“Feliz Navidad” is simply “I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas” – he sung that phrase for 20 minutes straight.

“Santa Claus is coming to Town” is “You better watch out … you better watch out … you better watch out.”  It’s like a skipping record, or perhaps he’s grasping the most important part of the song. 

Abe simply sings the last words of songs.  He even anticipates his father’s prayers, thanking God for ‘foo’ (food).  And even when Hubby changed up the words, Abe continued to pray for ‘pay’ (patience  ).

Boo just coos and coos.

The Jackson 5, we are not:  but they certainly like “singing” along to it.  Just wait til they figure out how to sing along to Manheim Steamroller (my brother does a mean beat box to ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’:  it just embodies the Christmas spirit).

A Friday night.

Before 9:15pm.

In bed.

While watching NCIS.

On a computer.

‘Nuff said.

My first born, as a small tyke, was not so … containable, and my concept of trips and him combined to me is like herding kittens:  crazy, driven, really really fast kittens.  I forget that as he ages, he changes and can do things like respond to commands and stay in one general area and not throw himself off of high places and not break out of the nursery … each nursery …. at least twice.  And the second born doesn’t even know that there are other options beyond responding to the Mama Barks.

Our local church camp was trying a new program called “Family Getaways“:  basically a laid-back weekend of getting to hang out at the beach, eat yummy camp food, enjoy their grounds and equipment, and the best part for our family – kids aged 5 and under were free.  SWEET.  And if it bombed, I figured we were only two hours away from home (with a quick stop for squeaky cheese – a necessity).

Packing did not go well.  It was turning into:  Family, Get Away!  I told Hubby that I will no longer pack for myself and two small children by my lonesome again.  And then realized that I won’t:  it will be *three* small tykes.  Lovely.

But we made it to camp and got to stay in a *gorgeous* cabin that I want to permanently move into.  Or at least steal their bathrooms.  Of which we had access to two.  For four people.  Bliss!  We bundled up the kids and they slept in their twin beds while Hubby and I enjoyed a very new, firm queen-sized mattress (pregnancy gives me a bit of a Princess-and-the-Pea syndrome.  If only memory foam mattress toppers were a little more transportable).

We played lots of games in the shelter, some with people who wanted to play with small children, and some with people who didn’tsomuch.  Smores were eaten, songs were sung, children (of which there were really only four for the whole group, and two were girls:  well.behaved.girls.) ran amuck if that was their natural inclination.

The next day was more of the same.  Excellent food (that I didn’t have to prepare, but did have to clean up after thanks to a toddler who enjoyed giving depth to his wardrobe by sporting his meals).  Times to play.  Times to chill.  Times to talk with friends who work at the camp.

Flying a wicked shark kite.

Enjoy the Rocks of Twins.

Can you believe they let me have this?!!  Legally?!!

Golf ball go down the hooooooooole.

The Professional at work.

Be Free!

Golfing, frisbee-style.

Same table, different player (with one of my bestest bud’s kids).

DOH!

And no trip to that part of the coast is complete without a trip to The Cheese Factory.  Because we *love* cheese.  And ice cream.  And fudge.  And dried meat products.  We love health. 

Monitoring The Cheese Making Process in a very safe fashion.

Say Vegan Soy Products!

The trip had its good moments and its hard moments.  I’m trying to take it for what it was worth:  a weekend away, with my family, two of whom are small people who don’t respond to changing environments all that well.  Each one fell out of bed once.  Each one had meltdowns due to food issues or over-exertion or being told “no” (gasp) – adults included.  But times of changing scenery, enjoying God’s beauty, being with friends, watching the little guys make new friends – that makes it all worth it.  That, and the three packages of squeaky cheese that were consumed in the next week:  mmmm.

(Enjoying an ice cream sandwich, or guarding it lest others might think they needed a taste.  Believe me, we didn’t).

I wore full-body long johns last week!  But the week before I wore summery clothes.  And put away the boys’ winter clothes.  Which I had to resurrect so that sweats weren’t worn to church.  We’re laid back, but oh, my sweet Southern deceased grandmothers might just have to beat Christ at his own game and have a little resurrection time of their own:  “You sent my grandbaby to Sunday meeting wearing what?!!”

