Money pit?

When we bought this house 6 years ago, we were surprised when the owners told us the lock on the back door "never worked right."

We accepted it. Fixed it about a year later (after finding said door standing WIDE open after a long day at work/school).

We found monsters sized cracks in the laundry room, our bedroom, and bathroom approximately a year after we moved in. Not a big deal, all houses settle. 

Should probably have wondered about the electricity when Ironman was out of town & I got "locked in" the garage. The van was in the garage, with about 8" clearance between the top of the van & the garage ceiling. Every time I pressed the button to open the garage door, the electricity shorted, blew a breaker, and we lost power to open the door. The emergency release was above the van. I couldn't get around the front or back of the van at all, so couldn't pull the release, so was essentially home bound until either the fault fixed itself (likely? Right...) or Ironman returned from his weeklong trip. 

Fond out it was due to a short in an EXTENSION CORD run outside to power some lights in the deck. Rated indoor only. Short was caused by melting snow. 

Two years ago we started pulling down the deck due to overly high pergola height. It was so high we never were able to get any sun protection. And the center post? Supporting the entire weight of the structure? Unanchored. Resting on the floor of the deck. Not even toenailed. And we had a porch swing hanging from this. Should we mention the two "outdoor rated" electrical ceiling fans we pulled down? Rusted through the housings. Hanging in open air (no roof over them). Yep, some high quality engineering went into the hanging of these.  

So today, Ironman decided to pull down the rails on the deck. Big old sledge, some frustration, and voila! The rails are down. 

Unfortunately...when he removed one of the rails, the top of a support post came off, revealing it had previously been repaired. He checked a little further and found that almost all of the posts are wet. Or at least damp. That's ok, it's been a pretty wet spring, and its on the north side of the house. Right? Or maybe, if you dig a little around the post, he finds the post is BURIED in the ground, not anchored in cement, and others are likely the same. 

Sigh. 

Updates to follow. 

On the upside? We got the raised bed garden done in about two hours on Saturday!

 

I'll take annoying for $1,000, Alex

Husbands take note.

At 7:30 pm, when your wife has been awake since 5:30am, at work since 7:30am, and left work at 6pm, it is generally not a good idea to call your wife and say, "what's for dinner?"

Additionally, it is also a bad idea to allow her to FINISH checking out at the grocery store while she tells you her dinner idea.

Another bad idea is to say, "what are to doing?" when you hear her slam the trunk of the car.

The fourth bad idea would be to say, "we'll, I'd really rather have blah blah blah" when she's clearly just finished grocery shopping.

If you have definite dinner plans in mind - SPIT THEM OUT!

Clearly, you've hit the daily double when it comes to the "how to be annoying" category.

Overheard

"It was really weird to see how our gym teacher coordinated her tshirt with her sweatpants with her shoes with her tramp stamp."

40 Days

40 days without social media.

40 days without games.

I don't know how this is going to go for me. I'm guessing it will be 40 days of opportunity.

Chances to pray for those I normally "play against". Chances to be more closely in tune with my family. Opportunities to play catch up on housework, homework, exercise, writing?

Who knows? These 40 days could be...exactly what He intended.

Raney the Role Model

​Since fourth grade I have run cross country and track, and I have cried plenty of times after a race. I really don’t know what was so exceptional about this meet….maybe it was the fact that I would never get to run a track meet in front of Raney again.

I didn’t know it at the time, but Raney was going to be moving back to Philadelphia the summer after my 7th grade year. She reached out to me in a way I can’t describe. Raney has empowered me and helped me to become who I am today.

​It was the city track meet, and I had just run my 1600m (1 mile) race. I was sobbing, I had a cramp the size of Timbuktu and I had tried as hard as I could…but it wasn’t enough. I hadn’t made finals and that thought alone made me want to punch a wall; I was so mad. I was walking off the brownish red, IUPUI track, and tears were streaming down my face. As I stumbled up the ramp to my teams’ tent, I saw my coach waiting for me. Raney walked towards me, and presented me with the biggest hug I could have asked for. I needed that hug like nothing else; I was so angry and disappointed in myself that all I wanted was a little praise. It was that little gesture that has changed me and I haven’t been the same ever since.

