"I want to be on the one that leads to Awesome."

What will be your Space Jam?? Give the world a reason to dance!

Brain Overload

There are just some weeks that are more tense than others. This is one of them. The mental gymnastics that it takes to remember to breathe are almost more than I can take.

And yet, none of it is taking place first person.

My sister reminded me recently that we are lucky to love people so much that we carry their pain. She's right.

If you are in pain today, and I know about it, know that I'm helping you carry it.

You can pay for my massage one of these days when you're back on your feet.

Kidding, kidding.....

The Soundtrack of Life

Brent has to go to San Antonio soon and he asked me if I wanted to go with him.

After we were married, Brent and I split for a summer. I lived in San Antonio and he lived in Minneapolis. The idea being that we were prepping for grad school. Internships helped pave the way to great grad school grants. We were both highly recruited by several schools, but not the same schools and if we were both going to go, we needed an impressive resume (or impressive scores, which I later learned we had, but at the time we weren't so sure). Brazilian samba music reminds me of San Antonio. So does simple Mexican music, but my roommate was from Rio and she loved the samba, which she taught to me. Zig Ziglar wrote in a book once, (paraphrase) "I'm back in this grey town with college students rushing back and forth and I miss the smiles and laughter and music I just left behind in San Antonio."

I told Brent that I couldn't go back. San Antonio tastes like the death of a dream.

Yes, I have a flair for the dramatic. I get that.
It may or may not have also been that I didn't want to use up babysitting on a town I've already done and done well. I may or may not also be regretting jumping at the opportunity to get out of this bleak January in any way possible. But still. My initial death of a dream statement was also a true one.

Never mind that I killed that dream for a new one. I wanted to be a mommy. And I didn't see the point in being a hyper-educated mommy. And I also knew that if I got hyper-educated, I'd have a hard time letting it go to be a mommy. I chose one dream over another. Most days I have no regrets. On the days where I suck at my job, and there are a lot of them.....I wonder if maybe doing research on e.coli for the rest of my life wouldn't have been such a bad thing. You can be furious with e.coli and yell at it and ship it off to a incubator to grow and suffer little to no guilt.


A couple days ago I put on Norah Jones which brought out more dreams I've let die. The novel writer dream. The children's book writer dream. The let's have a dozen children dream. The nature photographer dream. The famous blogger dream. *wink* The homeschooling mom dream. The learn Italian dream.

Or today, I put on Los Lonely Boys which reminds me of sailing in the Pacific before Charming was a glimmer in my eye. When I was toying with the idea of Eldest boy, Only daughter, Baby son sounds like the perfect family. I didn't know what kind of dream I would have traded in for that to be the case. What I would have missed out on. Or how many times I'd find myself whispering to Brent, "I'm so glad we have him."

That hummy, dreamy music you hear at the Target music trial kiosks remind me of my yoga dreams. A phase I'd still probably be in if I'd stayed in the city. There was a time I toyed with getting certified as an instructor. To do that now would be kin to throwing my money in the garbage as people here tend to frown on yoga as if it is all channeling spirits. My yoga instructor was a Christian. I assure you I didn't once channel a spirit in her class. I did find my inner rock star. I miss her. The instructor and my inner rock star. My shoulder doesn't hurt anymore. Apparently my inner rock star wasn't doing her crocodile quite right. Not doing it all all makes me weak, but pain free.

Which reminds me of my dream to be a midwife. First I was going to certify as a doula. Eventually going to school for midwifery. And, when I was rock star good, moving to Africa to deliver babies in the bush. The You've Got Mail soundtrack sends me there. I watch it now and it just depresses me, but I do love the music. What I got out of that dream was three successful home births. Two in the water. I. Did. That. It isn't delivering 3000 babies in the backwoods on my own, but it is a dream I can put a check beside.

I thought about going back to school next year and getting my nursing degree and attacking the midwifery thing from another angle. And then it occurred to me that though I didn't mind death and barf and poo and fluids and crises when I was 18-23, I'm not really fond of them now. A crying child shoots adrenaline though me the likes of which I would never have expected.

