This is a long blog, so it will be divided into two blogs....
Yesterday we had plans to go to Hubby's Grandma's house to celebrate her 93rd birthday. I can't imagine living that old, some days I feel ready to keel over due to exhaustion from taking care of my children... but that's a different story.
I awoke with the kids around their usual 6:30 time and Hubby got up a little later. He informed me he wanted to leave at "ten to ten". I was like, "Isn't this a lunch thing? Why are we leaving so early?" Then he sighed, and explained that we needed to get gas and that he yahoo-mapped our destination and we needed to allow an hour and a half for drive time. Fine, whatever.
A little after nine Hubby asked if I was planning on getting ready. So off to the bedroom I trotted, and a half and hour later I was only half ready. "You're not ready yet!" He yelled. Resisting the temptation to pop him on the nose, I explained that I had been interrupted about thirteen times by the kids asking for things or complaining about each other. During this discussion, my cell phone chirped that I had a text message. Hubby rolled his eyes at that and informed me that he "still wanted to get on the road at ten to ten". I swore if he said that phrase to me again I was going to strangle him at ten to ten.
The message was from my sister-in-law, Hubby's brother's wife (she's also my best friend which is helpful at these dreadful family functions) and she was asking if we'd left already. I glanced at the clock (it was about 9:45) and responded that we'd be leaving soon. I picked up my pace and started to get a move on towards my ten to ten goal. Then my phone chirped again and she made a joke about how she's "finally not going to be the one who was late" (a rare occurance for her). I was quickly applying my mascara with one hand and texting back "what are you talking about" with the other hand. Then, in my efforts to multi-task, I got the wand too close to my eye and blinked really hard and had fresh mascara bands imprinted on my upper cheeks... so I had to start over from scratch.
Hubby was poking his head around the door every couple of minutes hurrying the "kids" along (which I'm sure was aimed at me). Then my phone chirped again, and my heart stopped a little when I read the message. Apparently, according to my brother-in-law, were supposed to be there at 11, not 11:30, and the clock on my dresser was now flashing "10:05". Oh great!! So I start running through the house trying to remember to pack pj's and swim shorts and snacks and diapers, while Hubby was doing I-don't-know-what with the kids outside. My adrenaline was pumping so hard my head hurt, and then he opened the door and sent in a screaming two-year-old. This caused me to come to a full stop to handle the situation, and when I couldn't calm him down I was stuck toting around a sniffling two-year-old-who-weighs-about-a-hundred-pounds on my hip while I finished packing.
I then remembered we were traveling to a house filled with breakable objects, old furniture and no toys... oh, and it's in a trailer "community" which is about the size of my bathroom. So I felt forced to pack an overwhelming amount of "quiet activities". The clock was now flashing "10:15". Hubby sat down on the couch to put on the kids sandals and he made a small comment about how he hates to be late. I felt bad, because he really does dread being late. My largest annoyance in life are fingernails on a chalkboard, his is lateness.
So I bravely faced the lion and explained that we were going to be more than just a "little" late. He stopped and stared at me for a beat and then calmly said, "You want to run that by me again?" I explained about the change of time and he literally threw his hands up in the air. (I might have seen smoke coming from his ears, but we won't go there...) I shooed the kids out to the car, grabbed my purse, diaper bag, bag of toys, portable dvd player, two juice boxes and a sippy cup and trooped out to the car to buckle them in.
The tantrum from the baby was still continuing in the car, apparently he was upset about life in general, so over the noise from him, the noise coming from Jake (he was singing) and the hum of the engine Hubby and I were screaming to each other things like "Did you grab the dvd player?" "Did you get bottled water?" "Did you pack Grandma's card?" "Did you go pee-pee?" (after a little confusion I realized that last comment was directed toward my five-year-old.)
Finally we pulled out of the driveway, but not before Hubby spilled coffee all over the dash. I suggested we skip getting gas (we had enough to get there) and head for the freeway. Hubby asked if I grabbed his stack of business cards (that was a big fat NO from me) and then he began to lecture me on how he was hungry and very disappointed that there were no snacks for him in the car, and why wasn't I more prepared. I said, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had to feed three children this morning." Then I said, "I thought you already ate?" Apparently only eating two pieces of bacon doesn't constitute a breakfast.