​What compelled Raney to hug me, I am not sure. I was hot, sweaty, and covered with tears. Yet she did. That simple hug from Raney brought me closer to her. Before that moment, she had just been another mom of a cross country runner, a coach to a certain extent. Then the next thing I knew, she was a role model to me. She had taken on the demeanor of someone that I could look up to and trust. Even though she now lives over 300 miles away, I know that I can still depend on Raney. The few times I have seen her since she left, she has been just as supportive and uplifting as when she was my coach. She is even considering being my Confirmation sponsor.

I have a hard time imagining why that hug changed me so drastically, but it did. Suddenly I wasn’t afraid to take a risk, or push myself to the limit. I think it may be because I finally realized that if I was ever overwhelmed or struggling, that someone would be there to help me through it. I believe that without that recognition, I wouldn’t have had the courage to do some of the things that I have done. I had the courage to shave my head, ask to be moved up a level in swim, and I even got a job. I learned that a little hug can go a long way, it can empower a person.

I hope someday that I will be able to inspire someone with such a simple action like my coach, Raney, inspired me. I have never doubted her strength or support. She will always be there for me and for that I will always be grateful. Without Raney I don’t think I would be running still, and that is something I simply cannot imagine.

My journey is not over yet, but hopefully with the knowledge that I have gained from role models like Raney; I will be able to make a success of my life. With high hopes I look ahead, with aspirations that do not have a limit. And to think…all of this is from a hug.

Sad

I've been working in my current department for nearly 2 years. I've been doing my current job for more than a year. I've been officially titled an "administrative assistant" for nearly 5 years, still at the same desk, doing none of the same work as when I was hired.

So today my manager came to me and told me I've been promoted. To the job I'm currently doing. To the position I currently hold.

Effective Monday, I'll be paid for doing the job I've been doing for over a year. I've worked my fingers & eyes out, compiled data, worked spreadsheets like there's an end of the world depending on it, sorted data, created forms, run queries, done things in databases I never knew was possible.

I've been praying for this. Praying that God would help the people in charge realize my value. Praying we'd be better able to make ends meet. Praying A LOT.

So now it's official. I'm so relieved all I want to do is sleep. And I've no one to tell.

It's just...sad.


Suz

Dear husband

Dear husband,

I adore you. I love you. You make our life in this house possible.

But your tv watching habits have got to go. Now.

Turn down the tv, or I will come downstairs and shove the remote into an inaccessible place you will greatly regret.

Sincerely,

Your-tired-wife-who-has-to get-up-for-work-in 5-hours-and-who-does-NOT-want-to-hear-the-tv-blaring-below-her-bed-anymore-tonight

My Very Weird Life

My life. It is probably weirder than a lot of peoples' combined. Then again, I'm a lot weirder than a lot of people combined. Come to think about it, my life reflects me. Its hectic and crazy and mind-boggling! Take this for example:
The other day I had very little homework and was bored out of my mind so I started cleaning. Cleaning! Of all of the other things I could have done I started cleaning!

That just proves to you how exceptionally insane I am!

So there you have it, another brilliant entry from the mind of Kelly H, yet as I am writing this I am becoming more and more increasingly aware that I am writing this on a day when I have no homework, so that tells you another thing. I write when I am bored. Great. Just great. I did start writing so that I could talk about how crazy my life has been, but it just turned out to be another classic rant.
I'm like one of those starving artists, but instead I'm an off-topic writer. That's nice way to put it. I am an off-topic writer.

Okay so now that I have forced you to read my rant, I am going to bid you goodbye.
Bye!

Twinsight

While in the car the other day, I overheard the chix talking. It was oddly enlightening.

"it's not like you're my twin."

"yeah, I know"

"it's like you're my best friend. Who makes me really mad. And just won't go away."


I'm not sure if I should be concerned, but it did make me laugh.

I am pregnant...hear me whimper

Oh good Lord, NO! I am NOT pregnant.

But I was at the time.

I was home on maternity leave - bed rest - restricted activity - whatever you want to call it. This was thirteen years ago and my chicklets were still a twinkle in my eye and a large lump in my abdomen.

I needed to get out of the house. The doctor had advised I go to the Y and swim. After trying it just once, I was hooked. These little boogers put so much strain on my bod, the effect of being pseudo-weightless even while completely and mortifyingly LARGE in the torso? Hea. Ven. Ly. Heavenly. Absolutely pure, inexplicable heaven.