Dreams come and go. This morning I told Brent about a house I remember that had a whole wall of built in bookshelves where I sat and told myself that, one day, I, too would have a room like that. He might have looked at me a little cross eyed and told me that dream was irrational. Full bookshelves scattered throughout the house is completely adequate. I told him that I have a lot of dreams that I can do nothing about, but a wall of bookshelves is do-able and to start figuring out where we could put them. But not to worry because next week I'd be on to something different and he won't have to follow through. Yet.

Meanwhile, I'm stripping wallpaper. I have a dream.....that one day.....I will no longer have burgundy/mauve/teal/purple roses/pineapples/paisley on my walls. And when I have killed them once and for all, I will tackle the seven colors of carpet that coordinate with them.

And, because all of this is so Dorothy-esque, or maybe because I have also dreamed about moving to the north shore of Kauai, I give you my theme song of the week.

Christmas

Christmas and Ethiopia are so intertwined up in my mind, I'm having a hard time knowing what to do with myself.

I can't complete a coherent paragraph. Sometimes sentence.

*cue going off track*

I was looking though photos of my Christmas Eve trip to Kechene and remembering how ridiculous Americans looked in the photos they sent these kids. Fluffy tutus, cruise ships, matching sweaters. They were just family pictures. Pictures like I've taken. Pictures my friends have taken. And I think of Mockingjay and the people of the Capital and how utterly frivolous and ridiculous they are. (Google Hunger Games if you don't get the reference and read the books, not for the "bloodlust" but for the moral of the story. If all you get out of those books is bloodlust, you missed the whole point.)
Granted, I'd been in Ethiopia for two weeks by the time I visited Kechene. I'd been all over the country. I'd visited Iris' mother. I'd visited World Vision. I'd handed out more birr to more armless people than I have ever seen in my life. I'd bought more gum from more street children than I could chew in a lifetime. I'd seen boys "polish" tennis shoes. I'd listened to a man beg us to find his daughters a home before he died. And I walked into that school where children with clothes hanging on by a thread sang a welcome song to me that was filled with joy.

(Learn more about Kechene here.)

I was asked recently to write an article about "Our Christmas Miracle" and I had to tell her I'd write something, but it wouldn't fit into that heading. The miracle of Christmas in Ethiopia had nothing to do with us.

I'll post it sometime. Maybe.

I'm having a hard time embracing the Christmas traditions anymore. Or better said, the American Christmas traditions.
I've opted out of cards.
We haven't taken a picture.
I don't feel like shopping.
I have lost weight. Yes, in December.
I wake in the dead of night in a financial panic.
I'm desperately searching for a sponsorship program  that will go find Iris' little brother and closest cousin and get them signed up.
My filter is still gone. In fact, so far gone that I probably won't have a friend left if I'm not careful.

I did realize today that we haven't had a "normal" Christmas in years. There is no reason for me to not miss the December traditions because we don't really have them since the move. And I rather like it. I like the parties we don't go to and I like the programs we don't have and I like the dinners we don't eat and I like not pretending to enjoy myself at some function I'd rather not attend. I like not buying stupid gifts for silly exchanges and I like that there is no stress when I don't know the answer to Christmas movie trivia. None of it matters.

I have a broken little girl who has a very broken mama. And we are healing together. I think she before me. I get impatient and frustrated and then I look at her life and I wonder how she isn't a blubbering idiot. We'll figure this out together.

Not over Christmas. Christmas has brought out a bear. Well, Thanksgiving brought out a bear that Christmas hasn't tamed. (imagine with me a misunderstanding about how much money your parents have with a dash of believing that everything one has ever heard about Christmas in America must be true about this new home. Big. Mistake.) But for January, I'm hopeful.

Today I'm worn.

One of my adoption friends posted this video tonight, and it's just so appropriate.

I'm OK. If you run into me at the grocery store, I'll probably even have a smile for you. We're OK. We're just tired. And very glad to be closing out 2012. Hands down the hardest year so far. Including the years of middle school, infertility, miscarriage and joblessness.