A number of my friends were voicing concern due to the change in the season:

• “School’s almost out.”
• “It’s going to get hot.”
• “What am I going to do with these kids all day?”

I remember that panic from last year, that dread of “I’m in charge of scheduling all this time?”  To which this year I shouted a “Glory, hallelujah!  I don’t have to be anywhere or do anything!  I’m in charge!  And We’re Staying Home!”  Hmm:  who doesn’t want to waddle after two active boys in public as onlookers gawk and stare at the Crazed Hormonal Woman?  It’s been a very religious experience so far, as you can tell.

JJ “graduated.”

It was during the “heat wave”:  it was warm:  it was a nighttime thing during a busy week:  I really didn’t want to go.  He’ll be going back to the same Pre-K program next year, so it felt so anticlimactic.  However, each child had a role.  That they led the class in.  Up front.  In alphabetical order (which would explain why JJ comes home from school chanting his classmates names in alphabetical order, letting me know who was and was not present.  It does warm a former librarian’s heart a bit).

JJ led the class in reciting numbers.

During “prairie quest” time, he asked for healing for Abe’s scratch on his knee (which stays present due to someone’s picking fixation).  Can’t imagine why he has a scrape on his knee.

And then the “aw” moment of the evening”:  led by his friend Jacob – “Class, it’s time for thanksgivings.  JJ, what are you thankful for?”  “You.”  Seriously.  That earned him a few “get out of parental frustration free” points, which were quickly used up at the after-party – cookies and juice and primary colored napkins (we were instructed on what to bring.  Teacher L runs a tight ship).

So now we’re in the throws of summer.  The first request:  “Can we eat breakfast at the park?”  SURE!  Which has been requested since then, but sitting on a wet picnic bench just isn’t so appealing.  That’s just how summer rolls:  no rhyme or reason, Little Man.

Now JJ lets everyone know, “I’m not going to school anymore.  I’m on Summer ‘Cation.  I’ll go back to school on September 12th”.  His birthday.  Which is not the date that he starts school, but it’s the best way to help give him a concept of time, and to get him to stop asking me, “Am I going to school today?”  Oh, and his sister is arriving on that day as well according to him:  I’m glad he’s got it all scheduled out.  Maybe she can even be his show-and-tell, that or mama’s freaky-floppy-stretchy-stomach:  that could really wow the crowd.

I know it’s been a good year when JJ’s pouting because he’s gotten too riled up and we had to get him away from his friends, and he says, “I don’t love my friends anymore.  Just you and Dad and Abel and God and Teacher L.”  Just like I said to my mama about my first grade teacher (except it was more in the context of , “Well, you may not love me anymore, but Mrs. Iverson always will.”  Oh, the sting).

So now we’re cruising through summer.  Posts will follow regarding events – wouldn’t want to flood you with too much Drenness.  Plus, I need to go finish reading about The Blue Zone lifestyle and Husband Coached Childbirth because I have the most random Books On Hold list at the library ever.

Food = good.

Sun = good.

It was a good weekend.

Saturday we loaded up to go to Costco to get an order of contacts.  This was attempt #2, with attempt #1 being two previous Fridays when we tried to hit the Joe’s “Liquidation” sale which turned out to be liquidating their parking space availability as well as unclogged walking isles, but we found that out later because our first Joe’s attempt was too early – not open yet.  We went to go to Costco, but it wasn’t open either, so we got Costco gasoline and stopped off at PetSmart first because JJ had been promised a new fish, you know, in December.  In typical American fashion we walked out with six (I believe) new fish and a snail that’s favorite game is “trick the girl owner into thinking I’m dead so that she has a mini-attack most times looking at the tank, but FAKE OUT”.  Then we went to Costco.  Except Costco opens at 11:00 during the week, not 9:30 like the weekends:  FAKE OUT.  So, back to Joe’s for the last FAKE OUT experience of the day (those prices:  20 percent off is liquidation?!!  Dude, that word can *only* be associated with at least 70 percent or better – don’t you read all the frugal sale blogs?!!).