We reached the freeway and got about two exits from the house when Hubby threw his hands in the air and exclaimed,"Oh great! Look at my shoes!" Sure enough, he was wearing his ratty, beat-up, five year old, black and white Addidas flip-flops. These are referred to as the "poop shoes" in our house because we throw them on to go out back and pick up dog poop. I busted a gut laughing, and insisted that he turn around. We headed back to our house and I ran inside to grab him a change of shoes, snacks and a hefty amount of business cards. Back on the road we went...
Monday, July 14, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Messy payday
Today has been somewhat of a lazy day, and because of this laziness my living room quickly turned into this catastrophic whirlwind of debris. There were stickers everywhere, and I'm not using that phrase lightly: under the couch, on the couch, on the floor, on the table, under the table, behind the curtains... and so on. Along with all the stickers, there were markers scattered across the coffee table, crackers from an earlier snack littering an end table, juice cups tipped over on the coffee table and on the floor, pillows from the couch carelessly tossed on the carpet, and the list goes on...
I took one look at the room and my head began to spin. I glanced into the kitchen and saw the counter tops strewn with cups and plates and cans and bottles, all begging to be taken out to the recycle bin. The sink was overflowing with dishes, and the counter tops and stove tops were sticky from lunchtime. The worst part is I had to unload the dishwasher before I could even begin to begin. I hate unloading the dishwasher. It's the equivalent to fingernails on a chalkboard, or bad breaks on a car... unloading it drives me nuts!!
Trying to ignore the ringing in my ears, I called Jake over to me and said, "how would you like to earn some money?" His eyes lit up like Rudolph's nose on Christmas day. I sent him to work on the living room, and before I knew it he had rallied up Ben and together they were picking up sticker after sticker and putting them away. After that he moved into the kitchen with me and helped unload the dishwasher (thank the Lord) and then on to his bedroom to finish in there. Without complaining, and in record time, he had definately earned his dollar!
When I handed him the crisp bill he was very grateful, but just before he turned away he kind of hesitated.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Do you have any of the dollars with a 2 on them?" he asked.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean? Are you asking if I'll give you 2 dollars instead of 1?"
"No, do you have the dollars with the 2 and the 0? I think it's a number 20?"
"Um, no, sorry, fresh out!"
He trotted off to his room to brag to Ben and shove his earnings in his piggy bank. Thankfully he was happy with his 1 dollar, but sheesh! I'll have to remember this for the future, this guy drives a hard bargain!
I took one look at the room and my head began to spin. I glanced into the kitchen and saw the counter tops strewn with cups and plates and cans and bottles, all begging to be taken out to the recycle bin. The sink was overflowing with dishes, and the counter tops and stove tops were sticky from lunchtime. The worst part is I had to unload the dishwasher before I could even begin to begin. I hate unloading the dishwasher. It's the equivalent to fingernails on a chalkboard, or bad breaks on a car... unloading it drives me nuts!!
Trying to ignore the ringing in my ears, I called Jake over to me and said, "how would you like to earn some money?" His eyes lit up like Rudolph's nose on Christmas day. I sent him to work on the living room, and before I knew it he had rallied up Ben and together they were picking up sticker after sticker and putting them away. After that he moved into the kitchen with me and helped unload the dishwasher (thank the Lord) and then on to his bedroom to finish in there. Without complaining, and in record time, he had definately earned his dollar!
When I handed him the crisp bill he was very grateful, but just before he turned away he kind of hesitated.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Do you have any of the dollars with a 2 on them?" he asked.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean? Are you asking if I'll give you 2 dollars instead of 1?"
"No, do you have the dollars with the 2 and the 0? I think it's a number 20?"
"Um, no, sorry, fresh out!"
He trotted off to his room to brag to Ben and shove his earnings in his piggy bank. Thankfully he was happy with his 1 dollar, but sheesh! I'll have to remember this for the future, this guy drives a hard bargain!
On a boring Saturday afternoon, my boys and I were in the middle of a sticker and marker extravaganza when this picture was developed. You have a football coach for the Browns on the left, equipped with a micro-phoned headset and clipboard, and a football player #20 on his right. To be funny, Jake gave them chicken legs! I love the big fingers...Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Pool Pandemonium
It's got to be like 125 degrees here in Vacaville... I'd be shocked if it was anything less. It's too hot to move, too hot to breathe, and too hot to swim. Which was a huge bummer in this household today...
