We met some friends today at the pool for some late morning/early afternoon swimming. We twin moms tend to travel in packs. It’s really nothing to us, but the parents with just one or two kids kind of gawk a us as we spill into the pool area with our collective 8 children — SIX 4 year olds, a 2 year old, and a 10 month old — and 3 adults. And all of the gear that goes with.
Being at the pool with 2 other moms means you move to more of a zone defense as opposed to your regular man on man, or mom on kid on kid on kid, which works out well when your kids have to pee every 10 minutes. You gotta go? No? Then why are you holding your crotch? Okay, who else? You? And you? All aboard! Everyone jump on the potty train!
Taking other people’s kids to the potty hasn’t gotten weird quite yet. We’re all still pretty innocent. Or so I thought when I took Rachel and her sweet friend to the bathroom today and her friend came out of the stall and gave us all a show of her nether regions. Rachel was ever so curious, like she doesn’t have one of her own. Her little friend just stood there, bottoms around her ankles, giggling. The in her little mini Joan Rivers voice,
“You see my TEE TEEEEEE! Hahahaha!”
I was dying. Dying laughing and dying trying not to let them see me laughing so hard.
10 minutes later Rachel needed to go again (see what I mean?), and this time Tee Tee’s twin needed to go.
As I’m pulling up Rachel’s bathing suit (take note: one pieces on kids who need help going to the bathroom are the devil. The devil I tell you!), Tee Tee’s twin giggled, pointed, and spurted in the same mini Joan Rivers voice,
“Haha I see your BOOBIES!”
I ducked my head and snort laughed, like a mature adult would. Rachel just looked down at her midsection, a bit confused. Although we use real words for “vagina” and “penis,” (also I have no idea why I was compelled to put those in quotation marks, like they’re not “real things”), I’ve never taught them the word boobies for fear that they would shout it out in public. You know, kinda like this. When pressed with the inevitable “What’s that?” I always identified it as my “body,” which is generic enough not to embarrass me when they try to yank down my shirt or give my “body” a good squeeze in full view of a restaurant.
So Rachel was still confused as I continued to pull up her suit and hide my laughter, but all bets were off when Tee Tee’s twin yanked down the collar her own sun shirt and yelled,
“You wanna see MY boobies?!?!?!”
OMG, I thought, Please don’t let them see how hard I am laughing!
This is apparently what happens when you have 2 older brothers. It was like a mini anatomy lesson in there, and my Rachel was the naive freshman to her friends’ college senior type knowledge. She didn’t know where to find the library, much less where the town pub was! Next thing I knew, they’d be dragging her to wild parties, getting her drunk on juice boxes, and teaching her about nibbles and ding dongs!
So I’m going to stick with “body” for now.
When Claire proudly approached me with a handful of little screws and nuts, my first thoughts were that either a) she grabbed them off of a closet shelf, or b) they just disassembled their own beds. I’ve seen enough Blues Clues episodes to know a good mystery when I see one.
When I entered their room, I saw various items from their closet shelves in disarray around their room, all things I try to keep out of reach — parenting books we’ve long outgrown, sticker sets reserved for a rainy day, the fishing game that just begs to have its little fish tossed around the room willy nilly. Their closet shelf system is supposed to be a means of swift organization. In real life though, it’s the place where I put crap that I don’t know what else to do with.
“Oh, girls,” I muttered as I bent down to pick up the crap, urging them to do the same, saving a few other choice words for the silence of my head.
And that’s when I saw it. A shard of painted modeling clay discarded carelessly on the floor, it’s matching pieces strewn nearby.
It’s a memento from the NICU: Rachel’s ever so tiny footprint imprinted on a modeling clay heart, painted and adorned with her name and the date on the back. I have one for each girl, lovingly created by the nurses and hung in the front hall of the unit, released to us along with our babies when they were strong enough to come home. It’s a token of where our journey began; a reminder of how far we’ve come.
Her little foot, not even two inches in length, was broken into pieces.
And I felt my own heart break into a million pieces.
I couldn’t help it. I bit my quivering lip and squeezed my eyes shut as the tears started falling. I hate crying in front of the girls. I know they need to know I’m human, but it really freaks them out, and right now I didn’t want to have to console them. I needed to be the one who was upset this time.
I gathered the broken heart as quickly as possible and fled to the comfort of my own room, and I prayed they wouldn’t follow. I let the tears fall big and heavy for just a few minutes, maybe even a few seconds — I knew I didn’t have much time. My shoulders shook, and my chest heaved from the emotional pain.
