Bread Crumbs In The Butter

A Split Second

We were in a department store.

I was looking at tee shirts and she was right next to me.

She said "Mommy, I'm just going to get a sip of water from that fountain right there."

Totally out of character in public, where everyone is plotting to steal my child, I just nodded and let her go off.

Before getting back to me, she must have caught sight of her sister who I had said could go look at earrings and shoes, in another aisle.  She must have decided it was fine to go with her.  She tells me now that she knew she was safe.  I didn't.

I looked over one shoulder and mumbled "Meg..." as I sized up a really cute ruffled shirt.

No answer.

I looked up and around and behind me and said, louder, "Meghan."

No tiny little shadow anywhere around me.

I looked over to the water fountain, down one aisle, down another.  I ran into the washrooms, to where they keep the purses and belts and jewelery.  She was not in any of those places.  I started to get frantic. I wondered if perhaps as she was sipping her water someone noticed she was alone and just scooped her up.   Or, maybe she had come back to where I had been and was gone and now she was running frantic like I was?

With my heart pounding, my head whirling and my hands shaking, I went back to the tee shirts and still, no Meg.

How I managed to say "Excuse me?" to a clerk is beyond me.

The clerk could see I was upset so she looked a little panicked.

"Have you seen a little girl. She is wearing a black coat, brown skirt and red tights.  She has brown hair and brown eyes and she coughs a lot. You can hear her cough if you listen! Can you page her? Please page Meghan to come back here.  She won't know where here is, but at least you can let her  know I'm looking for her."

The tiny little clerk didn't freak, but she ran from me.  I totally forgot they have procedure for stuff like this - procedures where they shut everything down.  But I thought "Screw it. Find me my kid!"

As she talked to a manager I started to run.  I ran and I yelled and I didn't care who thought I was nuts.  I had on a wool turtleneck and my whole upper body was stinging and itching with sweat from my panic. 

I stopped suddenly.  And I knew it was her. Just like I had told the clerk, if you listened, you could hear her cough.  I heard her cough.  It was the best sound in the entire world.

There she was. Smiling and laughing with her big sister in the pet department. So not a cool place for them to be without me knowing, but they won't do it again.  It was better than where she could have been.  At that point, she could have been buying a fish for all I cared.

I scooped her tiny little body up and didn't even have the heart to scold her or her sister.  We found the clerk, thanked her and assured the manager that we were okay.

I never, ever, want to relive those minutes where I didn't know where she was. I know she's not the first to do this. Hell, I did it to my mother!  Still, not knowing where your child could be?  Killer. Awful. Complete and total kick you in the gut pain.

Wine waits me now. Well deserved I think.

The winter is coughing season

From October to May my poor Meghan suffers.  She's had asthma forever and it drives her nuts.  During the summer months, she is pretty much okay unless she gets a cold or her allergies are really bad. So that means she can count on a pretty good July.  Poor kid. 

She gets ridiculous red patches of skin around her mouth and red sores around her nose.

Last year she was in class, coughing her usual cough, when another teacher came in to ask Meg's teacher a question.  She heard her cough and said "Whoo! Who has that big cough?" 

And some little brat said "It's Meghan. It's always Meghan!"

She was humiliated.  Can you imagine carrying to weight of all that coughing along with the idea that it disrupts everyone too?  We try to be patient at home, but even here, where she's safe there are times where it grates on our nerves. I can't even imagine her nerves!  She lays in her bed coughing and I know she's not sleeping well.

For years she was on Flovent and Ventolin.  Then we added Singulair. Then switched her from Flovent to Advair.  We saw an improvement last winter, she only got pneumonia once versus the four times the year before.  So far this year though, she's really struggling.  I don't know what we're going to do.

A good friend is exploring food sensitivities for her daughter who has similar issues and I'm wondering if we need to start exploring this sort of avenue?  She hasn't grown much over the last year and it's starting to affect her behavior.  She's edgy, fidgety and less focused - and trust me this kid is usually the epitome of focus!

Do you have experience with this?  Have you tried naturopaths or other alternative methods? What about traditional medicine? Is there something we should let her allergist know?

As we come down from the sugar high

The clocks went back early this morning so when Alex ran into my room at 9:20 this morning I said "Alex, it's only 8:20 am now. See?"

"Oh!" he said "So what should I do?"

