother by Dr. Hook, 1972) from the disc every morning to start the day for my first class.  One day I let him play the whole CD during work time.  One of the songs was a Backstreet Boys song that I regretfully admitted I knew the words to then proceeded to name all five of them in front of the class.  This kid asked me how I had this useless knowledge and I told him I had a girlfriend in high school that loved BSB and I had no choice but to like them too.  He laughed and shared the pain by saying how much that "sucked" a girl could push the limits so far.  He then asked what happened to the girlfriend to which I responded..."I married her". 

Honorable Mention: As I lectured to a class full of students about the creation of the Constitution I was discussing the variety of ideas delegates from large and small states had about how to create representation that would benefit all sizes of states.  Whenever you are talking about something so exciting kids' minds tend to wander.  I started getting questions about Rhode Island & Delaware.  One young man wanted to know the population of Rhode Island in 1790 (actually 1787 as the Constitution was being written but I told him the first official census was in 1790 which he found to be a satisfactory starting point) which made me chuckle and I had to use the classic response - "I haven't really dug into that but it might be a good research topic for you".  He seemed truly frustrated that I didn't know.  The next day at the start of class I looked right at him and said "about 80,000".  He looked at me like I was from another plant.  "The population of Rhode Island in 1790 was about 80,000".  His response: "Oh...now you tell me".  He was not impressed, apparently 24 hours is too much of a turnaround. 

I had actually planned to blog with a pretty sentimental piece on Owen's birthday about the events of his birth and my memories as a first time dad.  I might save that one for next year's review.  That is, if Susan doesn't block me from her account permanently.  By the way it's 56-67 (Baylor) with 2:40 left. 

Extravaganza

Tomorrow our dining room will be a little less colorfully decorated, there will no longer be an excuse to eat ice-cream twice a day, and we'll slip back into our usual routines.  But it was definitely fun while it lasted.  A blast!

As promised, here are a few pics from the best birthday party a two year-old could have and one extra special birthday day spent with a blessed mom.

This is how you torture a kid - make him eat a banana for breakfast while staring at his birthday cake the morning of his party.

I'm pretty proud of my train birthday cake creation.  I stole the idea off the Internet, and, not to toot my own horn, it turned out pretty cool.

 

The party dinner was at Applebee's.  It really isn't normal how much he likes Applebee's, but it at least made the decision of where to eat pretty easy.

 

Yes, we had them sing to him so we, I mean, he could have free dessert.

 

Time for cake!

 

It was so much fun, that both boys crashed hard and fast.  We actually set Griffin in his crib while we put Owen to bed and came back a few minutes later to see him out like a light.

Two days between the party and the big December 13th was just enough time to get rested up.  He woke up bright and early on his birthday.  There was no sleeping in for me on my day of "vacation."  We dropped Griffin off at daycare, and instead of Owen taking his seat in the kitchen and chowing down on cereal and watching cartoons, he and I headed out for our fun-filled celebration day.

Outfit #1 bit the dust with syrup and ketchup stains.  You know it's a good breakfast with that combination!

After a wardrobe change, we checked out the library (pun intended).  I was very impressed, and Owen had a blast.  We came home with a Thomas the train book, a potty chair book (wishful thinking), and $1 less in my wallet to "replace" my library card from high school.

We are still working on the two finger thing.  Until he figures it out, I apologize if he holds up a random gang sign if you ask him how old he is.  And after outfit #3 ended up in the laundry pile, we decided to just go with the official attire - his "birthday suit" (plus a diaper, of course, and socks because it's pretty cold).

 

So, like I said, we had a blast.  Maybe me more than him.  When he's old (like in a week or two), he won't remember this.  But I will.  I always will.  And I had a blast with my little boy!  Happy Birthday, Owen.

Great Weekend

It's going to be a great weekend.  I can just feel it.  It's 7-AM.  I've already been at the hospital for two hours, and what little sleep I had last night was fragmented by my pager (thanks, Dr. McGahan, for the 4-AM "oops, I guess this is a VA patient" wake up call) and a baby who decided this week he no longer was going to sleep through the night.  Still, for some odd reason, I'm feeling good.  Energized.  Excited.  (It could also be the Keurig coffee and chocolate chip chocolate muffin I'm enjoying for "breakfast" from the doctor's lounge.)  It's going to be a great weekend!

Honestly, I'm actually thankful for going to work this morning.  For one, it got me out of bed (and being a morning person, sleeping in really doesn't do me any favors regardless of how restless the night was).  And for two, the patients I admitted overnight were interesting cases, and yet I felt confident in my ability to manage them.  What a great feeling.  It makes me realize how much I've learned, how much I know, how much I enjoy my job, and that maybe isn't so scary to be almost halfway done with residency.

As enjoyable as working was last night, it's going to be a great weekend for a lot more reasons.  The agenda is actually quite full.  My baby O is turning two next week so we are celebrating the momentous occasion tomorrow.  You all know that the few hours of party requires a few days of cleaning, shopping, decorating, and planning - all of which I'm hoping to cram in today.  It's not even going to be a big party - just family, but I love birthdays so much that I will probably go a little overboard.  Don't worry, pictures of the super-cute train cake I'm attempting to make myself will be coming soon.

See.  It's going to be a great weekend!

Trust No One

There is a montra that a staff physician taught me on one of my first inpatient hospital rotations as a resident: Trust No One.  (Her other big soap box was: always do a rectal exam, but I wasn't too found of that rule.)  At first "trusting no one" seemed rude and inefficient.  Afterall, we are a team of nurses, doctors, pharmacists, and even patients.  If I can't trust the patient's story, the nurse's evaluation, the ER doctor's opinion, or the pharmacist's recommendation, how can I be a team player?  More importantly, how can I get anything done?

Well, long, long ago, I learned that patient's are not always trustworthy.  "I quit smoking," from the guy who you could smell before you saw.  "I've never had sex," from the pregnant teenage girl.  "No, No.  I would never do drugs," from the patient with pupils the size of dinner plates.  "I've been sober for a long time," from the guy who goes into alcohol withdrawal seizures two nights later.  While, yes, most diagnoses can be made from the patient's history alone, there are still some times you have to take their history with a grain of salt.  So, I guess the montra holds true.