It’s just a thing, I tried to tell myself. Your children are healthy, despite their rough start.
It’s just a thing.
Oh, but it was a thing that I cherished so much, and why didn’t I take better care of it? Why didn’t I put it safe in a box instead of on the closet shelf, so tempting for explorative four year olds? I’m still not used to the idea that they grab their chairs to reach things beyond their grasp.
And how was I to explain to them why I was so upset? I tried. The words didn’t come out. I couldn’t think quickly enough, even though I thought I planned out what to say.
What is it? Is it broken?
It’s a footprint. A special footprint.
No! It’s a heart!
Yes, but it has your footprint on it, from when you were a tiny baby in the hospital.
Remember when I was a baby?
Yes, I do. You lived in the hospital for five weeks before Mommy and Daddy could bring you home.
Do I have a footprint?
Yes, you have one too.
I’ll be right back! I hafta go get my footprint!
They couldn’t fathom why this thing, this piece of clay with a barely there imprint of a time they couldn’t remember was so special to me. They live in the present. They relish in memories of their last trip to the pool or their birthday party. I’m the one who gazes at these tiny things and allows myself a deep breath, a WOW, and a quick prayer of thanks.
It’s just a thing.
Update: I left the pieces on my dresser for safekeeping, even though there really is no safe surface around here. I came in my room one day to find Rachel messing with the broken heart. I totally lost it and may have yelled at her to leave the damn thing alone. Her face crumbled into huge crocodile tears as she explained, “But I was trying to fix it!” So yeah, I’m an asshole.
Last Monday we started swim lessons for the big girls. I was mega excited! Swimming! Learning! These girls are water crazy, and since we joined the YMCA, they’ve practically taught themselves to hold their breath, propel themselves underwater, and you know, SWIM. I figured it would help to learn some skillz other than just flopping in the water, so here we are.
I tell ya,’ lessons of any sort are hard with these two. It’s just like when the preschool director asked if I wanted to try separating them into different classes: they model each other, so our lessons are an almost non stop revolving door of one twin doing something she’s not supposed to do and the other following suit. Claire sits obediently on the steps while the instructors go over the skill, Rachel takes off to flop in the water. So then Claire takes off to flop with her. We coax them back, then Claire swims off, and Rachel follows suit. I can see the frustration in the very mild mannered instructors, and it pales in comparison to my embarrassment. I swear these kids listen to me…most days. Some days. Definitely not today, but some days.
I want the girls to respect the authority of the instructors, but if I retreat I feel like I’m the nonchalant, negligent parent who doesn’t care that my kids are acting up. I do long to be nonchalant, but negligent, not so much. So then I turn into helicopter parent, sitting pool side to control my kids so Mr T and Mr S don’t have to spend all of their time corralling them and can put that focus on the other students.
Monday: “Waddya mean we’re not here to PLAY???” They both got put in time out for not listening, and thanks to the fact that I’m never on time, I didn’t get to put Zoe in the Y child care, and after seeing the pool, she was all, “Woman, I needs ta SWIM!” only she couldn’t. She cried the whole time, plopped her fully clothed butt in the water, and generally made sure I was NO HELP AT ALL in keeping R & C on task. Post lesson brought on the apocalypse of “But I have ta SWIM!” even though we had talked repeatedly about the fact that we weren’t there to play and when class was over, it was over.
Tuesday: Not only do I arrive early to get Zoe out of my hair — ahem, to the day care — but I also remembered to bring ammunition. In the form of lollipops. They still may not have listened too well in class, but they learned, and leaving was a snap. Also, I pondered later on if I flashed Mr T my hoo-ha when I squat-bent down in my dress to tell him something about the girls. It was a no win situation. Squatting, bending, he was going to get an eyeful of something that wasn’t meant for public viewing. The only way I’ll ever know for sure is to ask him, “Hey did I happen to flash you the other day?” and THAT AIN’T HAPPENING.
Wednesday: I spent half the lesson helicoptering, then backed off, hoping that the lack of my presence would inspire the girls to respect Mr T’s and Mr S’s authority. I’m not sure it worked. Also, I forgot the damn lollipops. After class I turned to gather our towels and realized I was missing one Claire, and after much harried scanning of the pool, found her squatting on the path, pissed at me because she couldn’t swim freely. Now not only am I helicopter mom, I’m helicopter mom who lost a kid when she looked away for 1.5 seconds. Shut up IT HAPPENS. (This is also where Claire would inform me that we don’t say shut up.)