Who cared that I got to know all of the lifeguards by name (due to the number of contractions I'd have while halfway through the deep end of the pool). Who cared that I'd swim the slooooooowest laps in the world (because of course, this was only allowed during lap swim, and I wasn't allowed to float, I had to SWIM)! Who cared that I'd stay in the water until the last possible second and then HEAVE myself out of the water to blunder to the bathroom to relieve my increasingly stressed bladder. Not me.

The Y saved my sanity.

Except...this one time...

I grabbed my gear. Grabbed my purse. Grabbed my swimsuit. Grabbed my towel. Grabbed everything!

Except the keys.

8.5 months pregnant with twins. And I'm locked out of my house.

Of course, this is pre-commonly-accessible-mobile-phone days, so I didn't have a phone. Or a key. I couldn't leave the house, because I didn't have a car key. But I couldn't get in the house, either.

So I scanned the house. I knew the gates were locked. The little crappers in the neighborhood opened the gates and let our dogs loose if we left the the gates unlocked. But I checked anyway. And I was right. They were locked. Safe and snug were my doggies - behind the gates - inside the house - locked up tight. Yep, I was thorough. Thoroughly stuck. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't get over the ding-dang fence.

So...went to the guest room window (we lived in a ranch-style-house at the time). Locked.

Went to the chix soon-to-be-bedroom window. Locked.

Went to the living room window. Locked.

Like I could heave myself up into an open window? Even if the window was open, the lower ledge was boob-height. This monstrous belly sticking out in front of me? Leaving me with less than one-inch of lap? How freaking ridiculous was I?!?

Apparently not ridiculous enough.

After being outside - in a coat because it's April after all - in Indiana - where snow is still a possibility in May - for roughly TWO HOURS and seeing no neighbors I know (or want to know?) I decided to hoof it down to a house where I see activity. Oh yeah, I got to tell my sob story to someone I don't even know.
This was NOT the lovely water I had imagined, remembered, longed for. Definitely not.

Turns out, after explaining my freakingly fantastic story to the person who answered the door, they don't live there. They're "watching" the house for their friend while their friend's windows are being installed. And then I got to explain the whole goofball story AGAIN to this random neighbor, whom I've never met, over the phone. And they graciously (grudgingly?) gave me permission to use their phone.

So I called my two neighbors who lived on either side of me. Only one had a key to my house. But neither was home (which I already knew). And of course, since I didn't carry a planner (hello, maternity leave? bed rest? 1998? thanks, glad you're still with me!), I didn't know how else to contact them.

I called my husband on HIS mobile phone. But he was working "in the field" so didn't know or even hear that I called.

Poop. Back to waiting on my front steps for Ironman to hopefully show up...sometime before dark?

Wait wait wait. Bored bored bored.

Except, about 30 minutes later, one of the workers from the pseudo-neighbor's house came down. I felt a little weird. Here's me and my monstro-pregnant belly, hanging out on my front steps because I have nowhere else to go, and here's this strange guy walking down the street.

::gulp::

He said he'd heard my whole situation and wanted to see if he could help me.

::gulp:: Oh screw it.

Cue Hallelujah Chorus!

errrrrr, well, maybe.

I explained the window thing - yep, I was paranoid enough to have locked ALL of my windows in my house. And the gates. And yes, the front door. But...there was a chance I'd forgotten to lock the back door. The one that leads out into the padlocked back yard. Where I couldn't get my pregnant belly. Because I couldn't climb the fence. Because I was uber-pregnant. With twins.

So random pseudo-stranger offered to check.

And then he hopped the fence. Easy as pie. (and yes, I could do it now - because I'm no longer monstro-the-whale)

Pseudo Stranger: "Um, ma'am?"

Me: "Yes?"

PS: "Um, your windows are locked back here. Do you want me to check your door?"

Me: "Yes, PLEASE!" (because at this point, though I had used the bathroom at pseudo-neighbor's house, I was desperate, people! I reallllllly needed to use it AGAIN)

PS: "Um, ma'am?"

Me: wriggling nervously, trying not to wet my pants "Yes?"

PS: walks around the corner of the house to the gate and says, "Um, ma'am, the back door is unlocked. What do you want me to do?"

Me: "oh my gosh, just walk in. Just walk in. When you walk in, you'll be in the laundry room. Turn left and the front door will be straight ahead of you!"