The kids wanted to take a dip in the middle of the afternoon, so we all slipped into our suits, slathered on our sunscreen, and suited up in our goggles and floaties. We opened the back door and a wave of sweltering hot air blew in on our faces. Any sweat that was already beading on our foreheads was instantly dried.
I took the cover off the pool and tested the water; it was a cool 92 degrees. Jake decided to take his super-duper squirt gun into the pool with him, and promptly filled it up. "Just squirt the plants and grass, dear." I warned.
A few minutes had passed by and I was standing on the grass about five feet from the pool hosing off the dirty pool filter when all of the sudden I got squirted in the middle of my back with a warm, sharp, blast of water! "Hey!" I called out, then turned around to get blasted yet again, but this time in the middle of my forehead. "Cut it out!" I yelled momentarily blinded by the chlorinated water quickly settling inside my tear ducts, causing my mascara to goop and clump. I could hear giggling and snickering from the direction of the pool. "Stop, let me finish so I can join you in the pool!" I attempted.
I turned around and bent over to pick up the filter (which was flung on the ground during all the commotion) when I got blasted again, this time on my rear-end. "Eeek!" I ran to the garden hose, whipped it on, and turned toward the pool. That little devil swam under the water. No problem, I'd just wait until he resurfaced. Well, apparently he's gotten pretty good at swimming. He'd dive under for quite a few seconds, come up for a breath or two, then dive back down again. I was too proud to squirt him. Oh what a fool I was...
I tucked the hose into the side of the pool to allow some cold water to filter in with the warm. I dove in and laid on my back to relax. Just as I was about to say "Ahhh", I was hit with ice cold water right on my face! I jumped up and turned away from the child hosing me down. Blindly, I tried reaching for him or the hose, and I was hit in the face from the other direction with the warm pool water by my other child. One had me with the hose and one had me with the squirt gun. I was guzzling water by the gallons, my nose was running, and my mascara had glued my eyelids shut. My eyes stung like crazy from the water, and my face literally hurt from all the torment.
"Enough!!" I shouted. Both kids got yanked from the pool and stood like wet cats, dripping on the grass. I took a minute to control my emotions, and stomped over to the spout to shut off the hose. I turned to lecture them, but found my oldest with a very solemn expression on his face. "You're the one who added the hose to the pool..." he pointed out. This was true, and due to the blazing heat we were all dried before I could even reach for a towel. I decided to call a truce, and sent the little devils inside for a movie and a snack. "They better watch out at bathtime..." I cackled to myself...
The kids wanted to take a dip in the middle of the afternoon, so we all slipped into our suits, slathered on our sunscreen, and suited up in our goggles and floaties. We opened the back door and a wave of sweltering hot air blew in on our faces. Any sweat that was already beading on our foreheads was instantly dried.
I took the cover off the pool and tested the water; it was a cool 92 degrees. Jake decided to take his super-duper squirt gun into the pool with him, and promptly filled it up. "Just squirt the plants and grass, dear." I warned.
A few minutes had passed by and I was standing on the grass about five feet from the pool hosing off the dirty pool filter when all of the sudden I got squirted in the middle of my back with a warm, sharp, blast of water! "Hey!" I called out, then turned around to get blasted yet again, but this time in the middle of my forehead. "Cut it out!" I yelled momentarily blinded by the chlorinated water quickly settling inside my tear ducts, causing my mascara to goop and clump. I could hear giggling and snickering from the direction of the pool. "Stop, let me finish so I can join you in the pool!" I attempted.
I turned around and bent over to pick up the filter (which was flung on the ground during all the commotion) when I got blasted again, this time on my rear-end. "Eeek!" I ran to the garden hose, whipped it on, and turned toward the pool. That little devil swam under the water. No problem, I'd just wait until he resurfaced. Well, apparently he's gotten pretty good at swimming. He'd dive under for quite a few seconds, come up for a breath or two, then dive back down again. I was too proud to squirt him. Oh what a fool I was...