However, when it comes to my own medical community, I am a very trusting person.  It is true that if you treat the nurses well they will make your life easy (and, although I haven't experienced it, they also can make your life miserable if you don't).  There have been so many things I've learned from nurses along the way.  The amount of time they spend with the patients, their personal experience, and their thoroughness are huge helps.  However, there have also been times it has led me astray.  There were a few examples even just this week that I wish I would have asked more questions, gotten more details, and trusted my instincts and training more when the nurses were anxious, stressed, and frantic for the doctor's orders they wanted.  Instead of taking a step back and reigning in the situation, I caved and ordered more tests, started more medications, and skipped steps I should have taken.  Thankfully, the patient's didn't suffer, and it ended up just being a waste of precious healthcare dollars and a blow to my ego.  But, now the montra is a little louder when my pager goes off.

Now, to be fair, the same holds true for people with "Dr." in front of their name.  The number of times is growing where the story from the other doctor is not the same story that I come up with when I go to see the patient myself.  I've gotten a patient with an "anxiety attack" from the emergency room that ended up being a heart attack.  I've gotten someone who "just needs to be watched until a spot in a nurshing home opens up" in rhabdomyolysis.  It wasn't me, but I heard a story about an intern who asked the pharmacist with help changing someone's IV steroids to oral and ended up giving 3x the amount they wanted.  Can you say - 'roid rage.  Montra true once again.

I realize that this might be unintentionally sounding arrogant or elitist.  In all honesty, as much as I try, I haven't always been worthy of that level of trust either.  We all are doing our best, but eventually when I'm the one solely responsible for someone's health, and ultimately someone's life, I don't want to have anyone else to blame.  So, with all due respect, don't mind me if I verify the patient's story, question the nurse's evaluation, reexamine another doctor's patient, or look up a medication dose one more time.  It's just my montra: I trust no one.

Just me?

Hopefully, everyone feels like this sometime.  Hopefully, it isn't just doctors.  Hopefully, it isn't just moms.  Hopefully, it isn't just me?!

Four days ago, I felt... yuck.  I felt like I was a bad doctor.  I felt like I was a bad mom.  I felt inadequate.  Overwhelmed.  Tired.  Attacked.  Insecure.  Unappreciated.  I felt like quitting.  What a terrible day.  What a terrible way to start a very busy four day stretch.  Whew, thankfully, now it's today, and it's over.  That feeling is fading.  It's amazing what trusting your instincts, Diet Coke, and some sleep can do.

Dear Oof-oof,

Here's to my son's little, limp, blonde stuffed best friend.  Who knew that a lifeless toy could have such a personality and such a bond with a boy who has enough life for the both of you.

You began as a gift, and your soft fuzz made for the perfect newborn photo-shoot backdrop.  Then you quietly took your perch on the shelf and kept your dark brown eyes protectively on my baby sleeping in the crib below.

However, it didn't take long for Owen's own brown eyes to spot you on that shelf.  A friendship was born.  Soon after he said the sweet words: "mama" and "dada," "oof-oof" rolled off his tongue.  (It might have come first, but I'm too proud to remember that.)  Unseparable.

As much as you've been through, it's no surprise there is a little less fluff in your stuff.  Your neck has been formed to the shape of Owen's loving elbow.  Your tail is bald from loyal tugs.  Your eyes are scuffed due to a few run-ins with the cement.  And your fur is well worn from being first of the scene to soak up tears, blood, boogers, and other unmentionable bodily fluids.

Thank you for being there for my sweet, soft-hearted little boy.  He turned to you for comfort during his first nap at daycare, when he woke up scared in the middle of the night, and whenever mommy isn't there to kiss his "ouch".  You also provided your undivided attention when our attention was needed for another little boy in our house.  Now, Owen happily shows you off his little brother, but don't worry, he isn't about to let you become a hand-me-down.  You are his.  Always.

Some day you two won't be together.  Maybe Owen will out grow you.  Maybe it will be the washer that is your demise.  Maybe you'll be lost or left.  But until then, keep up the good work.  Owen loves you.  We all love you.

Sincerely,

Owen's Mom

P.S.  You smell much better after your bath today.

Day Light Savings

Seriously.  This daylight savings stuff is not cool.

Ten years ago the extra hour was great because it meant an extra hour of sleep.

Five years ago the extra hour was good because my intension was to have an extra hour of studying.

Today the extra hour was terrible because two people in our house didn't know what they (or their nap schedule) was in for.  This morning lunch, nap, and church all collided on the same hour.  We chose the nap.  God, forgive us.

Maybe in the spring I'll be a little more prepared and break the boys in slowly the few days before.  Or, maybe we should all get together and petition to end this crazy daylight savings crap all together.  I mean really, just pick a time already! 

(But on a positive note... at least I wasn't on call last night.)

Anxiety Disorder

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."  Philippians 4:6-7

Do not be anxious.  This was the message at church this morning.  Do not be anxious.  It was not the first time I had heard or read this verse, but the conviction was thick today.  And the reason may surprise you; it surprised me.

You might think that having two children under two and a more-than-full-time job would be a good excuse for a case of anxiety, but I can honestly say that isn't usually something I struggle with.  Control.  Pride.  Selfishness.  Those are more me.  Therefore, today's command to "not be anxious" should have been easy.

Instead, the message began with a sentence that resonated in my head (and still is - hence the blog): "Anxiety is not a condition to be managed, it is a sin to be repented of."  Never, and I mean never, have I thought of anxiousness as a sin.  And when this statement landed on my ears this morning, I was sure Scott was wrong.  That can't be.  Afterall, I've been managing people's anxiety as a diseased condition in my clinic nearly every day.

No joke.  Rarely a day goes by where I'm not treating someone for Generalized Anxiety Disorder, or Panic Disorder, or Adjustment Disorder, or Bipolar Disorder, or Post-traumatic Stress Disorder, or Subtance Abuse Disorder, or Social Anxiety Disorder.  There have been so many patients, that I'm getting pretty good at making the diagnosis within moments of walking in the room.  The way they figit.  The way they try to answer questions thoroughly, correctly, quickly.  The way their eyes beg for someone to help them.  Anxiousness seems to ooze out of the pores of those who struggle with it to the point it hangs like a fog clouding the room.  It's hard to miss.