Hands down.

So if you're inclined, shoot up a prayer for us. We always need them. Even on the great days.

Awaken

"My friends had become billboard advertisements of themselves. Is that all people were anymore? An advertisement of a person that catches our attention because we like the layout, the copy, the font? Had people become that easy to define? I used to think so. But now I realized all of my digital friendships hovered on the surface. There was never any depth. We didn't discuss ourselves because we didn't take the time to know ourselves. We were too busy being shown who we should be, what we should wear, what groups we should join. Who we should mimic. We didn't have time to form our own thoughts or opinions so we quoted others." From Awaken, by Katie Kacvinsky

Definitely worth a read. And no one provided a book so that I would say so. But in this age of bloggies and facebook and email and texting, in this age of info sharing and less privacy, I'm discovering how isolated we are becoming.

I do love me some online friends. I do. There are a handfull that I'd say know me far better than anyone I see on a regular basis.  HOWEVER, some days I think we've taken our online personnas too far and if people met us on the street, they wouldn't recognize our actual personality. Only the one we've cultivated and shared.

Am I wrong?

What do you think?

Political Philosophy

College years: idealistic and excited
twenty-somethings: passionate and on fire
late thirties: care, vote, realize there is not one thing you can do about it beyond that.


I'm going to bed.
I'm too old for this.

I gotta say it

After one hard move and one really long rainy season that packed on half a person, or twice a newborn.
After two trips to Africa.
One bout of food poisoning.
Long sleepless nights of crying.
And very early morning awakenings for prayer.
After giving up pepsi.
And creamer.
And bad desserts that aren't worth it.
And sloth.
The sloth had to go, too.

I'm in my 20s again.

And I'm very, super, yippie-skippy happy about it.

Six Months and Counting.....

On Monday we hit that magical six months home day. The one where "they" say "they really start to feel like yours" and where "you achieve your new normal."

So, my new normal is:
going to bed at 9 every night because I'm so exhausted.

Kidding.
Well, I'm not, but I hope it isn't forever.

In six months we have:
*taught Iris to eat pizza. so well, in fact, that it's all she wants and drives me crazy about it.
*taught Iris that toilet paper goes in the toilet and not the trash
*taught Iris that she can tell us anything and we'll try not to freak out until she is tucked safely away in bed.
*gone off on a child who ate the same thing for 10 days running for saying "again" when we had Mexican buffet two nights in a row. "get used to it. you can change it up. see all the options?"
*cried more tears than we can even remember
*watched ourselves get old and drawn
*the ability to communicate really well.
*found out our newest child is an "aggressive learner."
*celebrated contact with birthfamily
*begun to "fix" our youngest since "he's only five" doesn't translate. (and shouldn't have this long...)
*given and especially received undeserved love and affection and forgiveness.
*survived.
and lots more.
we've grown.
All of us.

And you know what?

"They" are right.

She's mine. 

Crazy fake smile and all.
(By the way, very excited because she just got pizza....)

But I hope the new normal includes Iris learning to speak in past and future tense. I have a feeling it will be less confusing.

If I Were to Write a Blog Post

This would be it. If you change all the "boy" to "girl," that is.

And I would tell you that this is my sister and we are all in deep mourning.

And these children were friends with my Iris in Ethiopia.

Sometimes I want to scream at the injustices of the world. Those "sometimes" have become nearly "every waking hour" anymore. And sometimes I wake up just for those moments.

It's been a very emotional week and frankly, even though it is contrary to my make-up, I've got no words to describe my chaos anymore. I could tell you a funny story about the first grade field trip to the pumpkin patch in a freezing cold downpour, but I just don't have the heart for it. That sentence just about sums it up without actually complaining about something that is irrelevant compared to life's true problems.

So there you go. My week in review.

Time Warp

It's an interesting thing, leaving and returning to your hometown nearly 20 years later.