"Do you want to climb back into bed with me? Daddy is gone to hockey."

"Sure!" he said. And he jumped right in under the covers.  We were silent for a bit. I think I fell back asleep.

Until he said "Mommy?"

"Um hum..." I mubled.

"If our world, like dis world we live in now, was actually Candyland, what could we do with the lollipops?"

"We could use them as trees!" I said (drawing on my Candyland expereince of ... just last week).

"Yes! That's awesome! Or, or, or we could use them as light fixtures, like that one that hangs over there!"

"That's a great idea, bud!" I told him. "Or, we could use them as brooms to sweep up all the pixie stick dust. Or, as spoons. Or shovels for snow!"

"Oh Mommy," he said in awe. "You are so smart. My God, you're the best!"

This is why Moms are awesome.  We came up with such quick answers to the weirdest, but most adorable Sunday morning questions.

The Other Side

So we've come out on the other side.

How do I know?

First, Alex woke up this morning and immediately asked for breakfast.

Second, Kristyn and Erin are in their room right now arguing over a pink scarf (that's actually my scarf!).

Third, poor Meghan just walked across the kitchen floor and I told her "Would you pick up your feet? You weigh fifty pounds! How can you make that much noise!?"

I feel relieved and elated and confused.

So many things I don't know.  Can we get it again? Do we still need the vaccine? Will I gain back the five pounds I lost?

All in all, those are minor worries.  I think tonight I will sleep without waking to go into their rooms to check their breathing.  I might actually make a real dinner.  We might go outside for a walk.  I might wear a bra!

And I'm back at work tomorrow.  John takes over from here - which is fine by me. They're sweet and quiet when their sick. They're loud and annoying when they're well.

Have fun tomorrow and Friday, Babe!

Yes, we have it.

H1N1 that is.

Or Swine Flu.

Whatever you want to call it. (I've checked several sources and they are both, in fact, different names for the same virus).

It started with me last Tuesday.   I had just come in from my usual day of hell.  Work, music classes, soccer pick ups and a short run to make me feel human.  I noticed a tickle in my throat. I swallowed once and it was like fire.  By 9pm, I ached all over.  I whined all Wednesday, my usual day off and by 6pm was flattened on the couch.

I've barely left the house since.

Since that first day, all four of my kids have taken that same sudden downward spiral.  They've been fine one minute (and I mean, jumping off the couch). Then an hour later, moaning and coughing and saying they've never been this sick.  The only time I've seen Alex fall asleep in the middle of the day has been when he had Kawasaki disease.  Last night John texted me from the hospital saying Alex had fallen asleep on him on the way in.

I wish I had some wisdom for you. Something to say to you.  "This is what you should do" or "This is why I did this".   But I can't.  I think we got bullshit lucky taking Erin in to the doctor when we did.  It seems when one doctor hears that a colleague gave you Tamiflu, they follow suit without question.  We've had two well known doctors, who know their stuff, tell us that even without testing us that we have H1N1.

This virus is no joke.  We have never been this ill. I have now missed four days of work and I will be missing four more.  I'm not sure what of those hours I will get paid for (I have set guaranteed hours and extra hours I pick up every week).   My kids will miss a week or more of school.  

Two weeks ago I was on the fence about the vaccine.  Those of you who know me know how I approach vaccines. You know which ones I do and which ones I don't and you know why.  I have no medical education to speak of (except for Google Med School of course), but I know this - I would undoubtedly get the vaccine now.   Same goes for the seasonal flu shot.  We will be lining up with our sleeves up.

My heart is aching for families who have lost.  You can tell yourself  "It's just a few people", but what if it was your people?  It may seem like hype, and yes a lot of it is, but it's very real in this house.  My eyes are dark with worry, my sleep fitful and full of nightmares.  I see my kids labouring to stay awake and I know, without a doubt, that I would do anything to keep them safe.

Ontario Report Cards; Bafflegab Or Useful Insight?

The most exciting thing about my kids starting school was getting The School Report Card.  It has something to do with my inherent geekiness and extreme need to hear how amazing my kids are, but I could not wait for the first report card.  Indeed, each one since then comes with a few days of excitement on my part.  I just can't wait for that yellow legal-sized envelope to appear in their agendas.  I pour a cup of tea and rip that sucker open the minute they get in the door.

And then I spend the next hour or so trying to decipher just what the teacher is trying to say to me.