Scott went on to read the verse above, and I found it harder to argue with him.  Just then, he layed on an extra layer and put my profession in the hot seat.  "We turn to doctors [uh eh, me] to numb us, instead of God to heal us."  (I'm paraphrasing.)  Ouch.  Have I been the enabler?  Have I been hindering my patient's true healing?

I'm caught between a rock and a hard place.  Part of me still wants to argue that it is a biologic condition involving the imbalance of neurotransmitters in the brain that can, and should, be treated with medication and therapy.  Yet this new part of me is whispering: it's sin.

I wish all of my patient's knew Jesus and knew the peace which transcends all understanding.  And I wish I knew where to go from here.  What to think.  What to do.

Harnessing the Whirlwind by Jason (the husband)

Susan asked me to guest blog because she's running out of good ideas.  Just kidding!  She's been trying to get me to blog for over a year now and I actually started one last summer but in my mind I knew I would never write at a high enough quality to make it interesting.  The funny thing is, I always enjoyed writing.  In fact, not a lot of people know this about me but I started as a journalism major but couldn't handle the parameters of the job and downright shallow expectations of the profession.  I was worried my personal blog would be filled with KC Royals statistics and random Husker thoughts.  Believe it or not, I will admit Susan might be right.  After all, she is a doctor and she's pretty smart so maybe I do have something interesting to say (or not). 

The real reason I never blog is because I fool myself into thinking I don't have time.  Just the same as I do about reading the Bible daily (working on this), calling my family members (I really am sorry...), and washing the dishes (probably not going to change).  However, I am excited to do this...and I am not a "phase" person who changes their likes/dislikes often, usually I stick with something I am excited about. 

Sometimes, I feel like life goes way too fast - the coach in me likes to use cliches, anecdotes, and comparisons so bear with me.  One minute I have hair on my head (not my back) and driving my 1988 Honda Prelude with a freshly printed license around Omaha and a few minutes later here I am without hair on my head, driving to a real job, and raising two children.  How did it all happen?  Where did the time go?  Often, when people ask how things are going I tell them its been a whirlwind.  Not the answer they want to hear as most people prefer a simple "good" or "fine".  That's right - I compare my life to a blast of wind that's here and gone, sometimes in a few blinks of the eye.  There's nothing you can do to prevent it, but I think maybe you can soak up parts of it while it's present. 

I heard a sermon a few years ago that pleaded with us not to wish our lives away with anxiety and countdowns to the next big thing.  Since hearing that message, I have made a concerted effort to enjoy the little events, big moments, and the beautiful (don't tell anyone I actually said/typed "beautiful") things in life.  Susan is phenomenal at capturing these with the camera, but I capture them in my mind.  

Occasionally, when I am driving to work at 6:15 AM in the pitch dark I think about those moments.  The walks in the evening with Susan and the boys, the smell of firewood burning in the distance as the leaves turn orange (or brown - since I am supposedly color deficient) and crispy, eating chocolate chip ice cream with Susan while the boys sleep in the other room, taking my brothers to the pumpkin patch on a perfect fall day, enjoying Husker games with family who don't mind me complaining and then cheering, and listening to music that doesn't have words (thanks John Williams Pandora website). 

When I look back on this time in my life and feel really busy, I don't want to recall: the nights Susan was on call and I was mad about having to cook (i.e. order pizza and pack the boys in the car), the fact that I ignorantly took 6 graduate hours while starting a new job 25 miles away, getting really frustrated at work, constantly changing diapers...all of which is, a.k.a. the whirlwind.  It's important to slow it down and revel in the things that are actually important that won't always be here (like my hair, the Prelude, and somewhat in-shape body that could complete a triathlon were at one time). 

The historian and man in me is constantly thinking about legacies, particularly what makes people great, remembered, loved and admired.  History tends to remember people who made unpopular decisions, went against the grain, took risks, and made wise/rational decisions, and carved their own path (which probably explains why I am obsessed with Lewis & Clark and the pioneers).  In this busy world, it's easy to get trapped believing there isn't time and you can't enjoy but I will prove you can enjoy life regardless of what is bogging you down.  I am bound to not allow busyness, my job, and other factors out of my control determine my fate.  

I have been convicted to do this, and encourage anyone still with me at this point, to slow life down whenever possible and enjoy the best part...the present...because it's a gift.

Susan - thanks for letting me disrupt your incredible blog with my harangue.  I am not convinced you are right yet about this whole blogging thing but it felt good.  Oh yeah, rest assured I will not bore you in the future with exciting topics I had originally planned, such as: my rationale for dropping David Akers from my fantasy football team in Week 7, why the Royals should sign Alex Gordon to a long-term contract, or why people are way too critical of Taylor Martinez. 

Psalm 3:5

"I lie down and sleep;

I wake again, because the Lord sustains me."

There hasn't been one single, measly occasion in the last three months where my eyes have stayed closed for the entire night.  If it's not one thing, then it's another.  If it's not my pager, it's my baby.  If it's not my baby, it's my toddler.  If it's not my toddler, it's my cough.  And if it's not my cough, it's my mattress.  It's for this reason that I've slipped back to being the caffeine addict I swore I would never be again.  I think coffee in the morning and Diet Coke in the afternoon is a heavenly way for the Lord to sustain me.

On Call

Back by popular demand, a breakdown of a "typical" day on call.