PS: "Are you sure?"

Me: attempting to hold onto my dignity "Yes, whatever you need to do, just please, thank you, please go straight through."

And he did.



And THAT is how I didn't escape to the Y. Because after all of that, the chicklets and I needed a bathroom. And a nap.

you have to imagine this being said by a friend who has a lilting Bengali accent

Me:

I have a headache.

Co-worker:

Aren't you glad?

Me, completely confused:

Wha...?

Co-worker:

You should be glad you have a headache. It makes you aware you have a head!

Good grief, this woman can make me laugh.

So my life is pretty calm right now

looking back on the past few weeks i have realized that my life has pretty much calmed down. well that is compared to summer break which was totally over the top so my life is still pretty crazy. i have a dog who itches her ear like crazy. a friend who just transferred to my school. and i just started taking art club and creative writing!!! for creative writing class i have made a few good pieces. one about words and how stuffy some of them are and another on hair. and i just discovered something about myself. i am a terrible story-teller. i truly am, i can never remember what is specifically said or what my friend said and then it always gets all jumbled up with what seems like 6 different endings and by the time i'm at the last sentence my mind is totally fried. so here i am wondering why i signed up for creative writing and how i got myself into this mess and so know i'm open to suggestions. any suggestions you might have i'm open to them. so come on. give me a reply or something to let me know that i'm not the only one out here in the world. so please. give me an answer. any answer. i don't really care.

goodbye for now,
signed,
the writer in distress

Posion Ivy

I have learned quite a few things over the past few days. First of all, don't ever rub your face on a dog. You'll just end up getting poison ivy like me. Second of all, definetly don't rub your face on a dog if your extremely allergic like me. Third of all, when your mom says that you should go to the doctor, you should go to the doctor! Otherwise you'll probably end up like me. With a swollen face and and an itchy neck. You might be wondering what i did wrong.

Well what i did first was rub my face on the dog, then i progressed to refuse medical aide because i believe that it was no big deal. That turned out to be a big mistake.
Then this morning when i woke up i found out that most of the area around my eye was swollen and evidently i looked like a freak. Two hours later i was leaving the emergency medical place with steriods in my system. They had had to give me a shot in the butt. What fun!
P.S. that last sentence was sarcasm

Summertime!!

Well, now that summer has arrived, I have made a list of things that I would love to do in the wide expanse of warm days that follow!

• Go to ________ Girl Scout Camp for two weeks to train to be a totally terrific aide, and then, in one week, I will be putting my aide practicing to the test!
  
• Visit my relatives in Ohio for a fun-filled week of Camp Kake :)
• Enjoy the sunny beaches of Camp G________ as I swim my way through the week :D
  
• Earn my Gold and Silver Award through a series of fun and interesting activities for Girl Scouts 8p
• Spend time with my friends and family and have numerous sleepovers and such!! 0__0
  
• Go on several camping trips with my family<3

Whether I am talking, swimming, texting, reading, sunbathing, or camping, I plan on making this summer a fun one! ;D

Mommy, my stomach hurts...

Thus began my morning.

Well, technically it began a few hours earlier. The chicklets had a track meet this morning, so I had awakened them at 5 (a.m.) so they could swallow some breakfast. They each had a banana and promptly went back to sleep.

When awakened at 7:15, Yell came into my room whining about her stomach. I was washing my face and questioning her about her symptoms at the same time.

"what do you mean it hurts? Like heartburn? Like you need to go to the bathroom? Like you..."

Yell, "buuuurp"

Stunned silence.

Yell, "Oh, that feels much better. Never mind."



I think she gets her manners from Homer Simpson.

Stuff

I received a letter indicating the tuition rate at my kids' school will go up by approximately $50/month next year. Coincidentally it was the same day as our mandatory parents’ meeting. I’ve been trying to compose this letter since then.

Dear School Principal,

To say I’m disgusted by what is expected of next year is an understatement.
I respect that you intend for the students to perform service hours to ‘earn’ their class t-shirt. I respect that they will need to earn the right to wear them on Fridays. My kids are probably not the norm. They will each have completed ten hours of service within the first two days of their summer vacation. What I do not understand, comprehend, condone, or encourage is the acquiring of ‘things’ for our students.