So we went to Costco this Saturday and boo-yah:  open.  Contacts:  purchased.  Other things we “neeeeeeded”:  purchased.  I mentioned to the Hubby:  it’s going to be nice – go buy something fun to grill.  He wanted salmon, but mentioned how it’s just not the same without the cedar plank treatment that we always do at my folks.  Round the corner:  boo-yah – planks.  With little salmons etched onto them.  Calling Hubby’s name:  use us!  Use us!  Then we grazed for samples (good day for adults – all natural turkey, garlic chicken meal, hawaiian chicken bowl, smoothies, two nut stations, and acai drinks; not so great for kids – dehydrated blueberries and mangoes).  AND we ran into some friends making their necessary purchases of Fair Trade Organic Sugar and non-Fair Trade non-organic Cheerios:  excellent combo.

We left.  We came home.  We unloaded.  We ate lunch.  Hubby moved into yard maintenance, and I moved into, “Hmm:  I wonder if I can lure our friends over for dinner by constantly Facebooking them.”  It worked.  And the food was GOOD, and so easy:  I seriously don’t know why I don’t do meals, with friends, more often.  Minus the incessant reports of all the ways my children were hosting/hazing the other kids.  The one thing I forgot to pick up at Costco:  the Fair Trade Organic nanny.

On Sunday we were chatting with friends during community time while the boys were getting their pack animal mentality on (first exclamation when one saw the other, “JJ, let’s RUN!”  And they did.  Oh, how they ran), and we decided that going to service just wasn’t in the cards once Abe had a permantent indent in his hand from getting a heavy door slammed on it.  So we went for Extended Community Time at a friends house because, really, did we want to have to entertain our children by ourselves, or rather to encourage/lock them outside to play together while we sat and talked?  The answer is obvious.  Again:  most excellent food – an assortment of baked goods from various grocery stores in our area.  They had bakery chocolate chip cookies that made me miss Buttrey’s/Alberton’s bakeries in Boise when I would get a free chocolate chip cookie to munch on while Mama shopped.  Which my boys don’t get, and won’t get, until they’re old and determined enough to read/slog through my blog and get to this blog post.

Sunday I took advantage of naptime to throw on the walking shoes and hit the hills.  There’s a little red on my shoulders, but there’s sunshine blazing on my inside.  Such an odd sensation, plugging in the headphones, having flashbacks of my daily walks in Boise, feeling like I could breathe for the first time in I don’t know how long.  Breathing:  that’s another thing I should add to the good list.  I so often forget.

This week we’re eating from the Moosewood Restaurant Cooks at Home:  Fast and Easy Recipes for Any Day.

Monday:  Mighty Zucchini Muffins w/cream cheese, bananas; Mockamole, nachos, ants on a log; Simple Quesadillas, Caribbean Black Beans

Tuesday:  Fruit-filled French Toast, yogurt; Italian-style Tofu Pizza, apples w/pb, crackers; Broiled Tofu burgers, seasons fries, peaches

Wednesday:  Cottage Cheese Apple Pancakes w/peanut butter, cheese; Greek Pita, hummus, chips, apples, veggies; Golden Cheddar Cheese soup, Pesto Palmiers, Salad, tangerines

Thursday:  Leftovers; PBJ, crackers, raisins; Leftovers

Friday:  Blueberry Multigrain Muffins w/cream cheese, peaches; Greek Spinach Frittata, cinnamon raisin toast; Sweet Potato Quesadillas, North African Cauliflower soup, chips, salsa

Saturday:  Yogurt Cheese Pie, cinnamon toast; Tofu Burritos, pb crackers, fruit leather; Feta Spinach Pizza, breadsticks, marinara, peaches

Sunday:  Leftovers; Leftovers; waffles

But that doesn’t mean we weren’t eating.  We’ve been eating … and eating … and eating.  The week after the retreat, I went to my folks’ for a “retreat with two small boys, one of whom decided he would prefer to be attached to mama at all time as well as weep and wail and gnash those darling little molars while falling asleep or at 2am or both” – not necessarily so restful, but rejuvinating in that I didn’t have to cook or clean for seven blissful days.  And I could watch a number of NCIS marathons (a show that has been endeared to me since finding out that the writer/producers also created Magnum, P.I., one of the sacred Trinity of TV Childhood Favs).