SATURDAY

• 5:30AM - Feeding Griffin
• 6:30AM - Owen's up
• 7:30AM - Finishing charts from yesterday's clinic (Hate, Hate, HATE our electronic charts!)
• 8:30AM - Laundry
• 9:30AM - Showering and donning scrubs for being on call on a Saturday
• 10:30AM - Jason out replacing our stolen car stereo
• 11:30AM - Page from the ER for an admission (my call isn't supposed to start until noon, mind you)
• 12:30PM - At the hospital for the admission
• 1:30PM - Back at home
• 2:30PM - Answering a steady stream of pages, but at least I'm home.
• 3:30PM - Surprise tour of our house for Grandma.  Too bad I refused to do my usual Saturday clean because I'm on call.
• 4:30PM - Diagnosing & treating a nonverbal nursing home patient with a past medical history a mile long over the phone with a care taker who constantly reminds me that she has been gone for the last week so she doesn't know the answer to my questions.  Why did you call again?  Then asking myself why their primary doctor asked them to call the on call doctor (lucky me) today with an update.  What do you expect?
• 5:30PM - Back to the hospital.  Someone decided today would make a good birthday.
• 6:30PM - Wishing I spoke Spanish to speed up this H&P.
• 7:30PM - Made it back in time for kick-off.
• 8:30PM - Refreshing my knot tying skills using the shoestrings of my mom's tennis shoes between football plays.
• 9:30PM - Back at Labor & Delivery.  No, my patient wasn't ready yet.  I'm needed to assist with another patient's C-section.
• 10:30PM - Done in time to catch the last two minutes of the "you-didn't-miss-much" game.
• 11:30PM - Back again.  My laboring patient is almost ready, and I can tell the baby's heart rate is making the nurse nervous by the hurried tone her voice.

SUNDAY

• 12:30AM - Healthy baby boy!  (& no tears = no repair = done faster)
• 1:30AM - New patient in the Emergency Room needing to be admitted.
• 2:30AM -  Suggesting constipation treatments to a clinic patient.  (Yes, constipation at 2:30 in the morning.)
• 3:30AM - Emergency Room phone number is back on my pager for yet another admission.
• 4:30AM - Wishing again I spoke Spanish.  And wondering why it takes 5 minutes to answer "on a scale of 1 to 10 how bad is your pain?"
• 5:30AM - Rounding on my other patients.
• 6:30AM - Still trying to get used to a new hospital system.
• 7:30AM - Came home to a smiling Owen in our bed next to a sacked out Daddy.  Jason must have been having as much fun as me in these early morning hours.
• 8:30AM - Ahh... call over = time to sleep.
• 9:30AM - Feeding Griffin.
• 10:30AM - Staring at the back of my eye lids
• 11:30AM - Slept right through church even though I had full intentions of going.
• 12:30PM - Up
• 1:30PM - Typing this blog.  :)

30 by 30

Time flies.  I got a message on Facebook reminding me that my ten year class reunion is just around the corner.  Yikes!  I'm getting old.  In 30 months, I will turn 30.  Can you believe it?  Unlike some people (not to name any names, *cough* Jason *cough*) I've never dreaded a birthday.  Adding one to the number I fill in the age line doesn't make me nervous.  And I'm not especially flattered to get carded when I order a margarita.  What I do dread, however, is waking up as a 30 year old wishing that I would have done more in the years before.  With that in mind I decided to do something cliche.  It's so cheesy, I almost am embarrassed to share.  I made a bucket list.  Yep, a bucket list.  30 things to do in the 30 months before I turn 30.  In no particular order.

1. Complete an olympic length triathlon.
2. Pay for a stranger's dinner.
3. Have my eyebrows professionally done.
4. Go on a cruise.
5. Leave a $20 tip.
6. Color my hair.
7. Send a letter to a friend by snail mail.
8. Read the entire Bible.
9. Do a cartwheel.
10. Eat a hot dog at Coney Island.
11. Go fishing with Jason.
12. Write to someone in political office.
13. Finish a crossword puzzle without cheating.
14. Donate blood.
15. Take a good family photo.
16. Play a song on my violin.
17. Make a snow angel.
18. Go on a fast.
19. Wear a bikini.  (Notice that I didn't say "in public.")
20. Take the boys camping.
21. Watch "Star Wars."
22. Save someone's life.
23. Learn a yoga pose.
24. Eat a taco from a shady street vendor.
25. Send someone flowers.
26. Go on a 30 mile bike ride.
27. Skydive.
28. Intentionally watch a sunrise.
29. Plant a tree.
30. Have a 30th Birthday Party!

A New Do

Ok, I'm a doctor not a hairdresser.  I know.  But it can't be that difficult to cut hair, can it?  I'm sure I did really well on my scissor lessons in kindergarten.  A+, no doubt.  And if I can save $10 or $20, then it's totally worth the risk to try my hand as a beautician.  Well, maybe...

To set the stage, imagine a curious, doll-faced toddler running around the living room in his denim jacket and khaki pants.  As cute as can be.  The only possible flaws on his sweet face being the white, crusty business under his nose, the lunch remnants on his cheek, and pencil straight, light brown, wispy hair curtaining over his ears.  Surely it's the hair obstructing his ear canals that would explain why he doesn't always hear me say "No, Owen, get off the table." or "Owen!  Gentle.  He's just a baby."  Therefore, a good face scrub and little trim was clearly necessary.

I had the afternoon off, and I figured it may take the whole afternoon to perfect my masterpiece.  I positioned my little canvas in khaki pants in his chair at the table and got my supplies ready.  Scissors.  Comb.  Water.  Pickle.  M&Ms.  Marshmallows.  We were ready.

I wet the comb, and carefully arranged each hair.  Snip, snip.  I did my best to mimic the motions of the professionals.  A cut here.  A cut there.  I held damp strands between the sides of my index and middle fingers and continued my work.  Hair fell and tickled his nose.  Hair fell and stuck to his gooey marshmallow.  I tousled his hair with my fingers hoping to break up a few harsh lines.  This isn't too difficult, and it would be cake if Owen would sit still.

The pickle was gone, we survived the meltdown that occurred when the last M&M disappeared, and now the marshmallows, covered in hair, had lost their appeal.  Time to call it quits.  As I stepped back to take a look, my nose wrinkled and my head cocked to the side.  Umm...

I tried a few last cuts to even right and left, but it was a tad bit difficult with a full out fit going on in the chair complete with a head thrashing back and forth.  I had to give up.  Maybe I could finish during bath time.  Good thing it's Friday and you have a few days before you have to show your face at daycare.  Good thing your hair grows fast.

The worst part is that, now, every time I catch a glimpse of his unequal edges I wish I was carrying scissors.  Surely I could fix it.  You might be thinking that I should just take him in and let the real professionals undo the mess I've created.  But it isn't that bad, and that would be embarrassing.