I've made new friends and it doesn't bother me at all to see them in the role of "Mom." After all, that's what we are.

No, what gets me is seeing my old acquaintances rockin' the minivan.

I realize this is shallow. I drive a minivan and it is perfectly normal. I rejoiced the day my first one arrived. It was like driving a house. And when my daycare kids were over I wasn't housebound. It was awesome.

But there are people who will never look right to me because I didn't see them transition from muscle car to minivan. They're just.....there. Driving one. All of a sudden. Like time has passed or something.

I am living Marty McFly's nightmare. Thank goodness *I* am still 17.

Hair

Well.....
I'm 37.

I guess I should back up.
Yesterday as I sat in the back row of church and analyzed the heads of women ahead of me, I again had the thought that someday I, too, would be an adult woman who got up every day and "did" my hair. Meaning, I guess, that I would use a blow drier, or curling iron, or flat iron (as if that would be remotely necessary) and have a style beyond, "Hey! I graduated in 1994, the year of the grunge!"

When the thought occurred to me, Well......I'm 37.

I'm not sure you get more grown up than you are when you are 37. Wiser, yes. But grown up? I don't think so. If I was going to do my hair, I would be doing it already. I'm going to quit lying to myself and let myself off the hook. I will probably never grow up and do my hair.

I cut 10 inches off a few weeks ago in honor of a friend in the throes of chemo. If I wanted a style, that would have been the time. I chose, instead, to tell her, "A style that doesn't require style."

Hello grunge, ole friend, ole pal.



 

The Birthday Card

Today I turned 37.

Let's just take a moment and reflect on WHERE in the WORLD the last 20 years have gone.

Moment over.

If I still act like a 17 year old, I'm still 17 in spirit. Right?

Yes, you too can have these beauties for the remarkably questionable price of $89.95. Don't miss the fact that they are tiger striped and will make you six feet tall.

Or, you know, you could feed a child for THREE MONTHS.

This is Jose Luis. Today is his birthday. He needs school fees and healthcare. He needs you.

My husband very graciously let me take a long weekend with some other adoptive mams where we learned new methods to parent our children who are used to parenting themselves.

And we laughed a lot.

I might have gone more for the laughter than the stellar parenting advice, but I'll keep that under wraps.

And this morning, after four days off and before I had my first cup of coffee, I pulled the birthday card. My rant speech went like this:

"I hate to do this, but I'm going to pull the birthday card. I have a minimum of three children crying at me for something that is either frivolous or out of my control and not one of you has told me happy birthday. On your birthday, birthday trumps all. So stop."

I said it calmly.

They mostly shaped up.

Today is my birthday. I am 37. I need nothing. I want new carpet because I have seven colors of carpet, none of which I like, but I don't need new carpet. I don't even want tiger striped will make you six feet tall backwards heels. (Which, by the way, other women came and tried on after I did because I made them look so good. Or because they wanted the photo opp. One or the other.)

Today is Jelsy Mary's birthday. She needs protein and water and will eventually need school.

She has no one to pull the birthday trump card on. She needs you.

Today is John Lenard's birthday. He loves math. But he needs someone to pay for his school, to help provide him the water that he carries for his family.

He has no one to pull the birthday trump card on. He needs you.

Me and these three kids, today is our birthday. And we're pulling the birthday trump card. If you have been riding the fence on child sponsorship, today is your lucky day. I have a deal for you. I have three very special kids from three very different countries that would love to have a very special birthday. They would love to hear they have a sponsor. I'm giving you the chance to give that to them.

I have their cards. If you claim one of these kiddos, I'll send you their info with a dozen cookies and my eternal gratitude.

I have been on a World Vision Project. They are legit, people. 

On a Mission

“The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wel...lness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom. We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but no

t inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships.

These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can
bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete...

Remember, to spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever. Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.

Remember, to say, "I love you" to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.

Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person might not be there again. Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.”
― Bob Moorehead

Chaos here: sadly, Bob Moorehead is an accused child molester.  Goes to show that you can have great thoughts and still be a fallible human being.
Doesn't make his words any less profound, but sure taints 'em.