While at the Mama & Pappy’s, I could also indulge in a guilty pleasure:  reading books about health/frugality/green/sustainable living.  Why is that guilty?  Because everytime I read these books (or watch Oprah), I freak out about all the bad things that could infiltrate my family’s health and purge the nasties.  Organic grapes and strawberries:  a must.  Homemade laundry detergent:  on top of my laundry machine.  Flax seeds and antioxidents:  regular part of my diet.  Buying disposable diapers:  a shame and guilt-laden experience.  Using paper towels and paper napkins:  rare, but also guilt-laden.  Unplugging any appliance that hasn’t been used:  compulsive and sometimes theraputic.  Bad plastics:  being weeded out.  Becoming a member of a CSA:  first pickup’s in a few weeks.  Positive, happy, healthy thinking:  work in progress, kinda shoved down the list …

I’ve been banned from watching Oprah pretty much because Hubby comes home and I say, “So Oprah says …” and then life changes, or I live in the anxiety that I don’t know what or how to change so that BPA doesn’t infiltrate our drinking water and thereby corroding our systems so that we grow third arms.  It’s totally irrational and illogical:  I’ve swam in the Willamette.  Repeatedly.  I am DOOMED.

My idealist kicks in, and I can’t get it Right, and then I my mind shuts down as I start projecting out, thinking about planting a garden and harvesting everything and spending time ordering ginormous bags of locally organically grown grain to store in Safe plastic containers and grind by hand into my own bread and use organic butter that I get after a day’s walk to and from McMinnville because using my car would cause too big of a carbon foot print, and then I find myself with only enough energy to say, “Could I get some ketchup with that, too?” as I lean out the car window to pick up my hard-worked-for dinner offerings from the House of Dave Thomas.

So I read these books at my parents’ house.  Because their tanks to deal with The Crazy are much fuller (and more experienced) than my poor lives-with-the-daily Hubby.  And they find some of it interesting (hmm: wonder where I get it?).  And they have years and years of knowing how to temper me:  “Why don’t you take baby steps? … You know, instead of planting a garden, investing money in knowing *where* your food comes from is a great first step …  There will always be other years ….  I’ve found an herb garden is pretty easy to grow”, aka. oooh, here’s a direction to move in, oh all-or-nothing one.  They know not to make “You’re wrong” statements or “That won’t work” because look at the head-strong one go charging in that direction.  Plus, they’re just as all-or-nothing as me, oh move-to-the-farmland-Idaho-suburbs-to-by-acreage-and-grow-a-huge-garden-and-raise-animals-because-our-experience-of-living-in-the-urban-South-and-Germany-and-Tacoma-prepared-us-for-situations-such-as-these parents.  I’m just sayin’ …

This last time I read The China Study.  I let Hubby know I was taking it.  “This is the book that my friends read, and they stopped eating meat.  I’m just warning you.”  I read it; I enjoyed it; I believe the author – he’s not a whack job.  I haven’t gone bonkers yet.  I must admit, The Crazy One looks at animal products and thinks, “These promote cancer:  DOOM!”  But The Tempered One says, “Baby steps to four o’clock.  Baby steps to four o’clock”.  So we had Vegan Week in which I cooked vegan dinners.  I thought they were yummy, particularly since two meals required peanut sauce (mmmm).  And to celebrate the end of vegan week?  Grilled cream-cheese-stuffed turkey burgers.  Success.

Honestly I am feeling convicted to be more aware of animal products in my family’s diet, but not crazy.  I need to use things up in my freezer.  And I need to honor my family’s requests for favorites.  Mantra – these are choices to make out of love, not fear, to move us into life, not prison.

This week I used meals from The Sneaky Chef:  How to Cheat on Your Man (in the Kitchen):  a baby step in working veggies and other good stuff into the boys’ food.  I didn’t “hide” things:  I shared what was part of the meal.  And I bonded with my handheld blender:  we needed some quality time together.  Soon it will be quality smoothie weather …. sooooon ….

Monday:  Cheese eggs, cinnamon toast, banana (had to get out the door for MOPS); grilled cheese & turkey, grapes, crackers; Burgerville (Hubby’s half birthday:  woo hoo!  Burgerville’s also very locally/sustainably minded as well, and just plain tasty:  bonus).