Actually, that might not be the worst part.  The worst part is probably that as soon as his hair is back over his ears, I'll likely try again!  Oh, poor little guy.

Back to Work

Back to reality.  September 6th marked my official start to working here in Grand Island.  (Isn't it hard to believe that the summer is over?  Wow!  I still find myself thinking it's August.  Are we really halfway through September?)  These past two weeks have been mostly orienting to the hospital and clinic and welcome reception after welcome reception after welcome reception.  They are very welcoming here.  Last night was our last shindig, and Monday I will start actually seeing my own patients in clinic and taking a shift in the Emergency Room.  I'm itching to get going.

Not only was the 6th my first day of work, it was also the boys' first day of daycare.  Ever.  I'm sure it's no surprise, but I was more of a mess that morning than they were.  I did manage to keep it to a minimum with just a few silent tears slipping down my cheeks and a couple of "they will be okay,"  "it will be okay," self-affirmations running through my mind.  Owen was a little less quiet in his display of dislike for change, but according to report he quickly got over it when enticed with playing ball outside.  

In Omaha, we were so blessed to have awesome family and great friends watch Owen during the day, and although we will miss that, our setup here has plenty of its own advantages.

Getting into the Saint Francis Daycare was another working of God.  They have a loooooong waiting list, so when we got on the list in February they were sure we wouldn't get in by September.  Craziness.  It seemed like we were signing up for some exclusive country club or Packers' season tickets - definitely not a daycare.  At the same time, it made us want it even more.  If everyone else wants in, it must be as good as they say, and I want it, too.  As the months passed with little progress moving up the list, we made other arrangements for the boys.  (Thanks, Heather!)  But then, in the nick of time, reminiscent of our house, I got the call.  It was like the clouds parted again, a bright yellow beam of radiant light came down onto my head, and a collective "aaahhh" sang out from heaven.  We were in.  It was too perfect.  How much more evidence could we get that He will provide more than enough?

Now the boys are 5 minutes from our house and an elevator ride away from my clinic.  I've already spent part of a lunch break in the nursery holding Griffin, and I've peaked out the break room window four stories up to see Owen playing out in the yard.  Not too bad if you ask me!  

I think I'm going to like it out here, and I think they (speaking of those precious boys in red pictured below) will, too.

What if...

What if it gets more difficult than this?

It seems that every year I tell myself that next year will be easier.  This year is the hardest.  Just get through this.

Get a good score on the MCAT, and then I'll be in.

Get through Anatomy, and it will be downhill.

Get past Step 1, and the rest will be easier.

Get into a residency, and then I'll be doing what I want.

And the morning I signed my residency contract it just so happened that another positive on a different kind of test added an additional layer of complexity.

Once he sleeps through the night...

Once he's sitting up...

Once he's done breast-feeding...

Once he's walking...

Once he's potty trained...  (We're still dreaming about that one.)

You can only imagine what new things I anticipate now that Griffin is here.

Today, as my hands wrinkled in the sink full of dirty dishes and empty bottles, I found myself thinking about my present circumstance.  It wasn't a pity party about being overworked, overwhelmed, or over-tired.  It was an odd sense of pride that I'm surviving.  I'm doing it.  The strength is there.  It's just enough, but it's there.  I am a resident physician and a mom of two under two.  Arguably, each of these situations is the most challenging period of its perspective role, and I'm doing it.  I'm surviving.  Once this is over, everything else is going to be cake.  I'll sleep more.  I'll be in better shape.  I'll be better with my devo's.  I'll have more time to travel.  Yatta-yatta. 

Then it hit me.  What if I'm wrong?  What if the trend continues?  What if this snowball of responsibility keeps right on growing instead of melting away?  What if it doesn't get easier?  What if there is something more challenging, more difficult, and more taxing than being a resident and a mom of two under two?  What if my health that fades?  What if it's my family's?  What if the economy steals our jobs?  What if my kids rebel?  What if my marriage weakens?  What if disaster strikes?

Thankfully, I'm not the one who knows the answer.  So, instead of fearing the "what if's" a moment longer, I'm instead going to enjoy this moment knowing that I am doing it.  And as I stare into this smiling face on my lap I'm loving it, too.

Sick

HPI:  In non-medical words, here's what has been plaguing me for the last week:
   Day 0 - Hoarse  Friday - scratchy throat; uh oh, something's coming on
   Day 1 - Laryngitis  Saturday - lost my voice, and it wasn't just from yelling at the football game
   Day 2 - OD Conjunctivitis  Sunday - gunk draining out of my right eye.  Gross!
   Day 3 - Pharyngitis  Monday - couldn't even swallow my own spit because my throat hurt so bad
   Day 4 - Cough & Rhinorrhea  Tuesday - almost threw up I was coughing so hard, and I had Kleenex shoved up my nose because that was easier than constantly blowing it to contain the drainage
   Day 5 - +f/c  Wednesday - fever and chills and it's definitely not hot flashes
   Day 6 - Unilateral maxillary dental pain & facial pressure  Today - seriously?! now my sinuses, can't I catch a break.  I couldn't even enjoy the first time Griffin slept through the night.


Dx: Viral URI complicated by Bacterial Sinusitis  a.k.a. I feel like crap and have for too long


Txt: Abx & symptomatic txt  Jason's picking up the boys from daycare so I can have my own nap time after orientation, and it's probably time for some antibiotics even though I'm usually the antibiotic nazi. My typical line is: "It's just a virus, Jason.  Take some Tylenol and do a sinus wash."
F/U: PRN  In other words, I hope this goes away soon so no one has to hear me whine anymore!

Bargain Bungalow

Now that my camera battery is back to life (a whole 'nother story), I can finally show off our new house.  I've also been a little bit obsessed with garage sales, thrift stores, and craigslist lately; so I'd like to prove that you can get good stuff that no one would ever guess is repurposed for next to nothing prices.  Come take the tour:

House Front

A: That tiny black line beside our garage door is the mailbox.  Strange place, I know.  It took me two days to find where our mail comes, and I still don't know how you can send mail out.  Any ideas?