I've often said, quite loudly, that my child's grade is of little importance to me - it's the teacher's comments that I go to right away.  The grade is a number and if it's representative of the work they've done, I'm thrilled.  The comments though, that's where the gold is.  The spot where I expect to hear just how much Ms Teacher loves my child. 

But have you noticed? There seems to be a short list of predetermined catch phrases embedded in each section of the comments.  I'm not sure if they're specifically written that way, but we've been involved in two school boards in the last ten years and the terminology has been almost exactly the same across the board.

"With consider effectiveness..."

"With a high degree of accuracy..."

"She confidently identified..."

""With consistent accuracy..."

And the one that baffles me the most "She should continue to develop communication ability using simple language." 

What does that mean?  That she is well developed and on her way to becoming above average? Or does it mean that this is an area she needs to work on? 

Report card language has sometimes gotten to the point where I just skim and tell myself I'll go back to it later.  Not to mention one year (not in our current board and no I won't tell you the teacher) I clearly caught a teacher in a cut and paste gaffe when she used another child's name in my daughter's report card.

I remember the report cards I got as a child.  The most common sentiment was "Chantal is a very bright child who does well on her work. However, if she paid more attention and stopped talking so much, her grades would be near perfect." 

You can't get more to the point than that, can you?  And no, my mother never took offense because, and here it is, it was true!  Year after year, teacher after teacher, the same thing was said. 

Over the past few years I've often wondered if there is a certain guideline that comes with the preparation of report cards?  Is there strict language to follow?  Are teachers given any space with which to include candid remarks?  Are my kids so shockingly normal that there has never been a need for this? 

I know I'm not alone in this.  Howard Goodman, a Toronto School Board Trustee is tabling a motion this Wednesday to do away with this jargon.  As outlined in this article (I also heard him on CBC radio on Thursday)  at Parent Central.

Read the article. Let me know what you think as a parent. I would also love to hear if you're a teacher.  I can only imagine what it's like to prepare report cards for so many children three to four times a year, so let me know what you think.

Every Inch Of This House

I used to joke that I spent twenty-seven hours a day in this house and that you couldn't hide anything from me.

While I now work outside the house eight of those twenty-seven hours, you still can't get anything past me here.  I know every inch of this house. Every sound, every creak and every hiding spot.

Want to know where your white and black striped lucky soccer sock is? It's in the pile of mismatched socks in the rickety old basket on the top shelf of the linen closet.

Where is that broken Indiana Jones Lego figurine who's missing the hat and one leg?  He's under your captains bed. No, not in the drawer. You have to squeeze between your bed and the wall and make your way into the dirty underbelly of that bed. He's there, next to that empty bag of marshmallows you think I don't know about.

What was that sound at 3am? The backwash of our water softener.

Who took your blue sweater?  I saw it in Kristyn's backpack, so it must be her.

Why won't the tub drain?  There's a Lego Indiana Jones leg stuck in there.

Who ate all the marshmallows? Alex. Look under his bed.

I can tell you if the front door or back door just slammed. Which sliding door was opened. Which toilet just flushed.

You just can't get anything past me. Even if I'm not here, I'll find out.

A Day In The Life - Monday

It's right there in the tag line. I am thirty-three years old, I have four children, a husband, a house on a farm, a job, lots of activities and hell yeah, a rock hard ass.  That's a lot. I know it. People ask me "How do you do it?" a lot. I wish I could say "It's easy! You just do it!", but that wouldn't be true.  I do just do it, but it takes a lot of planning and a certain amount of guilt and pulling in many different directions. 

I thought I'd take you through a typical day in my life (much like the luscious Ali did for us last week).  Let's pick Monday.

5:45am - Start hitting the snooze button on my alarm. I do this exactly four times every morning. My snooze button gives me seven more minutes of sleep each time.

6:06am - Get out of bed. Which really, really hurts every single morning. 6:06am is the time I tell myself that that night, I will be in bed at a reasonable hour.

6:07am - Pad to the kitchen where the coffee maker I thank the Lord for every morning started brewing at 5:55am. Pour first cup of coffee, drink one big glass of water, and drink poured cup of coffee.

6:10am - Get in the shower where I think about my day and how tired I am. Seriously, this will go on for most of the next thirty minutes. It still really hurts to be up.