Thursday: I decided to remain in the background to see if Mr T and Mr S can handle them. About halfway through the lesson I had to intervene because they were doing pool WWF and AGAIN WITH THE NOT LISTENING. Mr T’s relieved thank you tells me that unfortunately it was necessary. I know they’re only 4, but seriously, these other kids are showing us up with their ridiculous obedience and whatnot. Claire is Defiant Daphne (no offense to any real Daphne’s out there) and screams/cries/pitches an unholy fit when it’s time to go. On the upside it’s really true that a stern whisper is WAY scarier than yelling. Thank GOD this is the last day of the week.
And if you’re keeping track, yes, I remembered to bring lollipops. But lollipop rights were revoked due to the above screams/cries/unholy fits.
After Thursday’s lesson I chatted for a bit with Mr T about how I hesitate on the line of being a helicopter parent and hovering over the lesson and stepping back to let him and Mr S claim their rightful authority. After all, that’s one of the reasons we’re doing this — so that along with the skills they can learn to listen to other adults, wait their turn, and stay on task. Unfortunately, we seem to be failing miserably. He was understanding of my plight, and he LOVES that the girls are so excited about swimming. But with their constant mimicking of each other’s disobedience, and with a bunch of YMCA camp kids also splashing around nearby, there’s just too much activity.
So it looks like I’ll be helicoptering around all next week too. I had been looking forward to these types of activities with my girls, but at this point I feel like keeping them home and out of all organized things altogether. Dance class will become a free for all, and I’ve already sweated through a Gymboree disaster. I know that if the instructors could see past the not listening and the disobedience and stuff, they would love them (it’s happened!), but in the end I leave feeling like my kids are a burden on the class. And that sucks.
Stay tuned for week two of swimming lesson fun! Can you even stand it???
In light of horrific events that stripped some people of their loved ones last week — I’m actually writing this on Friday, the day that news of the Aurora, Colorado movie theater shootings broke — I find myself with a new attitude towards, well, everything, as I look at my three healthy, gorgeous kids who are here.
So today I can say yes.
Yes I will make you as many eggs as you want for breakfast.
Yes, I’ll pretend to be Pinkie Pie in My Little Pony. She’s my favorite, you know.
Yes you may ride on the outside of the Target cart. And duh, we will get free cookies from the bakery.
Yes I will endure aisle after aisle of grabby hands and tossing of random things into the cart without losing my cool.
Sure, you can have chocolate bars for lunch (full disclosure, they were chocolate Clif bars. So. Good.).
Yes, you can wear my sunglasses. It is awfully bright outside.
Yes, you can watch Kipper.
And thank you for reminding me that I said we could have popsicles for snack time. What flavor would you like?
Swimming after dinner? Why not?
Today I’ll listen to everything you have to say with every ear I have.
Today I’ll carry you when you want to be carried and relish in your arms and legs wrapped around me.
Tonight I’ll get up with you to come adjust your blankie. 3 times.
I’ll dig up patience from places I didn’t even know I had it buried.
I’ll hug you tighter than I probably ever have.
Because I can. And Lord remind me to do it all again tomorrow, too.
I have to warn you that I have a raging ear infection as I type. So raging that my doctor could only describe it as “moderate” in his attempts to recover from examining my ear canal with his little light thingy. So please excuse me for vomiting all of my thoughts out on this page in a Z-PAC and soon to be Tylenol PM induced stupor.
Sometimes I have said that being a mother isn’t the hardest job in the world, and other times I really want to retract my statement. I mean, the physical part isn’t that hard. Feed them. Clothe them. Play with them. Be nice to them. Turn on the Netflix for them.
But in just 7 short months since writing that post, I suppose my four year old twins have grown leaps and bounds, and now the idea of teaching them to be kind, compassionate, and loving, yet independent individuals is weighing heavily on my heart. Turns out that this is hard, y’all.
Also, I’m afraid that I will never be able to eat another waffle fry without hearing it’s little waffle fry voice taunting me with, “Gotcha, sucker! You only thought you had convictions!”