B:  As Owen would say: "Oh wow!"  We have a garage!  Jason even hung a tennis ball from the ceiling for me.

C:  I was the crazy lady at the gardening section in the greater than 100 degree heat buying half dead flowers on clearance for my flower bed.  I'll have you know that they are still alive.

D:  The perfect tree to decorate with lights for Christmas.

E:  Unfortunately, we are next to a slightly busy street.  It's a small price to pay.

Backyard

A:  Privacy fenced yard was on my wish list.  It's perfect.

B:  We are on an alley which provides the perfect place to hide yucky garbage cans behind the shed.

C:  Love.  Love.  Love the trees and all the shade.

D:  The deck off the kitchen is the perfect place to relax and watch the best 20-month old basketball player ever on the patio below.

E:  By far, without a doubt, no bones about it, the basketball hoop is Owen's favorite garage sale find.  Five dollars?!  You're kidding me.  You have no idea how hard it was to play it cool walking around that garage sale.  I probably could have run ridiculously fast straight to it, jumped up and down, and then kissed it's faded blue base because it was just that perfect.  Oh how I love a good deal.

F:  Another fancy feature is the UGS.  That's realtor speak for underground sprinklers.

Living Room

A:  Jason's chair was one of our first craigslist purchases.

B:  Even though we did get our coffee table at a clearance sale, I was actually trying to show off the rug underneath.  This is another craigslist pick up, and the lady selling it was a hoot.

C:  The infamous time out chair in a perfect location with the exception that sad and angry screams echo in the cubby of an entryway.

D: Man, I wish I had a better photo of the coat rack on the wall our landlord left behind.  Complete with a whiskey logo and horse shoes it fits right into our decor.  Needless to say, Jason hasn't found the right screwdriver to get it down yet, and it's starting to grow on me.

Dining Room

A:  One thing I adore about older homes (other than the hardwood floors) is the built-ins.  Outdated kitchens and baths are not so adorable.
B:  That is a pretty little door with blinds enclosed between the glass - something that I've learned is a must-have for our dream house.  The only problem is that the door goes to nowhere.  Literally, if you stepped out of it you would be standing on our air-conditioner.  Hmmm.  Very interesting.

Kitchen

A:  This not so lovely kitchen is full of bargains (and gifts).  Microwave.  $15.  Garage sale.

B:  Stove.  Borrowed.  Thank You!

C:  Portable dishwasher.  Straight out of Grandma's house.  Thank You, again!  One of these days we might even use it and see if it still works.

D:  Kitchen cabinets can easily be filled with thrifty buys.  My personal favorite was a bundt pan from the thrift store, and, go figure, that was actually what I went there looking for.  If you're like me, that never happens.  It must have been my lucky day; on second thought, I should have gone shopping for jeans, too.

Griffin's Nursery

A:  A "G" for my G set me back fifty cents.  

B:  It's a good thing Owen likes to read because I can't say no to a good deal on kids' books.  We read The Little Mermaid for nap yesterday.  (His dad doesn't know I snuck that one in.  Shhh.)

C:  Both of my boys, and me more than a few times too, have been rocked to sleep in my $20-plus-a-can-of-black-spray-paint glider rocker.

D:  Instead of shelling out for a whole new crib and nursery set, we reused Owen's and splurged on a new sheet set so Griffin wasn't completely the hand-me-down little brother.  It all makes for a pretty handsome nursery, if you ask me.

Owen's Big Boy Bedroom

A:  I was down-right impressed with Jason's shopping when he came home from a sale at the old Rosenblatt stadium with an "O" seating section sign for Owen's bedroom.

B:  Generally, I'm not a fan of decorating with brands or logos, but the free Royals pillowcase snuck in.

C:  My most recent favorite garage sale find is Owen's new dresser.  Repainting it and buying knobs that I hand painted myself to look like baseballs easily cost more than the actual dresser.  Pride poured out of me after if was finished and his room when he ran up to it, pointed at the drawers, smiled, and yelled "Ba!"

D:  There are so many deals on kids clothes on top of the bags full of hand-me-downs.  I won't spend more than $2.50 for everyday clothes, and trust me, his closet is plenty full.  

Master Bedroom

A:  There isn't too much exciting in here, but the bedspread/comforter/duvet/I-don't-really-know-the-difference-between-any-of-those was a Black Friday bargain.  The display in the store was actually out of them by the time we got there, but I found this one stashed away under a clothes rack.  I bet whoever hid it there was disappointed I found their secret spot.

B:  Mom is also a good bargain hunter.  She found an old window on the side of the road and turned it into a special piece just for us.

Bathroom

For the sake of the house tour, here's the bathroom.  Trust me, nothing gets reused in here.  I may be a savings sleuth, but there does come a limit.

Office Space (kinda like the movie)

A: Behind those doors is storage, storage, and more storage.  I didn't think we'd ever be able to fill all of the closets in this basement, but of course we found a way.

B & C:  Thanks to some more family for gifting us a desk and printer I have a perfect study space.

Jason's man cave in the making / reliving the college dorm room days

A:  Another recent craigslist purchase was this futon.  We've had the mattress since high school, but never got around to getting another frame.  Now that we finally have one, I'm thinking that it must have been a lot more comfortable back then - or my butt is a lot more "sensitive" now.

Guest Bedroom

A:  I can still remember having that table in our first 400+ square foot apartment.  It, too, was a great find from my mom.  We've eaten countless meals and made great memories around what is now Owen's coloring desk.

B:  Another free item.

C:  Anyone in need of a desk that may be a little too tall for our basement and may also have some slight damage from the move?  (As much as I love getting a good deal, I also love giving one if it means getting it out of my house.)

Basement Bathroom

Not only do we have a basement and a garage for the first time, we also have two bathrooms.  How luxurious!

As this home tour is concluding, I must be honest that my house is not always this clean and organized.  And because you've stuck with me and read this far, I'll let you know that I kicked laundry and toys from one room to the next to take the pictures.  However, I am proud to say that we are all unpacked, and the only place left for me to organize is the storage room in the basement.  I guess I'll need to have another baby just for the 6-week maternity leave to tackle that one.  Ha ha!