I tucked the hose into the side of the pool to allow some cold water to filter in with the warm. I dove in and laid on my back to relax. Just as I was about to say "Ahhh", I was hit with ice cold water right on my face! I jumped up and turned away from the child hosing me down. Blindly, I tried reaching for him or the hose, and I was hit in the face from the other direction with the warm pool water by my other child. One had me with the hose and one had me with the squirt gun. I was guzzling water by the gallons, my nose was running, and my mascara had glued my eyelids shut. My eyes stung like crazy from the water, and my face literally hurt from all the torment.
"Enough!!" I shouted. Both kids got yanked from the pool and stood like wet cats, dripping on the grass. I took a minute to control my emotions, and stomped over to the spout to shut off the hose. I turned to lecture them, but found my oldest with a very solemn expression on his face. "You're the one who added the hose to the pool..." he pointed out. This was true, and due to the blazing heat we were all dried before I could even reach for a towel. I decided to call a truce, and sent the little devils inside for a movie and a snack. "They better watch out at bathtime..." I cackled to myself...
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Zits
The great thing about being in my twenties is that I still look relatively young... the awful thing about being in my twenties is that I still get zits. Not so much full-blown acne, the zits are kind enough to appear just a few at a time. And they never show up on a weekend, or a slow week where we spend a lot of time at home. It never fails, they always show up on a big night out, or right before an event, or on the day my foundation runs out. And of course, it's usually when a crater appears on the tip of my nose that I run into an old boyfriend or ex work-colleague.
My sister was kind enough to invite me along to her photography shoot this past weekend, which was a beautiful (and big) wedding. During the middle of the wedding reception I could feel a zit surfacing on my chin. Great, just great... I finally get a chance to go somewhere in a dress with no kids, and it's all going to be ruined by a Jay Leno inspired zit. Little did I know it was the calm before the storm!
A few days later I start to feel another zit forming on my forehead. Wonderful, and with my side-swept bangs it won't even come close to covering it. The zit is the size of Mongolia and right in the middle of my forehead, down between my eyebrows, hovering like a third eye. It's not the kind you can pop, it's the rounded type that is sore to the touch. So last night I started my treatments on it, applied some specialized creams that cost me an arm and a leg, and went to bed. I awoke thinking I had discouraged the little bugger, only to find it had doubled in size overnight!
Knowing that "a zit should never be popped" I've desperately tried covering it up all day long. I've concealed and re-concealed it like thirteen times, I've applied and re-applied my foundation about fifteen times, but to no avail the zit remained unchanged. And this was the day where I had a million places to go and a hundred people to see. I saw my good friend at Jake's summer school this morning, and all I could think to ask her was if my shirt made me look pregnant. I got a big fat "no" on that one (I love her), but I couldn't bare to ask her about the island on my forehead.
Then my stay-at-home-mom's group met at the mall today and I felt like everyone was staring at my third eye than my other two brown ones. And later this afternoon I had babysat Jake's best buddy, and when his dad came to pick him up I tried doing a lot of staring down at my toes, but he ended up chatting with me for thirty minutes, and there was no hiding it. After he left I ran to the bathroom to see how awful it was, and found not only was it still growing, but it had darkened in color.
Good grief. I've still been trying to dispose of it, but I'm having no luck. If anyone has any great pimple popping advice, I'd love to hear about it. Otherwise I'll be in hibernation for the next week or two...
My sister was kind enough to invite me along to her photography shoot this past weekend, which was a beautiful (and big) wedding. During the middle of the wedding reception I could feel a zit surfacing on my chin. Great, just great... I finally get a chance to go somewhere in a dress with no kids, and it's all going to be ruined by a Jay Leno inspired zit. Little did I know it was the calm before the storm!
A few days later I start to feel another zit forming on my forehead. Wonderful, and with my side-swept bangs it won't even come close to covering it. The zit is the size of Mongolia and right in the middle of my forehead, down between my eyebrows, hovering like a third eye. It's not the kind you can pop, it's the rounded type that is sore to the touch. So last night I started my treatments on it, applied some specialized creams that cost me an arm and a leg, and went to bed. I awoke thinking I had discouraged the little bugger, only to find it had doubled in size overnight!
