I dread the children getting sick, for so many reasons--I don't like surprises, it throws a wrench into my plans, I don't know how to deal with it because I don't know how to fix whatever is wrong with them, and when I do take them to the doctor, most of the time even the doctors never say with certainty what the problem is. They waffle for a bit with "well it could be" and "probably" "we think..."
Why don't kids come with little flash-drive type ports? That way, I could press their nose or something and out would pop (preferably from an orifice not already associated with input or output) a little diagnosis. "More carrots" or "Lots of rest, warning: child will vomit three times in the next 5 hours" or "dysplastic mole; please remove within next 6 months" or even "swelling on knee due to trauma suffered while child was trying to do 'the worm' on a cement sidewalk, despite his recollection that he was hit by a frontloader, which is bogus." That way, I would spend less time binge-eating while stressing over the unknown.
Yesterday morning out of the blue, I got a call from the MTC health office. EJ was going to be seen by an offsite health care professional for a small problem (which I am not going to divulge).
Now the whole issue here is not "ooo, EJ is sick!" (he's not) The issue is:
I can't do a thing about it! He's too far away; he's in a cloistered situation; he can't call me; he's an adult so TECHNICALLY they don't have to tell me anything (he had to sign a release form so I could get information). All of this put me in a bit of a dither--not an angry dither, but an I-can't-do-a-thing-about-it-yet-I-can't-stop-the-imagination-from-running-AMOK dither. And I don't like dithers. I got hardly anything done yesterday. My to-do list that I had written out that morning reminding me of chores like: exercise, shower, make dinner, write letter, do laundry etc, suddenly seemed only to say EAT ICE CREAM AND WANDER AROUND THE HOUSE LIKE A LOST PENGUIN (I waddle).
Finally I was able to talk to the health care professional who examined EJ and the nurse at the MTC and all fears were allayed and we are assured that he will live (no, we didn't think he was really going to die) and that medication was dispensed.
(but part of me still thinks there is stress eating to be done)
(and I get mad at myself a little sometimes because I think I shouldn't feel stressed about it. EJ is an adult and perfectly capable of dealing with issues on his own and he doesn't need his mommy tending to him anymore. I've never thought of myself as a hovering mother, but I worry that perhaps I am. I don't want to be)
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
My son is a racist
(it's not what you think) (really, I promise)
First off, I just realized that I've blogged 5 of Hayley's birthdays. I've just hit my four year mark in blogging (well, earlier this month). I looked back at that eleventh birthday of Hayley's on my blog and she looked like such a little girl back then! My my my how she has grown.
Now on to racism.
As in race-ism. As in it's track season. As in Paul runs track. Therefore he races, therefore he is a racist. He's not racist, but he is A racist. Sort of like a cyclist, only without the bike.
I love over-explaining a joke. Note to Mike: thanks for thinking this one up.
Paul has run in two meets so far. In the first meet, he ran the 3200 m (2 mile) and WON IT. As in HE CAME IN FIRST. Out of all the racists. He says the race was so non-competitive, which explains why he won it. 10:50 for 2 miles, while that would kill me several times over and leave my ruined body in a dumpster, is fairly average for a high school track meet. But we'll take it. A win is a win.
Last night's meet he ran the 1600m (1 mile) and came in 3rd with a time of 4:49. Dang, is all I can say. I've taken longer getting from my bedroom to the kitchen (all of about 20 steps). His fastest time at the 1600m is 4:46; he hopes to go faster during this season. Mostly though, he will be running the 3200.
No pictures yet because I haven't gone to a meet yet. But I will.
First off, I just realized that I've blogged 5 of Hayley's birthdays. I've just hit my four year mark in blogging (well, earlier this month). I looked back at that eleventh birthday of Hayley's on my blog and she looked like such a little girl back then! My my my how she has grown.
Now on to racism.
As in race-ism. As in it's track season. As in Paul runs track. Therefore he races, therefore he is a racist. He's not racist, but he is A racist. Sort of like a cyclist, only without the bike.
I love over-explaining a joke. Note to Mike: thanks for thinking this one up.