Basement Storage

Well, now that you've had the grand tour, don't be strangers.

It's Garlic

Have you ever been wandering through the produce aisle in the grocery store and looked at some of the stuff there?  There are definitely some weird things, and I for sure don't know what everything is or what they all taste like.  Who knows, maybe if I did I would find my new favorite food.

Lately, Jason and I have been trying to eat, and be, more healthy.  That means I've been doing more shopping in the produce aisle.  The unusual problem I'm finding is that it takes me a lot longer to check out.  It isn't because of a price check or because of coupons, and it's not because the scale or scanner is malfunctioning.  The hold up every time is that the checker doesn't have a clue what I'm buying.  She  pours over the produce code list for minutes, which in a grocery check-out line is an eternity, hoping to have a revelation and find it before giving in and calling over the manager, which takes even longer.  Some think I look trustworthy enough to ask me what the green thing in the bag is.  Some just guess.  Once I almost paid $132 for a watermelon, so watch closely.

Yesterday, I felt especially bad for the lady behind me in line.  The checker was a teenage boy who clearly hadn't been through the produce aisle in a while.  He breezed through the apples and bananas, but then came upon ginger root.  I don't blame him for asking for help on that one.  Next, he held up my onion.  At least he knew it was an onion but needed to clarify if it was white, yellow, or purple.  The bagger helped him out with the yellow squash, and he finally found the garlic on his code list.

On the way home I got to thinking.  After all, doesn't a trip to the grocery inspire everyone?  In the medical world I have the pleasure of seeing what our love of convenience food is doing to our bodies.  It isn't pretty.  Our family is just as guilty as the next, but I found it sad that we're getting to a point where we don't even know what garlic or squash or, heaven for bid, an onion is.  After this day, Owen's next word lesson may come from the produce aisle.

Word

Having a toddler is awesome.  Literally, awe-some.  He leaves me in awe quite often.  Currently his awe inspiring feat has been his ever expanding vocabulary.

It wasn't always that way, however.  At 12 months, and then at 13 and at 14 months, too, I thought there was something wrong.  As much as the baby babble flowed, he didn't really say words.  And even without an M.D. behind my name I knew that he should be saying more by now.  At his 18-month well child check up Jason and I racked our brains trying to think of every real word he could say.  Does "uh oh" and "oof oof" count?  After we had exhausted the list Dr. Mogenson kindly told us to "keep an eye on it."  He was doing well on everything else, surely it would come soon.  The whole way home we kept rattling off the words he knew to make sure we hadn't missed any or miscounted.

Like his mom, it seemed that Owen didn't like the thought of coming up short.  Within days he was saying new words, and they haven't stopped coming since then.  (If only we had scheduled his appointment for the next week.)

Owen's first word, according to his baby book, which, as we all know, is the official, legal, binding record, was "ma-ma" at 11-months old.  We won't mention that, for the life of us, we haven't been able to get him to say it for the last six months.  But, of course, he will scream "DA-DA!  DA-DA!" when Jason drives up or even when he sees his photo in the frame on our end table.  If it wasn't so stinking cute, if it didn't sound like he was using every bit of his air and strength to force his love out of his lungs, and if I didn't absolutely adore their daddy-son bond I might be a little jealous.  Honestly, I treasure the way that he looks up to his dad, and am thankful that he has such a wonderful man to aspire to be.)

His favorite word, by far, is "ball."  Or, as he would say, "BA!!"  On our vacation to Kansas City he screamed "BA-BA!  BA-BA!  BA-BA!" endlessly when we walked into Kauffman stadium.  It drew a few stares and several smiles - mine the biggest.

His newest words "book" and "poop," sound oddly similar making it difficult when he goes into the room where the changing table and shelf of books are next to each other.  

"ti chu" and "meaz" as "thank you" and please".  I love that he is learning manners.  I seriously would like him to say "Yes, ma'am," and "No, sir," eventually.

His most random word is, without a doubt, "Applebee's."  Who knew?  He has never been there, and I don't think I've ever said that word in his presence.  The commercial came on one afternoon, and he said it as clear as day.  "ap bees."  It makes me realize that we should turn the t.v. off a little more and find something else to be the inspiration for new words.

Doesn't it make you wish you had a toddler?  So funny, so adorable, so awesome.  I have no idea how many words he knows now, and by the time I figured it out he would know more.  Instead, I'm going to focus my energy on protecting his innocent ears to keep an innocent tongue.

Step 3

I can finally enjoy my maternity leave now, or at least a little more.  Another big monkey is off my back.  Step 3, the two-day final exam in the series to get my medical license, is complete (and hopefully passed).

It may seem strange to take a test now, I know, in the middle of my "vacation," during the time when I am definitely not well rested, and when I haven't seen a real patient in 5 weeks.  But trust me, I didn't exactly plan it this way.  Actually, I wanted to take it way back in February, but it didn't worked out.  The next time available was the beginning of July, and, well, it was a good thing that I paid the $60 to reschedule for August because we all know what happened instead at the beginning of July.  With a deadline of August 31 and the best babysitter/Dad going back to work on August 12, there was no better time then right now.

We packed up the Buick and headed to Omaha Monday afternoon.  With intentions of leaving at 1:00 (Owen's nap time), it wasn't too bad when the clock read 1:27 as we backed out of the driveway.  But those were a not fun, chaotic, unorganized, where's-my-keys, where's-my-phone, and loud 27 extra minutes.  However, mission accomplished and Owen drifted off to sleep as we headed down the road.

A pit stop in Central City for Jason to complete some paperwork meant an extra hour added to the road trip, milkshakes from the all-too-convenient DQ, and Owen's nap ending way too early when he felt the car come to a stop.  The rest of the trip was full of whines and tears from two tired boys in the back seat, one-lane highway construction, and a "short cut" that ended us on our way to Fremont.  A little over 4 hours later, we made it.  It was seriously the longest Grand Island to Omaha trip ever.  EVER!

To think that I had eight hours of sitting in front of a computer the next day was unbearable, but I did get to bed at a decent time.  Because my husband is wonderful and knew that I needed to rest, other than feedings, Jason was in charge of Griffin all night, and he can tell you about "unbearable", too.