The waffle fries and the Boy Scouts have been on my mind lately because they’ve been all over the internets. Many Americans are giving up Chick Fil A and will never support the Boy Scouts due to their anti-gay sentiments and possible funding of anti-gay organizations. Yesterday several news stories were published that Chick Fil A president Dan Cathy admits to being against gay marriage (in a very round about way, if we’re being fair). And the Boy Scouts of America have been making headlines for upholding their policy of not allowing gay members.
Thank God the Chick Fil A story didn’t break on a Tuesday, because kids eat free, and that would have really destroyed my chances of getting out of making dinner. (kidding)
Also, all I could think about was my gay friend’s Facebook check in at Chick Fil A that he was “going to get some Christian chicken!” (I would say that’s irony, but The Oatmeal has me paranoid about saying anything is ironic.)
As I think about these organizations and these companies and the huge role they have played on so many lives and stomachs, I wonder…do I have the conviction to deny that group my business? Or more importantly, do I have the conviction to stick to my decision?
We’re not Chick Fil A fanatics. We have eaten there once in a while when we’re caught out running errands at meal time. We’ve long known that they were a company based on Christian values, and that’s great (hey-o, I’m a Christian too!). Did Cathy necessarily need to come out and say that he opposed gay marriage? Well, that’s his right as American, as long as he’s prepared for the potential backlash it could cause. I guess it’s better than lying about it when he’s pressed for an answer.
Concerning the Boy Scouts, I’m kinda glad that with my three girls, Scouts are already a little out of the question, since I heard they don’t let girls in either. But I do know a lot of people who are pulling their children from or will not let them join that organization because of this ruling (which to be fair and neutral, has always been the policy). I find it a bit of a shame that the Scouts are so discriminatory, since they seem to have played such a huge role in the lives of so many boys and young men. The young men who are being alienated likely need leadership and guidance more than a lot of the other boys.
The other day on the Twitter I caught a tweet from @TheNextMartha that said, “As long as the Boy Scouts ban gays, neither of my sons will be a part of that organization.”
So I asked her — genuinely — how she would address the situation if her boys really wanted to join because their friends were joining, and kids just want to do everything their friends want to do. I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason I joined the Girl Scouts in the fourth grade. And all in all, it ended up not being my schtick. I didn’t go on any of the camp outs, and I walked away with the one badge they give you just for showing up so your vest doesn’t look so damn empty. Honestly, I think it looked better empty than with one lonely patch, but whatever.
She responded that she explained to her older son that they didn’t admit everyone who wanted to join, and since that was a family value of theirs, they were not going to support that organization.
I thought her answer was aces, and I can’t wait to use it on my kids.
I asked her because as a parent, I don’t always think that quickly on my feet (unless I’m dealing with a kid who’s about to vomit, then I’m Mommy on the Spot). But I want my kids to know that when I believe in something, I believe in it with my whole heart, not just the part that isn’t hungry for a chicken sandwich today. I want them to know that I believe we should not hate or discriminate. Chick Fil A can quote as much scripture to me as they want, but I will never feel like it’s okay to show ill will towards someone because of their choice of partner.
I don’t consider myself a cynical person, and I don’t want my children growing up hearing my husband or I making derogatory statements towards another human being. A lot of hate starts at home, from children modeling the behaviors of their own parents. And the opposite holds true as well — my children will learn a great deal of their tolerance and acceptance of others from us.
And if they say, “But Mom, why do we support Big Time Company 123 if they are supporting something we’re against?” and I tell them that it’s just this once, or that our money is just a drop in the bucket and really doesn’t matter because Big Time Company 123 is not going to go out of business just because we stop going there, well…
How can I ever get them to believe that their vote matters?
Or how can I make them believe that they themselves can make a difference?
It’s easy to think that my contribution doesn’t matter, or that I can still model my preferences to my children while encouraging them to think critically and make their own decisions based on what their heart tells them. But they need to know that if we as human beings all have the right and the ability to take a stand for something we believe in — or something we don’t. And sometimes those standing on both sides of the issue need to have a little tolerance for each other.
It has to start here. Which means that I need to decide how I’m going to reply when we’re out and about and everyone’s hungry and hankering for some Christian chicken.
PS — My kids don’t even care. Their favorite thing from Chick Fil A is ketchup.
One of the best things about being married and parenting is that you don’t always see eye to eye with your spouse on some of the most important issues. You want to use Love & Logic, he wants to use Dad & Logic (which does not exist). He wants to home school, you have faith in the public school system. You want to spend the morning tweeting away, and he wants you to like interact with them and stuff.