Knowing that "a zit should never be popped" I've desperately tried covering it up all day long. I've concealed and re-concealed it like thirteen times, I've applied and re-applied my foundation about fifteen times, but to no avail the zit remained unchanged. And this was the day where I had a million places to go and a hundred people to see. I saw my good friend at Jake's summer school this morning, and all I could think to ask her was if my shirt made me look pregnant. I got a big fat "no" on that one (I love her), but I couldn't bare to ask her about the island on my forehead.
Then my stay-at-home-mom's group met at the mall today and I felt like everyone was staring at my third eye than my other two brown ones. And later this afternoon I had babysat Jake's best buddy, and when his dad came to pick him up I tried doing a lot of staring down at my toes, but he ended up chatting with me for thirty minutes, and there was no hiding it. After he left I ran to the bathroom to see how awful it was, and found not only was it still growing, but it had darkened in color.
Good grief. I've still been trying to dispose of it, but I'm having no luck. If anyone has any great pimple popping advice, I'd love to hear about it. Otherwise I'll be in hibernation for the next week or two...
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Target Drama
This morning I had a couple of errands to run, first to the pet store for dog food and then to Target for new pool filters. I love Target because they have everthing from underwear to chips and salsa to bug spray all in one store. I hate Target because everything I seem to need is located in or near the toy section. Light bulbs: across from the swim toys. Baby wipes: across from the toddler toys. Pool filters: next to the aisle with the Star Wars figurines. You can imagine the drama that ensued...
After I said for about the sixth time, "I'm ONLY buying pool filters today", and after the boys had looked at every toy possible on the Legos aisle, the cars and trucks aisle, and the figurine aisles... I said, "We're done. Let's go!" and I made a beeline for the front registers. This of course encouraged more whining from my five-year-old, Jake, and was soon accompanied by his begging and pleading for a "cheap Lego toy". After another firm "no" on my part (I was so proud of myself for not giving in), and after I pried a barbie doll from my two-year-old's hands, we headed toward the check-out. I could see the sunlight beckoning me from the front windows and automatic doors, saying "come toward the light", so I was encouraged that my journey was almost over...
And then we passed by the toothbrush aisle and Jake almost bull-dozed a lady in a walker trying to swing my cart in that direction. After a short lecture on paying attention to our surroundings (which went in one ear and out the other) my son began the begging and pleading act once more, this time over an automatic Power Rangers toothbrush. I could see this would soon turn into a whining, near tears fit if I didn't handle the situation properly, so I bargained with him: after our dentist appointment today, if he had no cavities, we would come back and get the darn toothbrush. This seemed to appease him... for about a minute and a half...
We headed toward the registers and all of the sudden Jake starts throwing himself around in a sort of toddler way, whining and moaning, and practically insisting that we return to the toothbrush aisle. Jake was pulling the cart away from me, while I'm trying to remain calm and collected, not daring to give up my space in line. And Ben's watching with utter fascination. You could just see the wheels turning in Ben's little head while he watched his big brother... "Oh, this is how I'm supposed to act to get what I want..." WRONG!
So I calmly but firmly told Jake he needed to stop or he would go on a time-out to his room when we got home. He continued his horrific behavior so I told him, "That's it. You now have a time-out." Of course this produced bigger, louder, tears and screams and when it was finally my turn to pay the woman looks at me with a plastered smile on her face and said, "And how are you doing today?" I just kind of stared at her, "Oh, just peachy..." I managed to sarcastically spit out.
When we got home, Jake went to his room for his time-out (kudos again to me for following through with my punishment--an area I tend to lag on a little) and then we had a nice long talk about proper five-year-old behavior in a store. In a half hour I get the joy of taking both of my children to the dentist by myself... there might be another blog about that later...
After I said for about the sixth time, "I'm ONLY buying pool filters today", and after the boys had looked at every toy possible on the Legos aisle, the cars and trucks aisle, and the figurine aisles... I said, "We're done. Let's go!" and I made a beeline for the front registers. This of course encouraged more whining from my five-year-old, Jake, and was soon accompanied by his begging and pleading for a "cheap Lego toy". After another firm "no" on my part (I was so proud of myself for not giving in), and after I pried a barbie doll from my two-year-old's hands, we headed toward the check-out. I could see the sunlight beckoning me from the front windows and automatic doors, saying "come toward the light", so I was encouraged that my journey was almost over...