Paul has run in two meets so far. In the first meet, he ran the 3200 m (2 mile) and WON IT. As in HE CAME IN FIRST. Out of all the racists. He says the race was so non-competitive, which explains why he won it. 10:50 for 2 miles, while that would kill me several times over and leave my ruined body in a dumpster, is fairly average for a high school track meet. But we'll take it. A win is a win.
Last night's meet he ran the 1600m (1 mile) and came in 3rd with a time of 4:49. Dang, is all I can say. I've taken longer getting from my bedroom to the kitchen (all of about 20 steps). His fastest time at the 1600m is 4:46; he hopes to go faster during this season. Mostly though, he will be running the 3200.
No pictures yet because I haven't gone to a meet yet. But I will.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Hay-dle-dee is fifteenle-dee
Life is not "life as I know it" anymore. The rules are changing. Babies are now teenagers.
Hayley is 15.
Technically this means she can get a driver's permit. She hasn't registered for driver's ed yet though. Don't know when that will happen because she's a busy girl.
I'm not going to list her attributes, because invariably, she'll disagree with whatever I've written. She is un-pigeonhole-able.
Except for one thing: She has a good singing voice. I learned that last Saturday night at the ward talent show. She sang "Yesterday" and accompanied herself on the bass guitar. I personally think that Katie sings tres beautifully, but I had not realized how well little sister sang. They are different however--Katie sings Broadway style, while Hayley sings in an indie alt/rock style. There is no growl in her voice, but it's just edgier than Katie's voice.They'll have to sing together in church next time Katie's here in MN.
On to birthday legalities:
Hayley's requested dinner: Waffles.
Hayley's cake:
Hayley and her cake:
15 years of Hayley and we are the better for it, especially in the areas of sarcasm, drawing, wordplay, laughter, non-matching socks, shortitudinous, and other things that Hayley is good at and/or likes.
Hayley is 15.
Technically this means she can get a driver's permit. She hasn't registered for driver's ed yet though. Don't know when that will happen because she's a busy girl.
I'm not going to list her attributes, because invariably, she'll disagree with whatever I've written. She is un-pigeonhole-able.
Except for one thing: She has a good singing voice. I learned that last Saturday night at the ward talent show. She sang "Yesterday" and accompanied herself on the bass guitar. I personally think that Katie sings tres beautifully, but I had not realized how well little sister sang. They are different however--Katie sings Broadway style, while Hayley sings in an indie alt/rock style. There is no growl in her voice, but it's just edgier than Katie's voice.They'll have to sing together in church next time Katie's here in MN.
On to birthday legalities:
Hayley's requested dinner: Waffles.
Hayley's cake:
 | ||
| Based on a cartoon character named "Gir." Hayley has a lot of shirts with this character on it. And this character really likes waffles. |
15 years of Hayley and we are the better for it, especially in the areas of sarcasm, drawing, wordplay, laughter, non-matching socks, shortitudinous, and other things that Hayley is good at and/or likes.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Television
Last night Jim and I went on a date. I use "went" loosely here, since we didn't actually go anywhere. And he didn't realize it was a date until this morning when I told him it was a good date.
First, a note of explanation: Jim likes to borrow CDs from the library.
Last night, he popped his latest librarical find into the CD player and said, "Guess what this is."
I love the guessing game. Historical note: When we got married, I didn't know much about popular music. I didn't know band names, much less bandmember names. Over the years, Jim has fed me a steady diet of musical trivia and broadened my exposure to bands of the 60s, 70s and 80s. When he first started saying, "Guess who this is..." I couldn't. Nowadays, I'm much better and I surprise myself even. The other night, as Jim was playing his iPod (he has spent the last YEAR going through all the music on his iPod alphabetically--and he's still not done), he mentioned something about Elvis. I thought to myself, this song doesn't sound like Elvis. It sounds like the guy who sang the songs on the movie "Notting Hill." Then it hit me, the singer WAS Elvis, only not Elvis Presley; it was Elvis Costello and yes, he sang the songs on Notting Hill. I never would have got that even 15 years ago. (Mostly because "Notting Hill" hadn't been filmed yet)
So back to last night.
He said, "Guess what this is."
It was a TV show theme song, and I can't remember which one was the first one he played.