6:20am - I am a power shower-er. I get out, put on my fuzzy bathrobe and slippers, put on my lovely face cream and brush my teeth.

6:30am - Go into the kitchen to greet Kristyn and Erin, who have their own alarm clocks and come up right away.  Erin always looks raring to go and happy to be alive. Kristyn looks like getting up hurts.  Turn on the kettle for my oatmeal. Tell Kristyn to get in the shower.

6:40am - Wake up Meg and Alex and ask what they want for breakfast, but they say the same thing every morning (Multigrain Cheerios and cut up pineapple), so it's moot.

6:44am - Argue with Alex about wearing underwear.  He hates them. I think they're a must. I always win, but he always cries.

6:45am - Eat my oatmeal while making yogurt/berry/chocolate protein smoothies for everyone.

6:50am - Tell everyone to eat and get dressed (clothes are laid out the night before) while I blow-dry my hair. I have to do it in sections, but I've got it down-pat, so it only takes twenty minutes or so. I drink my second cup of coffee while doing this.  Oh, and I wake John up by slamming things around so he gets the hint.

7:10am - Get dressed, put on makeup, get my morning work snack and the kids lunches out of the fridge. Sign tests. Give out money for the millions of things kids need/want to buy at school. Complain that I am going to be late for work and they're going to miss the bus. Sometimes I yell.

7:20am - Run in and out of the garage ten times while getting my keys, sunglasses, snack, etc...  Kiss everyone goodbye and tell them to have a good day.

7:21 am - Feel guilty cause John gets to be the last person they see before school.

7:28am - Arrive at work. Yay for working in a small town!

7:30am-11:00am - Sort mail. Bitch to our about coworkers. Tell people that they only way they can get something to Toronto by tomorrow is to pay the $30. I wish I dictated the prices, but they don't listen to lowly post office assistants!  I usually complain how hungry I am to anyone who will listen. Seriously, I eat ALL DAY LONG.

11:00am - Come home for lunch.  John has usually made lunch for me. I clean the kitchen from the mess that was breakfast, load the dishwasher and start it for the kids to empty when they get home. Rush back to work for 12:00pm and I am always late.

12:00-4:30pm - Work some more. Bitch some more. At about 3:30pm I feel badly that I am not there when the kids get off the bus. John is. Lucky him.

4:40pm - Pick up Alex from his sitter's. (He goes to SK two full days one week, three full days the next week).  Chat with sitter, who I adore and don't get to see enough of in a social setting.

4:45pm - Sit and play with my phone while waiting for all three girls to finish drama classes. Listen to Alex tell me all of the cool things he did with Perry that day.

5:00pm- Girls are done drama. We can head home.

5:10pm - Get home. Help with homework, sign agendas. Get the sixteen minute rundown of Erin's day. Kristyn says her day was "good". Alex jumps on his DS.  Meghan practices piano while John and I get supper gathered.

5:30pm-6:30pm - Eat dinner. We eat dinner together 90% of the time. We schedule dinner around activities if we have to. On Tuesdays I take Meg to piano from 6-7pm so we eat later that night. That's how important dinner together is to us.  Then we all clean it up.

6:30pm - Head to gym. Enjoy 90 minutes of my music, lifting weights, running, the bike, whatever.

8:00pm - 8:30pm - Come home. Make lunches for next day. Baths for the little ones. Bedtime snacks. Tooth-brushing. Stories. Water. Bathroom. Puffers. A chat about why Alex is the most amazing boy in the whole world. Promising him there are no bad people coming to get him. Telling Meg how proud we are of her. They sleep.

8:00-9:00pm - Kristyn and Erin finish up homework that wasn't done earlier. They check the computer. Read books. Act like best friends who happen to be sisters. I shower a bit to get the gym stank off.

9:00pm - The fifteen minute warning for Erin and thirty minute warning for Kristyn. Kiss them goodnight. They know when to turn their lights off.

9:15pm - Watch The National (that we paused at 9pm) with John while I surf the net and usually chat with Lianne online. Then we usually watch How I Met Your Mother that PVRed at 8:30pm.

10:30pm - Head to bed.

10:31pm - Censored.

10:44pm (we're very efficient!) - John falls asleep. I watch TV for a bit, brush my teeth, check my email one more time, then read.  I always have to read. Even if it's just two sentences.