Conquer Your Fears and “Live to Give” Webcast

 
Thomas Nelson Author and Hoops of Hope founder, Austin Gutwein, to host September 6 online event to focusing on themes his latest release, Live to Give.

 On September 6 at 8 PM EDT, Austin Gutwein will be hosting a live Facebook web event to encourage participants to conquer their fears and use their talents to help others. The webcast will center on the themes Gutwein writes about in his latest release “Live to Give: Letting God Turn Your Talents into Miracles” (Thomas Nelson/August, 2012). At the conclusion of the webcast, the winners of a month-long social media fueled “Get and Give” contest will be announced, including the winner of a Kindle Fire and $250 donated to the winner’s charity of choice.  

Join Austin on the evening of Thursday, September 6th as he shares about his own experiences and encourages others to conquers their fears and “live to give”. Austin will also be taking audience questions and interacting with participants. PLUS – there will be several “Live to Give” giveaways – books, gift certificates and much more! RSVP today and tell your friends.

Based on the John 6 story of Jesus feeding the 5000, in “Live to Give” Gutwein challenges his readers that regardless of age and talent, God can use them to make a difference. Even though God could take care of everything Himself and doesn’t really need our help, He desperately WANTS us to help Him care for others. Gutwein walks young people through discovering and embracing their unique God-given strengths and abilities, then figuring out how to use those talents to help others. Sometimes doing that takes a leap of faith on our part, and often becoming fearless in the process.

 More about Austin: At eighteen years old, Gutwein speaks with wisdom and has the experience to reinforce his message. When Austin was just nine years old, he watched a video that showed children in Africa who had lost their parents to AIDS. Gutwein realized these kids weren’t any different from him—except they were suffering. Feeling called to help, he took his love of basketball and decided to shoot free throws to raise money for orphans in Zambia. On World AIDS Day in 2004, he shot 2,057 free throws to represent the 2,057 kids who would be orphaned during his day at school. Through sponsorship from parents and friends, Gutwein raised over $3,000 that day to give hope to eight orphans in Zambia. Over the past eight years, Gutwein’s efforts have created Hoops of Hope, the largest free throw marathon in the world. With an estimated 40,000 people in more than 25 countries participating, Hoops of Hope has raised more than $2.5 million to build schools, medical clinics, dormitories for orphanages, and the only computer lab in Zambia.  

Enter to win a Kindle Fire and have $250 donated to your favorite charity. Click for the banner for details and entry or visit http://litfusegroup.com/blogtours/13528976/livetogive. Learn more about Austin and Hoops of Hope at www.AustinGutwein.com and www.HoopsOfHope.org. + Unending Devotion, Jody Hedlund

The power of fives

Iris and I have been noticing a lot of fours around here.

Our table fit four kids. Had to get a new one. (Now it fits 6. She is petitioning for another.)

Four matching frames with photos of me with my three week olds.
      (OK, I missed the boat with Princess. Rectified with the next two.)

She's a really big three week old. This saddens me.

Remember my silver van issue? Solved with the cheezy Kansas family. Finally got another girl on there.

Great Granny used to get each new great a silver cup. Granny found one for us the other day.

Slowly , but surely, we're getting our fours up to fives.

I'm not sure if she feels any more a part of us or not, but each time she discovers a five, it makes her smile.

I'm thinking she might even smile for a family photo now. Time to get out the awkward family photo matching outfits.

Whispered Sweet Nothings

Oh the things Brent and I whisper to one another over turkey carcasses. The cleaning up of after, which makes the children scatter.

Me: I just had a bad thought.
Him: What's that?
Me: Middle school dances.
Him: I want to die.
Me: You don't have to die; you just have to chaperone.
Him: I think I'd rather die.


I feel the need to tell you that the "I want to die" comment is incredibly melodramatic for Brent. He doesn't say things like that. I am often heard saying "kill me now" but that usually irritates him. Which means he is really in agreement with me regarding those dances.