But we spent the rest of the evening together, he would play a track on the CD and I would guess which TV show it was from. Friends, MASH, Laverne and Shirley, Scooby Doo, Jetsons, My Three Sons, Green Acres, The Late Show with David Letterman, Good Times, The Jeffersons, What's Happening?, Different Strokes, Magnum PI...and on and on. He didn't play all 100, but we spent a good hour plus playing "Guess what this is." I got most of them.
I sang along to many of the songs; I sang loudly. I hummed and whistled to the instrumental ones. Jim and I had a blast, reminiscing about watching TV! (The mother I knew in my teenage years would shriek with horror; she hated it when we kids would talk about TV, and she frowned mightily on watching it. Mother--this is all said with love. These are fun memories; it's part of what made life interesting; trying to watch TV when you didn't want us to)
And when the theme song for "I Dream of Jeannie" came on, I was suddenly whisked back to my preteen years, when watching "I Dream of Jeannie" was the golden treasure of my youth. I did all I could to watch it whenever possible. By the time I learned of the show, it was in syndication and I watched it on summer mornings when it was in reruns, usually whenever I stayed with my grandparents, both sets of grandparents let us watch lots of TV whenever we wanted.
It was fun to actually feel like I was 7-15 years old again. All the cynicism was gone, all the worry about grown up things disappeared. All thanks to TV!
Side note: Hayley has heard of "Gilligan's Island" but has never watched it and doesn't know what it's about. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
First, a note of explanation: Jim likes to borrow CDs from the library.
Last night, he popped his latest librarical find into the CD player and said, "Guess what this is."
I love the guessing game. Historical note: When we got married, I didn't know much about popular music. I didn't know band names, much less bandmember names. Over the years, Jim has fed me a steady diet of musical trivia and broadened my exposure to bands of the 60s, 70s and 80s. When he first started saying, "Guess who this is..." I couldn't. Nowadays, I'm much better and I surprise myself even. The other night, as Jim was playing his iPod (he has spent the last YEAR going through all the music on his iPod alphabetically--and he's still not done), he mentioned something about Elvis. I thought to myself, this song doesn't sound like Elvis. It sounds like the guy who sang the songs on the movie "Notting Hill." Then it hit me, the singer WAS Elvis, only not Elvis Presley; it was Elvis Costello and yes, he sang the songs on Notting Hill. I never would have got that even 15 years ago. (Mostly because "Notting Hill" hadn't been filmed yet)
So back to last night.
He said, "Guess what this is."
It was a TV show theme song, and I can't remember which one was the first one he played.
But we spent the rest of the evening together, he would play a track on the CD and I would guess which TV show it was from. Friends, MASH, Laverne and Shirley, Scooby Doo, Jetsons, My Three Sons, Green Acres, The Late Show with David Letterman, Good Times, The Jeffersons, What's Happening?, Different Strokes, Magnum PI...and on and on. He didn't play all 100, but we spent a good hour plus playing "Guess what this is." I got most of them.
I sang along to many of the songs; I sang loudly. I hummed and whistled to the instrumental ones. Jim and I had a blast, reminiscing about watching TV! (The mother I knew in my teenage years would shriek with horror; she hated it when we kids would talk about TV, and she frowned mightily on watching it. Mother--this is all said with love. These are fun memories; it's part of what made life interesting; trying to watch TV when you didn't want us to)
And when the theme song for "I Dream of Jeannie" came on, I was suddenly whisked back to my preteen years, when watching "I Dream of Jeannie" was the golden treasure of my youth. I did all I could to watch it whenever possible. By the time I learned of the show, it was in syndication and I watched it on summer mornings when it was in reruns, usually whenever I stayed with my grandparents, both sets of grandparents let us watch lots of TV whenever we wanted.
It was fun to actually feel like I was 7-15 years old again. All the cynicism was gone, all the worry about grown up things disappeared. All thanks to TV!
Side note: Hayley has heard of "Gilligan's Island" but has never watched it and doesn't know what it's about. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Skirting my resposibilities
Terrible pun in the post title, I'll admit.
I sewed yesterday. I bought a piece of swimming suit lycra and made this:
And I didn't even use a pattern. I measured my length and width, cut a rectangle to fit the measurements and had enough material left over to cut a circular (not gathered) ruffle. The ruffle was mostly guesswork, but I've had enough sewing experience to guess right most of the time.