I’m likely in the minority. I’ve always been frugal so we can afford our children’s wants as well as their needs. This will likely shock you, but I’ll tell you anyway. For all of my children’s back-to-school supplies (including shoes & clothing), the cost for July 2010 was $99. It was done very carefully, watching sales, using coupons, buying “pre-worn” items, and with several gifts from current 8th graders.

But that doesn’t resolve my feelings about what is expected for our soon-to-be eight graders.

A class shirt. Estimated cost $25 each. As is typical for our family, we purchase 5 shirts (one per day) each year for each child. Because these are unique to this class, the cost to my household is $125 for one child.
A sweatshirt. Estimated cost $30. $155. For two children (yes, there are two families with two kids in the class) the total is now $310.

A yard sign. Estimated cost $10. $165. For two, $330. For use one day of the year. To announce what the rest of the school already knows – these kids are graduating. Yes, the children are given the option to take the sign home and display it in their yard. As a safety issue, this concerns me. Do I really want everyone on the street to know my now-graduated-from-8th-grade-child has gifts, money, spare time, and will likely be home alone?

A DVD. Estimated cost $10. $175. For two, $350. With pictures of my child on it that I supply. I’m supposed to pay to buy a DVD of photos I already know I have?

And the big class trip. Estimated at $150 per child. $325. For two, $650. And we haven’t purchased shoes, pants/shorts, socks, jackets, gym uniform, dodge ball, or the various track/cross country/volleyball/football/basketball/kickball/soccer/sports t-shirts and equipment. I know I can scratch off the class sweatshirt, the DVD, and the sign, but that saves a $50 from the total. Not a significant savings.

I know (and understand why) my 8th grader will ‘want’ everything the other kids have. I realize there is an opportunity for them to participate in, not one, not two, but THIRTEEN or FOURTEEN fundraisers. What is that teaching my child? Yes, hard work = earning your trip. But also, “your trip can be better than the one the class had last year" if you earn the money to pay for it. I’m also teaching them to sell “stuff” to people in our neighborhood who are already facing reduced incomes due to high gas prices, higher costs at the grocery store, higher taxes, more responsibilities, bigger burdens. And can you imagine what it does to the families with two children? Oh yippy skippy! TWENTY-SIX to TWENTY-EIGHT fundraisers! I assure you, those parents are not thrilled.

Yes, graduating from eighth grade is a ‘bigger deal’ from a parochial school than it is from middle school. Perhaps only because most of these children have been in the same class for the past 9 years. Perhaps because they’re all looking forward to attending high school with the same set of kids. Perhaps they should consider scaling back on their final year of school. Perhaps consider inviting the kids from a "less fortunate" school to participate in their class trip to a park for a picnic – perhaps our privileged youth should share their blessings?

People don’t need more STUFF in their lives.

I’m ready to wash my hands of the whole year and move the kid to public school.

Ready to Read

Hello!!!!!!!!!!! I am saying this because my mom won't let me have my own blog. I want my blog to feature the fact that starting on my birthday i will try to read 100 books in a year. And I was going to name it Sensational Anne : the girl who reads it all. Isn't that an awesome name?!?!

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

I'm posting this as part of Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.  Though I may have to write the dream prompt as well.  I have a doozy that inspires me to no end of activity.




My oh-so-thoughtful sis coerced us into collaborating on a Mother's Day present for my mom.  It's perfect.  It doesn't require dusting.  It doesn't require watering or maintenance.  It won't cause her to gain weight.  It won't be thrown away or cause unnecessary pollution.  But it might make her cry.

---

On Mom and Sewing

2010

I remember coming downstairs to find mom hunched over the kitchen counter, the light above her work turned on. She was working on some flannel. It was white, with little purple flowers. She painstakingly inserted pieces of metal through the fabric and then grabbed a hammer. She pounded on the fabric, trying to get the snaps to adhere. When she cried because her wrist hurt, I felt bad and went back to bed. I hoped Dad would help her. Those jammies were that much more special to me, because despite her fatigue, Mom made me jammies.  –Suz

Pajamas. Love. –T

Mom bringing out the big white board with blue dots on it and laying it across the dining room table. The sound of scissors running across that board as they were cutting fabric for Mom's next project. Learning how to read a pattern and cut the right size. Making shorts for myself. Learning to use Aunt Alma's sewing machine alongside Mom: "Does your sewing machine have a zigzag stitch?" –Kake