11:30pm - Look at the clock and know it's going to hurt in the morning, but I've so enjoyed having some time in this quiet house.

...and on it goes.

*Now the evening activities can vary.  We also music classes, have soccer practices, various board of directors meetings for local organizations, my own soccer games,  and many more. But this is the gist. How do I do it? Lists. Lists. Lists.  Everything planned and in different colours. From who goes where and when to what we're having dinner. Lists are key here .Otherwise, chaos rules and dude, I hate giving up control of this here house.

Dear Alex

Today you are six.


I've never written a Happy Birthday letter to any of my children, but felt inspired to do this today. Later, when your sisters ask why I never did this for them, I'll tell them to go take their baby books off the shelf. Then I'll tell them to locate yours. When they say they can't find one I can tell them that this is why I felt the need to write you a letter this morning.

Right now, you're sitting on the couch watching an episode of Bakugan - only furthering that I had no idea what I was talking about when I said I was raising you the same as your sisters.  You are every cliche about boys there is. You play rough, walk rough and sleep rough. You even swallow your drinks rough and the sound drives me insane. Sometimes you look at me like I'm made of radioactive materials when I ask you what in the world a "hydranoid". On the other hand, you'd probably think it was "weally weally tool" if your mom was made of radioactive material.



When I look at pictures like the one above, my heart hurts a bit. Don't get me wrong, I am very happy you are the last kid to do everything in our house, but my heart hurts because I can't remember these days as easily as I used to.  You had the chubbiest hands. It almost looked like you had elastics around your wrists. I used to kiss those hands on a constant basis. So much so that when you sat on my lap you would immediately put your hands up to my face so that I could make slurpy noises as I devoured them. You would giggle insanely and then rub your hands together because it tickled so much. I can't remember when you did that for the last time, but I wish I had made a mental note to seal that moment forever.

Your favourite time of the day is the last fifteen minutes or so before you go to bed. Every night at about 8:15pm you ask "Is it time for my bedtime snack?". I wonder if you think something will happen throughout the night that will lead to you never eating again because you are so adamant that you eat something before you sleep.  You usually ask for cereal or a piece of toast, which is funny because in the morning you always want a meat and mustard sandwich on rye bread.  You munch on your cereal and sit with marked anticipation for what comes every night around that time.

Your father bursts through the laundry room door into the kitchen and yells out "Wrestling Time!"  You hop off that stool faster than anyone should be able to move after all the running you do in a day and pounce on your dad's crotch area with incredible gusto. I'm sure as you get taller your area of focus will change, and he appreciates that.  For the next ten minutes or so you two beat on each other wildly. I know someday someone will get hurt and you usually end up crying, but you always go back for more.

Right now, he's teaching you how to throw a punch properly and while I yell at the top of my lungs just how wrong I think fighting is, I haven't failed to notice how appropriately fundamental the scenario really is. It seems so wholesomely "father and son" that I can't help but smile.

You started playing hockey this year. I'll admit, in September I was worried for you. You could barely stand up without your hockey stick to prop you.  Everyone told me to just hang on - that I wouldn't believe the change in you by Christmas.  Of course, they were right and now you fly around the ring with speed and as much grace as one of my children with my clumsiness can.  You haven't mastered stopping yet so you basically just run into the boards, or other children, but you hate hurting anyone on purpose, so you usually just fall down.

It hasn't escaped my notice that you are a giant. At six years old you already tower a lot of the second graders in your school. You're a massive kid. You have a huge head, big feet and massive hands. You're the gentlest giant though. You would sooner throw yourself in front of a school bus than hurt another child.  You've had some run-ins at school and your father has told you to just "throw one at them".  This mortifies you!  Why would you ever hit someone on purpose?  You firmly believe that you can just talk your way out of anything and no matter what the man who gave you life has to say, you are just like him.

During your first parent teacher interview of the year your teacher raved about you. I think you have mutual crushes on each other. She said that the other children look to you for guidance because you are always at the ready to help out and you always get the subject at hand. You're wicked smart and quick to take on a challenge, but you're happy to slow down and help out.  She said your speech issues aren't that big a concern and that the once a week therapy you get during school is already working wonders.  Though, if you do have one area to improve it's your sloppiness. You loathe zipping up your coat, putting your hat on properly or closing your bag. If that's the worst she has for me, I'm a lucky mom indeed.