I used swimming suit lycra because it is extra stretchy (for those times I have to bend over to pick something up) and because it doesn't wrinkle easily. It hangs nicely and it's soft. See the ruffle on the bottom? Yes, without a pattern. And because it's lycra, I didn't worry too much about hemming it--I serged a narrow rolled hem (like I do when I sew napkins) in a coordinating color.
Up close of the ruffle:
Yay for a new skirt! A light summery flowery bluery greenery skirt!
I sewed yesterday. I bought a piece of swimming suit lycra and made this:
I used swimming suit lycra because it is extra stretchy (for those times I have to bend over to pick something up) and because it doesn't wrinkle easily. It hangs nicely and it's soft. See the ruffle on the bottom? Yes, without a pattern. And because it's lycra, I didn't worry too much about hemming it--I serged a narrow rolled hem (like I do when I sew napkins) in a coordinating color.
Up close of the ruffle:
Friday, March 16, 2012
Whither winter?
This has been a bummer of a winter. I love me some white fluffy snow, even into May. I don't mind wearing a parka and I love mother-knit mittens. Hot cocoa is the drink du not only jour, but la saison aussi. (No, I don't know French. Except for the one line I remember from second grade when I was allowed to take French lessons instead of spelling: Dans la maison.... and then something about le salon)
But if it's been a bummer of a winter, at least the bummer is in the form of wispy warmy breezy hazy not too sunny sunshine. So the bummer is a good kind of bummer.
I felt so late springy that I wore my summery bracelets, TWO of them even. I like to wiggle my wrist and hear the beads chatter on my wrist. I feel like wearing flowery cotton skirts and single knit t-shirts and a big floppy hat. And leather sandals.
The bummer of this bummer winter is that the flowers aren't blooming yet. "It's the middle of March!" they say, "It's like your alarm clock going off at 3 a.m. and the world expecting you to be awake and ready to put on a show. Give us a few weeks and we'll be awake and ready to please your eyes and nose."
Matt just said next winter better be good or we're moving to Siberia. I'd better start packing just in case.
But if it's been a bummer of a winter, at least the bummer is in the form of wispy warmy breezy hazy not too sunny sunshine. So the bummer is a good kind of bummer.
I felt so late springy that I wore my summery bracelets, TWO of them even. I like to wiggle my wrist and hear the beads chatter on my wrist. I feel like wearing flowery cotton skirts and single knit t-shirts and a big floppy hat. And leather sandals.
The bummer of this bummer winter is that the flowers aren't blooming yet. "It's the middle of March!" they say, "It's like your alarm clock going off at 3 a.m. and the world expecting you to be awake and ready to put on a show. Give us a few weeks and we'll be awake and ready to please your eyes and nose."
Matt just said next winter better be good or we're moving to Siberia. I'd better start packing just in case.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Not keeping me posted
Paul didn't tell me he had a french horn quartet piece for solo/ensemble contest. I knew the whole band was going to perform and I figured that was why he wore his black suit, his black shirt and a fabbo tie. I also thought that when he said, "I'm doing solo/ensemble" he meant the whole band. Why did I not guess he had a small group performance? Because he never said (and I'm going to use his vernacular) "Me and the other horns are gonna play a thing." Not that that statement is particularly enlightening, but it would have clued me into SOMETHING, and I would have grilled him until I understood exactly what was going on. He never mentioned having to practice, and based on his lack of practice or mention of any kind that he played an instrument over the last 2 years, I would not have guessed he was game for getting together with the other french horns and playing a horn quartet for some judges.
So how did I find out?
Facebook. This is why I am on facebook. I don't much keep up with other people, but when it comes to my children, I like to use this avenue to find out what they are up to. It wasn't until I saw a picture uploaded by Paul that was titled "The Horn Quartet" and Paul's comment on it was "We got a superior!" THAT is how I found out.
Hayley had mentioned to me that morning that she walked into the band room one day and saw the straight haired horn player sitting by himself. She asked him why he was there and he said, "We were supposed to have a french horn quartet practice but no one showed up." She mentioned that her brother was one of the missing hornists, and he sighed. Even when she told me that, I thought it meant that the whole thing fell through. I thought if it didn't pertain to running, Paul wasn't doing it. (Now if they had planned to run 14 miles while playing a Horn Quartet, I thought he'd be keen on it). Oh, I was wrong.