Tuesday:  Power Breakfast Cookies (which led to some little peoples’ power poops – oy), sausage, strawberries; Chicken Waldorf wrap, veggies, apples; Italian Herb Chicken, Mighty Parmesan Mashed Potatoes, applesauce, bread, salad (comment:  “Wow!  You really went all out!”  Tried not to extrapolate into “and finally cooked a real meal/meal like my family cooked” – see, holding in The Crazy).

Wednesday:  Blockbuster Blueberry Muffins, cheese; Burly Burritos, veggies, crackers, raisins; Real Man Meatballs w/spaghetti, apples w/pb, salad, bread

Thursday:  Leftovers; Leftovers; Leftovers (seriously needed.  LOOOONG days cooking beforehand)

Friday:  Chocolate-Charged French Toast, cheese, banana; Leftovers (had a meeting that ran long); probably fend for yourself (because I had planned for Turkey Burgers, but tomorrow’s supposed to be quality grilling weather)

Saturday:  French Toast Bites, banana; English Muffin Pizzas, veggies with laughing cow cheese, peaches; Now You’re Talking Turkey Burgers, Real Freedom Fries, applesauce

Sunday:  Leftovers; Leftovers; Top Banana waffles, turkey bacon

In typical tradition, what one child hates, the other loves, and visa versa.

And what one child leaves, the other wears.  Marinara:  the latest facial treatment.

What, no kiss, Pappy?

At least he gets lovin’ in the belly.

What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music? – High Fidelity

At the beginning of the year, I did not make a resolution.  Resolutions are something that I find myself wanting to sneak around, squiggle out of, avoid at all costs.  Because resolutions are supposed to be *good* for me:  and why would I want to do something like that?

Instead, I put out a request:  “Self,” I said, “I would like to have some form of physical activity almost every day.  Working out, walking, pedometering the steps, etc.  It’s supposed to make us healthy, wealthy, and wise; and dude, I really dig those endorphine thingies.”  My self found these thoughts acceptable, and since then exercise or daily movement has been fairly consistent.  Normally I would get up before the little monkeys, turn on my happy lamp, and walk it out with Leslie (“pulling those blessings down from heaven!”  Bless her little, and so healthy, heart).

And then “someone” decided to get competitive by getting up before the mama.  Like an hour before the mama.  And even Leslie‘s positivity can’t pull this tired patootie out of bed at 4:30am.  So these past couple of days I’ve been trying to squish concerted physical effort in where I can:  breakfast times, naptimes, or today the blissful “One child at school, and the not-as-needing-of-social-engagement child at home:  sweet freedom!” time.  Yesterday we The Firmed together, but apparently someone is a gear head and did *not* want to share the other dumbbell, and I didn’t know, but we had assigned fanny lifters that were *not* to be shared.  My bad.

Today we went for a walk around our park.  I had a goal:  we met half of it before Abe started to doze off.  And naptime in the stroller:  not cool.  That creeps into his other Times of Containment which are meant for sleeping and letting Mama sit on the couch and eat bon bons and watch The Dr.’s to figure out which prostate exam is the most effective (for future reference).

I needed to move about more, and I didn’t want to accomplish it by lugging laundry up and down the stairs:  it’s an option, but not a good one.  So I flipped to the ol’ Itunes to find some dancey music.

Today I’ve been craving dancey music since I read about Cinnabon giving away free Cinnabites in honor of tax day.  Obvious correlation on all fronts, yes?  See, in college, when my roommates and I had done all our homework and were good little college students, or at least mediocre college students, we would wake up late Sunday morning, throw on our pajama pants and slippers and hoodies, pile into a car, haul off to the mall to the “Good Entrance.”  Within 15 feet of the entrance we could access Starbucks (venti Mocha Frappuccino), Jamba Juice (really big Aloha Pineapple with immunity boosters), and Cinnabon (extra frosting, please).  I didn’t say I was necessarily at my *heathiest* time of my life, and we usually made up for it by cooking a “proper” chicken and salad and bread dinner (never made the correlation why I felt so much better after dinner and notsomuch in the morning …).

To and from the Good Entrance, we would listen to music:  loud music:  loud pop music.  Because we could, and because it was a wholly new experience for me:  happy music, bouncy music, music that wasn’t written by goth boys with moppy dyed-black hair to match their all-black ensemble that blended into their sinister tomb of dark madness (aka their parents’ garage) as was my previous listening preference (oh, Robert Smith, you’ll still always have a place in my heart).   There were dance moves involved in this happy, peppy music experience, dance moves that I learned, and now have the pride (the privilege, nay, the pleasure) of bestowing them upon the next generation (of course, while their father is at work.  But it’s not like he’s not going to teach them to get their Warren G on:  regulators, mount up).