The white glass egg for fixing socks and her focused on that sock-wrapped egg with needle in hand and tongue sticking out. –Nacho

The Chicklets - wearing 2 of
Grammy's creations

Mom is sewing my socks. Why is mom sewing my socks? –B

My memories with Grammy:

Sewing skirts for my dolls
Teaching me to crochet
Using the sewing machine with her
Dressing the dolls with the clothes we made –Crab

I remember that one time Grammy was helping us make clothes for our dolls and I remember that after we were done I was playing with my doll, I sat down then yelled "OUCH!!!!!", I had sat down on a needle. I also remember the time that she helped me make a hanky for my mom for a special occasion. And the last thing that I remember is the time she helped me make a cape for my Roggy and I put half of the buttons on the wrong side!! I still have that cape and my Roggy is still wearing it. –Yell

Blessed are the children

When leaving church yesterday, the chix and I headed for the baptismal font to get holy water prior to leaving.

We spotted a little one. Toddler. Tiny little girl who was obviously experimenting with freedom, but also trying to keep her mommy in her line of sight.  She couldn't have been older than 14 months.

She had on a tiny little dress. And sandals with tights. And cutesy little pigtails high up on her little head. She toddled closer and closer to the baptismal font.

I was watching to make sure she didn't make a break for freedom.

But someone else was watching too.


A little guy. Couldn't have been older than four or five.

He came up to the font and got some holy water. He blessed himself.



Then he turned, bent, and blessed the forehead of the little girl.



And when he turned back, beaming, I realized he had Downs syndrome.



Without intending it, he blessed me, too.
--

life simplified

Today was another track meet.

I was incredibly proud of Crab. She's been practicing for track for a little over 2 months & has gained confidence. She started playing around on the hurdles DURING the last track meet & had her coach put her into competition today. She came in THIRD!!!

Yell was disgusted with herself. Apparently she wasn't pacing herself properly and came in ONE SECOND behind her previous one mile time.

Ahem.

One second.

I realize that's a lot of time when you're looking at racing times. I realize it's significant when you're looking at her total time.

But people - one second. It's not a MONSTER FREAKING DEAL.

But apparently it was. And is. To her. She was meaner than all get out for the rest of the day.

Rawr. With teeth. And claws. And sharp fingernails.


So our comedic moment came while I was dealing with entering the kids' times. I was nominated by my husband to do data entry. I have a weird habit of typing things in the most efficient way possible. So while 'bored' at work, I taught myself to enter 10-key.

Yup. I'm an idiot.

Our spreadsheet had some errors in it. I don't know how it happened. Since I know 10-key, I kind of watch myself as I enter the info. So I just glanced at the screen and saw that a 4th grade girl had just run in a 7/8 grade event.

Um, what?

Checked the list of participants, called the kid to the score table, verified their info, gave them a new number, continued down the list of entries.

And it happened again. Called kid to the score table, verified their info, gave them a new number, continued down the list.

And then it happened AGAIN. But as I was looking down the list of runners, I noticed that I wasn't getting everyone who had run during the past three meets.

Call in "Mr. Baker". Scott is the guy who created our spreadsheet. But "Mr. Baker" is the guy who is a techno-geek who I know is nearby. Scott is at yonder pit with kids hurling large metal balls into the air while competing for distance. I'm staying away from that guy.

I yelled, "Hey, Yell, Crab, whoever you are (I know, it's weird, sometimes I can't tell my non-identical twins apart), go get Mr. Baker!"

The kid turns around (it was Yell), and says, "WHO?!?"

"Mr. Baker - he's out by the scoring stuff. I need him right away."

"WHO?"

"Mr. Baker....that kid's dad!" and pointed to a little guy who was wearing a fireman's jacket/raincoat.

"Oh. You mean Cooper's dad?"

---------------------

Later, a mom came up to the table and asked if anyone has seen Yellybird.

I said, "yes, but she's asleep in her car."

The mom says, 'Oh, well has anyone seen her dad?'

I said, "Well, yes, but he left for a business trip."

The mom then said, "Oh, you're Yelly's mom?"

"That's me."

"Oh. Hi Yelly's mom. I have her earrings!"

---------------------

So there you have it.

Life has been simplified. We are our children's parents. That is all.