I probably let you get away with more than I did your sisters at this age, but besides being tired, I find myself forgetting that you're getting older and should be doing more. I'm making an effort to make sure to include you in all of the family chores I am constantly barking about.  You now help unload the dishwasher, set the table, put away clothes and clean your bathroom. Sometimes you grumble, but I just tell you to shut it and get it done because I sure as hell ain't doing it, I hate it!  It helps you to get that acknowledgment that it sucks and you like the praise you get when you're done. Just like your father you need constant praise and while it can bleed me dry of energy, I indulge because someday you'll get your praise from other people and what I think of you won't matter as much. It won't matter as much because that your mommy thinks you are the most awesome boy ever will be inherent and implied, but that doesn't mean you'll need to hear it all the time.

For all my talk about you being just like your dad, you are more like me in almost every aspect of your personality. You are loud, obnoxious, inquisitive, contrary for the sake of being so and sometimes taxing to be around in general. But we have our good points too, you know.  We're funny and energetic and we always know how to take everything up a notch. Boring can become "I can't believe we did that!" in seconds flat.  Hearing "What if we ..." is usually followed by things like "build a fort!" or "make a ramp to jump off of!".  I'm sure in your teen years those will be "light this on fire!" or "try to outrun them!", but I may be wrong. I hope I'm wrong.

We're headed out for your birthday lunch now, so I should wrap this up.  I just want you to know that when I tuck you in at night and say "You are my most favourite boy in the whole world and I am so proud of you." I mean every word. I want you to fall asleep knowing that your mother thinks you are pretty cool and that each day that you have been a part of this family has been a true gift and lesson. You teach me things on a daily basis. Mostly patience, but even more than that, how to love with my entire being, just like you do all of us.

Love,

Mommy

I'm sorry

I'm sorry that I woke up in a bad mood. When you get up before the sun rises and the whole house is warm and quiet, it can make you cranky.  Besides I went to bed late, but in my defense the hour between 11pm and 12am is the one hour a day where no one is talking, except for Jon Stewart or whatever book I'm reading. I like hearing you snore peacefully and warming up your cold feet with my socked ones.

I'm sorry that I didn't check the beautifully colour coordinated calendar on the fridge and forgot that today is the day you have to bring in six cans of food, a family picture and twelve dollars for a field trip. Oh, and I'm sorry I have to work the day of that field trip and can't go with you.  I'm doing my best to be everywhere everyday, and that day, I have to go where the money is.

I'm sorry that I made that mistake with that customer or put the wrong item into that slot. I'm sorry if my head seems to be in the clouds, but some of my head is still back at home, feeling the extreme guilt I felt before I even left the house. Besides, I'm not even sure that I made that mistake, but I'll take the blame, cause that's the kind of girl I am, right?  Everything just rolls right off my back.

I'm sorry that I yelled at you when I went came home for lunch, but I know you sat on the computer with your coffee for a few minutes before starting the work you do at home every day. I'm sorry that I rolled my eyes and asked sarcastically if you had seen the dishes or knew where the dishwasher soap was. It's just that when I get home later the kids will tell me they couldn't empty the dishwasher because it hadn't been started.  It's the same thing every day - I don't think I should have to ask anymore. I've never heard you ask me to clean the toilets, but somehow, it gets clean every week. I wonder how?  Maybe it's elves?

I'm sorry I didn't cook what we had on the calendar for dinner.  I just didn't feel like poaching fish and sauteeing vegetables.  The pizzas in the freezer looked awesome, even if it was pizza day at school. Eat it.

I'm sorry you can't go to bed at 9pm like your sister, but you're younger and though you don't think so now, I really do know what's best.  At least, I hope I do, because what's best is a lot harder than what's easy.

I'm sorry I shouted and got angry when the shower curtain bar fell on you. You were supposed to be getting your pajamas on, not taunting your brother in the bath. When he pulled the curtain to tell you to scram, it fell on you. I admit, I was more angry that you weren't listening to me than I was worried you were okay.  Besides, by the time "What the hell are you doing?" came out of my mouth I knew I was overreacting, but yelling felt so good, I didnt want to stop.

I'm sorry I promised myself that tonight I would go to bed earlier, sleep better and greet the day with a bit more optimism. I'm sorry I never listen. I know you get that you relish the quiet at night and resent it in the morning.

Not every day is like this, but the ones that are make me feel sorry.