Kill me now.

All My Free Time

Well, we're in day four of school. Day. Four. As I type this looking at my clock, that would indicate I just finished my eleventh "free" hour.

Any time I run into someone who knows me, they seem to feel obligated to ask me what I'm doing with All My Free Time.

What I thought I would be doing with All My Free Time:
Systematically cleaning and organizing every room of the house without people watching in case they need to rescue a treasure from the donation pile.
Preemptively starting supper so as to not have the rush crush from 4-6.
Blogging.
Working at the greenhouse
Helping out with school parties.
Starting a fundraising auction for my new nieces.
Finally putting all those photos from the last 12 years into scrapbooks.
Writing the book that has been festering for months, years maybe.

Well, for the last twenty-six hours I've been fighting off a sense of pervasive panic and despair, thanks for asking.

You know what I do with my three "free" hours a day? I play catch-up on all the things I didn't get accomplished in the preceding twenty-one. I make mental lists of what things most need to be done so as to have the fewest people complaining to me at bedtime for whatever thing wasn't done.

Is my laundry caught up? Mostly.
Are my dishes done? Finally.
Is my sink clean? sorta.
Is any room in any part of the house even remotely organized, much less clean? NO.
Is supper in the crock pot? Yes.
Will anyone eat it? Doubtful.
Yes, I have blogged. This post took 12 minutes.
Haven't been to the greenhouse.
I took one look at those party sign-ups last night and nearly burst into tears.
Haven't started an auction.
Scrapbooking? *hysterical laughter*
And that book? Ask me when I'm fifty.

I've gained three pounds since the kids started school. You'd think I'd have time to walk. No. And I'm shoving chocolate chip cookies in my face like they are my lifeline.

I'm suffocating under a deluge of unmet expectations. Mine. Brent's. The kids. And that phantom woman who I dread showing up at my house and seeing what it looks like when there is a stay-at-home wife whose children are all off at school

After all, I have All This Free Time so the house should be spotless, the scrapbooks predominantly displayed, while I'm off volunteering somewhere and making money with my side business.

My Other Diva

As I saw my Princess moving around the kitchen this morning, I was struck with the difference.

Sheesh, she's nearly a teenager. I mean, look at her.

See the wrinkled nose? "Mooooom, why are you taking this??"

She can now put an outfit together.
Thanks to some generous (and slightly larger) neighbors, she even has some rockin' clothes to compose those outfits.

I'm reminded of when she was seven and I would send notes to Mrs C that said, "I let her make her own clothing choices and do her own hair."

If I were on top of things, I'd find a "before" photo. Alas, Princess at 7 is trapped in Photoshop which I don't think has even been installed on this computer. 

But, trust me, based on Princess there is hope for Iris yet.

Today......not so much. But someday.

In the Continuing Saga

 So tonight I thought I'd be proactive. I offered to do braids. She told me the braids she wanted, I did my best  to provide. I even did the external cornrows rather than the under braid like I usually do.

Whew, dodged that bullet, I thought.

 Let's focus on the sparkly eyes, shall we?

 Alas.....she found the clips she wanted to add.

Awesome.
I'm so proud.
Like my mother was when I raided Dad's closet for his plaid shirts and added a huge black belt and some leggings and called it Rad.

I'm sure tomorrow I'll fixate on something else.

In other news, Iris learned to ride bike without training wheels tonight.
That makes five out of diapers.
Five out in school.
And five out of training wheels.
Next up: five readers.

For Andrea

I had finally decided I was exaggerating.

And then I picked her up from school

Here's my dirty little secret: I fear that when people see her like this, they think, "See? I told you she can't handle five kids. What was she thinking? Look at that hair. I told you she couldn't do that hair. And those clothes! You can afford to adopt a child, but not to clothe them nicely?"

This afternoon, her daddy said, "Didn't mom tell you you don't match?" (thanks dear)
She said, "Huh?"
He said, "Your clothes don't match." (better)
She said, "Yeah, I know."

Awesome.