• So we dance to a little of this.
• And this.
• And he *really* liked this, talking back and waving to the screen.
• And we danced to this, so he could find something that’s more “his generation” (but we didn’t watch:  those shoulder pads are just a little too graphic at his tender age).

Yesterday I was complaining to a friend that Elmo and his orchestra was about to get booted out of my home.  He reminded me of some good kids music, but the pop music, the happy peppy baddy pop music, finally leveled me out.  Of course now I’ll need to temper that with either some Beastie or Vivaldi:  really, it’s a toss up between the two.

The first woman spoke on the benefits of purchasing organic cotton and the negatives of wearing non-organic cotton.  She had props.  And printed-off information.  And statistics.  What did I have?  A shoddy note-book, less than six hours of sleep, and my smart-ass wit:  a fairly typical day.    But it seemed to go well:  people were engaged, asking questions, not getting up to move to the craft table early or throwing jelly beans at each other – success!

Here’s a bit of what I shared.

In a theology class I read a book about consumerism.  One point talked about the industrial revolution and how that changed the role of mothers from being creators/producers to being “managers of consumption” — which I *hate* being, and which puts a whole lot of pressure on mothers.

Ways I’ve Tried to Go Green:

REDUCE what I bring into my home

• Toys, clothes – use or give away
• Heat – keep at 66 – use sweaters
• Library – get most materials (books, music, dvds), put holds online for easier pickup
• Meal plan – use what I have rather than buy more
• Trash/Recycling – links to my area garbage service, explains what can and can’t be recycled in the can or on the premises
• Baking Day – try to bake breakfast foods one morning, freeze – reduces oven time
• Car & Trips – only have one car, reduced trips into town, spend more family time together, spend more time in the neighborhood

REUSE what I already have

• Grocery sacks/bulk sacks – buying in bulk is GREAT – WinCo, Freddies, Bob’s Red Mill
• Meal plan – google items that are close to going bad to use them up
• Cleaning products – reuse containers, make my own cleaners out of stuff I already have
• Breast/menstrual pads
• Wash cloths – instead of paper towels
• Swaps w/friends – books, kids’ books, cookbooks, baby items, clothes, etc.

REPURPOSE what I have into what I need

• Spaghetti jars/yogurt tubs – hold bulk items, kids toys, craft items
• Veggies/chicken bones – turn into stock in the crockpot
• Community eating – either through a meal swap or a CSA

Going green, and life in general, is meant to be lived in community:  we can’t do this alone.

Make choices out of love, not out of fear.

Think of the larger pictures:  I may choose to reduce the animal products I eat because I don’t like the potential toxins, OR I may choose to reduce the animal products I eat because the industry puts animals and people into horrible conditions that are soul-sucking – I don’t want to support something so deameaning to all involved.

Give yourself grace.

Find life and joy.

Here are some other links that might be helpful:

Oregon Master Recycling

Little House in the Suburbs

Angry Chicken

Eat Wild

Oregon Farmer’s Markets

I hope it’s helpful, and I’d love to hear things you’ve found useful!

Oooh, somebody else’s gadget.

Ooooh, chatty (really, Hubby is chatty.  Some of y’all know; most of the world, notsomuch.).

Ooooh, pacing while being chatty with somebody else’s gadget.

Let’s hope he also picks up the Hubby’s mad Iron Chef skills  (or at least ability to watch countless hours of Iron Chef.  Thanksgiving Showdown was Big Fun.)

Enjoy.

“Bahy.”  [Wave]

“Pardon?”

“You know, a prairie quest.  It’s for things like owies, and sickness . . . ” (numbering off on his fingers)

“You mean a prayer request?”

“No, a prairie quest.  Like at school!  It’s for things like owies, and sickness . . .” (again, with the numbering).

“Oh, have you given a prairie quest?”

“Yes, for my cough.”

“And what happened?”

“It didn’t work.  I still cough.  But I can still give it again some other time!”