But also misled. He DIDN'T TELL ME. Isn't this something you tell your mother? When Katie did solo/ensemble contest, she talked about it ALL THE TIME. And she practiced it at home. I knew exactly when and what piece she was playing. Not so with Mr Keeping Secrets.
I'm going to have to install a head cam on Paul so that I can get full broadcasts of what he is doing. Especially when he goes to college in GULP 3 months. I can just imagine the lack of letters from him. The lack of phone calls. Even the lack of texts. I wonder if he even remembers that he HAS parents.
So how did I find out?
Facebook. This is why I am on facebook. I don't much keep up with other people, but when it comes to my children, I like to use this avenue to find out what they are up to. It wasn't until I saw a picture uploaded by Paul that was titled "The Horn Quartet" and Paul's comment on it was "We got a superior!" THAT is how I found out.
Hayley had mentioned to me that morning that she walked into the band room one day and saw the straight haired horn player sitting by himself. She asked him why he was there and he said, "We were supposed to have a french horn quartet practice but no one showed up." She mentioned that her brother was one of the missing hornists, and he sighed. Even when she told me that, I thought it meant that the whole thing fell through. I thought if it didn't pertain to running, Paul wasn't doing it. (Now if they had planned to run 14 miles while playing a Horn Quartet, I thought he'd be keen on it). Oh, I was wrong.
But also misled. He DIDN'T TELL ME. Isn't this something you tell your mother? When Katie did solo/ensemble contest, she talked about it ALL THE TIME. And she practiced it at home. I knew exactly when and what piece she was playing. Not so with Mr Keeping Secrets.
I'm going to have to install a head cam on Paul so that I can get full broadcasts of what he is doing. Especially when he goes to college in GULP 3 months. I can just imagine the lack of letters from him. The lack of phone calls. Even the lack of texts. I wonder if he even remembers that he HAS parents.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
If you don't like reading about cat pee, skip this post
When last I left you, I was feeding pills to Tom Servo the cat (not Tom Servo the robot). After a day of feline languidity and sluggishness and letting himself go (apparently cats can get really bad dandruff), he perked up and peed all over our favorite (but broken) couch.
Jim decided to chuck the whole piece of couch and move the remaining un-peed-on sectional portion to face the TV, granting us several square feet of freed up space in the room.
Unfortunately, chucking the whole piece of couch now makes us look like a trash house because that couch piece is now sitting in our front yard, just waiting to be turned into permanent housing for mice, voles, rats, birds, and various deadly viruses. It also doesn't match the hostas. It is also visibly tattered because there aren't any cushions on it and the bottom lining is partially torn off and it waves in the wind.
I like the larger feel to the room now that the couch is just a single piece, but I miss being able to lie down on the couch. In my opinion, couches are not to sit on; they are for lying down on. It's weird not to be able to put my feet up. So Jim bought an ottoman (with storage!) and now I can put my feet up once again.
So anyway, back to the cat. He peed on the couch. We gave him a bath because he smelled so bad. He didn't like it much (at all) and Jim liked it even less (he got scratched). I talked to the cat in my "soothing the feline" voice (yes I do have a voice for that) all the while sloshing water around his back end. I tried to dry him off, but he would have none of it, and he ran down stairs and hid behind the water softener
Servo spent Wednesday lying around some more and doing his best to forgive us for the bath. He did eat a little and peed a lot (in the right place, thank goodness) so we thought he was on the mend.
Then this morning I came home exhausted from seminary. I had had a headache most of yesterday and one of my eyes felt like I was gouging it with a mediumly sharpened pencil (I checked several times; I wasn't gouging with anything). I woke up this morning with no headache, but still very very tired. I determined that I would take a nap before heading to work at 8. Jim offered to call and wake me up.
So I hopped in bed, snuggled up into the most comfortable position possible and was just about to drift off into power nap mode, when I heard a most hideous mewling.
Servo was doing his pitiful, low, full throated meow/cry. Over and over. I thought, Oh crap, he's sick again. He's had a relapse; he's vomited or something and he's dying now. I hopped out of bed and he was there at my door, sitting up as pretty as ever...
with his Polly Pocket dress toy.
He wanted to play fetch.