Bright and early the next morning I headed off with a few butterflies in my stomach, a bag full of way too many snacks (just in case), and a pump to keep Griffin's tummy happy when I got back.  Day 1 of Step 3 was underway.

During Diet Coke break #1, I faced the biggest dilemma of any working mom... where do I pump?  When I was pumping for Owen I hauled that thing just about anywhere I could find some privacy: on the floor of the ER bathroom, empty clinic exam rooms,  random hospital on-call rooms, my car, and even an airport bathroom.  Thank goodness for the battery pack and alcohol wipes.  Today, my choices were just as narrow: the public restroom or my car parked in the sun in the public parking lot.  Equally attractive options.

Some how I made it through the day, and then the next day.  It is finally over.  Studying for Step 3 is off of my To-Do list, and it's time to move on to something more fun... like painting the $15 dresser a picked up for Owen at a garage sale.

Life

Quiet?  Is it actually quiet in my house?  I am now sitting down on the couch to enjoy this quiet with my bowl of Life cereal.  It's one of my favorites.  How ironic, though, after the last four hours of my real life.  

It was just one of those nights.  You know, one of those.  One of those nights where Owen, Griffin, and I were all equally exhausted making for one heck of a battle.  And trust me, there were battles.  One of those nights where swear words went through my mind towards Jason's softball team for making it to the championship tonight of all nights, and I wonder how single parents do it.  One of those nights where Owen went to bed 45 minutes early because we both needed it.  One of those nights I lost track of time-outs.  One of those nights Griffin's excrement wouldn't be contained by his "nb" sized diaper.  You know, one of those night.

Thankfully, it was just one of those nights.  The day part of today was actually really good.  My mom, the boys, and I went to the farm to help my grandparents harvest sweet corn again.  Last weekend there was a lot more entertainment for Owen with all of the cousins around, so today when it was just us I was nervous he was going to be into everything and make my grandparents wish we had never come to "help."  However, to my surprise (and delight) Owen was an angel.  He helped himself to a few, okay several, handfuls of corn and was quite content with his job of throwing the empty cobs into the back of the truck to get hauled away to the burn pile.  He looked so cute stomping around the farm.  Little farmer Owen.  By the time we were ready to go home it was perfectly nap time, and he slept the whole way home - not a peep.

Finally back at home it didn't take long to realize I should have napped in the car, too.  (And, no, I wasn't driving.)  Now, with Owen rested up, it was too late.

Before all heck broke loose there were a few moments of calm.  Griffin asleep in his crib.  Owen as-quietly-as-he-can playing in his room.  As soon as I realized the perfection of the situation: pitter-patter, pitter-patter.  Stomp, stomp.  Stomp.  "Ball!"  Owen was back in the living room expanding the destruction zone of hurricane toy box.  And literally within second of his arrival: cough, cough, whimper. Cry.  Scream.  Coming from a tiny body laying on his car and truck crib sheets.  It was down hill from there.

Now as I look over my cereal bowl at my living room, it doesn't take long to remember that it was definitely one of those night.  Mrs. Potato Head, who in Owen's world is shaped all to much like a football, is laying body-part-less in the middle of the room.  Her pieces are strewn about all four corners  as if I had been practicing some cruel, gruesome amputation surgery.  Books, pillows, shoes, balls, and Cheez-Its as far as the eye can see.  The rug is bunched up an crooked.  The remote is long gone.  My cell phone is hiding in the wicker basket under the coffee table.  

But, you know what... I don't care.  Because at this moment, it is quiet.  Ah, quiet.  Although it was one of those nights, there are two beautiful, precious, sleeping boys in this house.  And one is laying here beside me smiling as he dreams.  So I'm going to sit here on my couch for the next several minutes and enjoy my Life.

Lucky Seven

I've never really been a big believer in lucky numbers, but I can entertain myself a little while and imagine that this year is going to be extra awesome.  After all, it is lucky number seven.  Seven years ago, on July 31, 2004, I started a wonderful journey as a wife.  A lot of people may dust off their wedding album on a day like this and reminisce about a few very expensive, yet memorable, hours, but I got so caught up in the memories that I kept right on rolling through the years that followed.  Here's a little bit of that walk down memory lane.

Now look at that handsome couple!  Jason all dressed up in a tux, and a lovely lady in a bright white dress on his arm.  Now don't kid yourself, I will definitely not be trying to squeeze back into that outfit anytime soon.  I did just have a baby, you know.  Seriously though, what a happy day!

One year later and Jason was already trying to convince me that history is fun.  Yes, that is us sitting on a wagon.  It makes me laugh.  Look how young we look!  It wasn't that long ago, but, my goodness, we look different.  As much fun as playing pioneer was, we did actually celebrate our first anniversary a little less rustically.  On our college-sized budget we treated ourselves to a weekend trip to Omaha and enjoyed a glass of wine at a nice restaurant overlooking the river.

If you thought we were crazy for moving at the end of July this year, I hate to tell you that we've done it before.  Our gift to each other for our second anniversary was a new address.

The third year was a little more adventuresome.  After finishing my first triathlon we climbed into the car and drove to Texas.  We spent the night in downtown Houston, and Jason still hadn't let up on the whole history thing.  That is a picture of him with George Bush, not his wife, on our anniversary.  Go figure.

The next year Jason finally won, and I planned a fun vacation around Nebraska (and into South Dakota) filled with plenty of historical stops.  To this day, it is still one of my favorite trips.  It makes me anxious for the days that the boys are old enough to enjoy summer family vacations with us.  We are so going to be the family with fanny packs and matching t-shirts!

Our fifth anniversary was the last when our family was just the two of us.  Things are totally different now - and totally wonderful!

Last year was another good one.  I guess we just know how to have fun.  We spent the weekend in the beautiful Nebraska City.  (And for the record, we did make a historical stop on this trip, too.)  It was such a perfect anniversary that I can remember what we ate for breakfast, but I don't remember what we did with Owen.  Hmm.

Seven wonderful years!  I'm lucky, I know.  This year, with a newborn, our celebration is going to have to stay a little closer to home.  Even so, it will be fun just to be in good company.