And then we passed by the toothbrush aisle and Jake almost bull-dozed a lady in a walker trying to swing my cart in that direction. After a short lecture on paying attention to our surroundings (which went in one ear and out the other) my son began the begging and pleading act once more, this time over an automatic Power Rangers toothbrush. I could see this would soon turn into a whining, near tears fit if I didn't handle the situation properly, so I bargained with him: after our dentist appointment today, if he had no cavities, we would come back and get the darn toothbrush. This seemed to appease him... for about a minute and a half...
We headed toward the registers and all of the sudden Jake starts throwing himself around in a sort of toddler way, whining and moaning, and practically insisting that we return to the toothbrush aisle. Jake was pulling the cart away from me, while I'm trying to remain calm and collected, not daring to give up my space in line. And Ben's watching with utter fascination. You could just see the wheels turning in Ben's little head while he watched his big brother... "Oh, this is how I'm supposed to act to get what I want..." WRONG!
So I calmly but firmly told Jake he needed to stop or he would go on a time-out to his room when we got home. He continued his horrific behavior so I told him, "That's it. You now have a time-out." Of course this produced bigger, louder, tears and screams and when it was finally my turn to pay the woman looks at me with a plastered smile on her face and said, "And how are you doing today?" I just kind of stared at her, "Oh, just peachy..." I managed to sarcastically spit out.
When we got home, Jake went to his room for his time-out (kudos again to me for following through with my punishment--an area I tend to lag on a little) and then we had a nice long talk about proper five-year-old behavior in a store. In a half hour I get the joy of taking both of my children to the dentist by myself... there might be another blog about that later...
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
What a day
My kids were very disappointed in the pool today (or, rather, I was disappointed that they couldn't be occupied in our pool today). It was really murky and dirty due to the slathers of sunscreen that we pile on our kids every day, and I kind of felt like the Health Inspecters would come knocking on my door if I let my kids play in it.
The problem was the dirty, disgustingly gross, filter. I was out of clean ones, so I decided to pull out the current filter and just hose it off. After breaking a nail trying to untwist the top, I was finally able to lift the lid off, but because I was bent down so low I got splattered with dirty filter water right on my face. Then my legs were itching like crazy, but in my attempt to hose off the cartridge (thinking the itchiness was compliments of the grass), I finally realized it wasn't grass irritation, but ants. And lots of them! All over my legs and arms and swimsuit!
I finally got the darn thing cleaned of most of the grunge it had acquired, put it back in the container and tightened it down. My two boys and I bent our heads over the side of the pool to examine the results: still murky. Not Health Inspection dirty, but "foggy" at best. I said to heck with it, and sent the kiddos indoors to watch a movie and enjoy a sticky treat.
Then later that day, at two different times, I managed to burn my finger (the one with the broken nail) in two different places. I splattered spaghetti sauce on my favorite white tank and then proceeded to splatter it all over the kitchen in a million different spots all the size of the head of a pin. My son dumped a big cup-full of bathtub water onto the bathroom rug, which splattered onto the Pergo floor, my son had two bloody noses today, and there's dog hair all over my dining room. This has turned into quite a day!
The problem was the dirty, disgustingly gross, filter. I was out of clean ones, so I decided to pull out the current filter and just hose it off. After breaking a nail trying to untwist the top, I was finally able to lift the lid off, but because I was bent down so low I got splattered with dirty filter water right on my face. Then my legs were itching like crazy, but in my attempt to hose off the cartridge (thinking the itchiness was compliments of the grass), I finally realized it wasn't grass irritation, but ants. And lots of them! All over my legs and arms and swimsuit!
I finally got the darn thing cleaned of most of the grunge it had acquired, put it back in the container and tightened it down. My two boys and I bent our heads over the side of the pool to examine the results: still murky. Not Health Inspection dirty, but "foggy" at best. I said to heck with it, and sent the kiddos indoors to watch a movie and enjoy a sticky treat.
Then later that day, at two different times, I managed to burn my finger (the one with the broken nail) in two different places. I splattered spaghetti sauce on my favorite white tank and then proceeded to splatter it all over the kitchen in a million different spots all the size of the head of a pin. My son dumped a big cup-full of bathtub water onto the bathroom rug, which splattered onto the Pergo floor, my son had two bloody noses today, and there's dog hair all over my dining room. This has turned into quite a day!
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