I cursed him roundly for making me think he was two feet, a tail, and several whiskers in the grave, when all he wanted was for me to toss the Polly Pocket dress down the stairs so he could chase after it and bring it back to me (as long as I'm not looking at him) and then do it all over again for hours.
And here we are, three hours later, and he is still waiting, looking at me with his Polly Pocket dress at his paws.
Be right back. Or not.
(Yes, my boy kitty plays with Polly Pocket dresses. He's secure in his neutered manliness)
Jim decided to chuck the whole piece of couch and move the remaining un-peed-on sectional portion to face the TV, granting us several square feet of freed up space in the room.
Unfortunately, chucking the whole piece of couch now makes us look like a trash house because that couch piece is now sitting in our front yard, just waiting to be turned into permanent housing for mice, voles, rats, birds, and various deadly viruses. It also doesn't match the hostas. It is also visibly tattered because there aren't any cushions on it and the bottom lining is partially torn off and it waves in the wind.
I like the larger feel to the room now that the couch is just a single piece, but I miss being able to lie down on the couch. In my opinion, couches are not to sit on; they are for lying down on. It's weird not to be able to put my feet up. So Jim bought an ottoman (with storage!) and now I can put my feet up once again.
So anyway, back to the cat. He peed on the couch. We gave him a bath because he smelled so bad. He didn't like it much (at all) and Jim liked it even less (he got scratched). I talked to the cat in my "soothing the feline" voice (yes I do have a voice for that) all the while sloshing water around his back end. I tried to dry him off, but he would have none of it, and he ran down stairs and hid behind the water softener
Servo spent Wednesday lying around some more and doing his best to forgive us for the bath. He did eat a little and peed a lot (in the right place, thank goodness) so we thought he was on the mend.
Then this morning I came home exhausted from seminary. I had had a headache most of yesterday and one of my eyes felt like I was gouging it with a mediumly sharpened pencil (I checked several times; I wasn't gouging with anything). I woke up this morning with no headache, but still very very tired. I determined that I would take a nap before heading to work at 8. Jim offered to call and wake me up.
So I hopped in bed, snuggled up into the most comfortable position possible and was just about to drift off into power nap mode, when I heard a most hideous mewling.
Servo was doing his pitiful, low, full throated meow/cry. Over and over. I thought, Oh crap, he's sick again. He's had a relapse; he's vomited or something and he's dying now. I hopped out of bed and he was there at my door, sitting up as pretty as ever...
with his Polly Pocket dress toy.
He wanted to play fetch.
I cursed him roundly for making me think he was two feet, a tail, and several whiskers in the grave, when all he wanted was for me to toss the Polly Pocket dress down the stairs so he could chase after it and bring it back to me (as long as I'm not looking at him) and then do it all over again for hours.
And here we are, three hours later, and he is still waiting, looking at me with his Polly Pocket dress at his paws.
Be right back. Or not.
(Yes, my boy kitty plays with Polly Pocket dresses. He's secure in his neutered manliness)
Monday, March 5, 2012
All I can do is *sigh*
*sigh*
*sigh*
*sigh*
Vet appt soon. But I'm preparing for the worst.
Update: No feline grim reaper yet. Vet couldn't see any blockage. For now, I get to give the cat antibiotic pills every 12 hours. Let me tell you exactly how fun that is: not any. Servo will not see reason when it comes to taking pills.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Taking the time to turn 50
It was a small celebration. Celebrations take planning, planning takes time, and time is in short supply these days (anyone know where I can get more of it?). Jim was fine with that. But a birthday boy DOES need cake. And I can do cake in little spare moments of the day.
And this is his cake. What I didn't have time for was to come up with a super witty or super interesting cake decoration idea. OH well. Plain old 50 written in green icing surrounded with purple tastes just as good as cute ideas done in the same icing.
And here is the 50 year old himself, smiling like he doesn't have a major milestone birthday:
And notice Matt being weird. Shows you how much respect our children have for their parents.
And here is a picture of Hayley.
And one of Paul:
We were all happy to eat cake. Then we sang Happy Birthday in the most mournful way possible--in minor key and in our lowest voices. It was so pathetically sad, which made us all laugh.
Good times!
And here is the 50 year old himself, smiling like he doesn't have a major milestone birthday:
And here is a picture of Hayley.
Good times!
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