I’m telling you, disagreements make for exciting times!
It should come as no surprise that my beloved and I come to a head once in a while on certain things, most notably those in which one parent is trying to take the lazy route, and the other is showing off with their “motivation” and “yes they need a bath tonight, it’s been 4 days.”
So let’s take a tip from Marinka of Motherhood in NYC and employ her method of parental problem solving with a little game she calls “I’m Right, You’re Wrong.” For fairness sake I’m not going to tell you which camp Christian or I reside. Just make sure you agree with me — I mean, pick the one that you feel is the correct path (which should be mine).
The Problem: Zoe has a poopy diaper during a Sunday afternoon trip to the ice cream parlor. Due to a recent stomach bug, this diaper is nas-TEE and has leaked onto her shorts. And since I was obviously very excited about the ice cream, I forgot to pack diapers and wipes for what was supposed to be a quick outing.
Disagreeing parties: Christian and his beautiful wife, Leigh Ann
Position One: You have to get her out of that poopy diaper. Let her go commando on the way home. If she pees, she pees. How could you force your poor little girl to sit in poop? She will totally get a rash and will hate you for the rest of her life. You are a horrible parent.
Position Two: You are crazy. I am not taking a chance on her peeing in the seat. Then we’ll have to take it out of the car and WASH it. I would rather apply a little diaper cream than deal with that business. Here’s a rag for her to sit on — so she doesn’t leak anymore and we have to wash it ANYWAY. Have some sense! It’s not that long of a ride.
Well? Who is right?
PS — Thanks to my impeccable memory and a good dose of luck, I found a random diaper in the car. So if I don’t win the argument, at least I kinda won at that.
PPS — I won a book in a giveaway and loved it. Check out my review of Dan Gets a Minivan over on This Blogger Makes Fun of Stuff.
PPPS — Say hi to my new sponsors, Coupons by Answers.com!
PPPPS — I think that’s all for now. Maybe. I might be back with more.
I have to just come right out and say today that I am very excited! The incomparable Gigi from Kludgy Mom has a wonderful summer series over at her place called Around the Bonfire, and today I’m sharing a conversation with her readers over there.
Gigi was one of the first bloggers I came across when I really started expanding my blogging journey, and I was amazed (and still am) at the site and community she’s built in relatively a short time. Since then I’ve been lucky enough to meet, share drinks, and talk shop with her in person. Writing anything from beautiful memories she wants to capture with her children, hilarious points about what she wishes people would stop pinning, and some of the smartest blogging and social media tips around, Gigi has been in my “daily read” folder forever. And bonus, she’s one of the loveliest and most authentic bloggers out there (and fellow Listen to Your Mother alum). Then she had to up and move to California, but I guess it can’t always be about me, can it?
I can’t tell you how ecstatic I was when she asked me to be a part of her Around the Bonfire guest post series. I don’t normally squee, but I may have squeed juuuuuuust a little. Or a lot. So thank you Gigi for the amazing opportunity to share my words with your audience, and to the rest of you, I really hope you’ll hop on over to visit me. Since the series is all about sitting and chatting with your girlfriends, I’m talking about what I don’t want to talk about when I’m with my girlfriends.
Happy Wednesday! Comments are closed here so you can take your love over to Gigi’s.
Do you operate from a to-do list? I admit I’m very easily distracted. Have you read the poem If You Give a Mom a Muffin by Beth Brubaker? That woman is in my head. And possibly in my house. But I do feel more productive when I have a neat little list of things to manually check off, to remind me to do those pesky things like “clean the bathrooms,” “call the vet,” and “feed the kids.”
Several weeks ago I went to a launch party for a local author’s new children’s book.* With a all of us being writers and most of us being moms, the most obvious question was “How do you do it?” How did she write a book, care for 4 kids, deal with her husband traveling for work a lot, and still not lose sight of her dream to publish this book?
The author wasn’t a fan of the to do list. With everything that comes with writing and publishing a book — they chose to go the indie route for several reasons — she was too easily overwhelmed by a list of things she needed to do. So she started listing things that she had already done.
She created a Did List.
Friends, if you are ever in a state of a slump and feeling like you have gotten nothing done, get a pen and a piece of paper and make yourself a Did List. I sometimes go through an entire day feeling like I got nothing accomplished, and as far as my long term goals go, maybe I didn’t. But so much of my life takes place in the here and now, especially with three kids home for the summer.
I present to you my Did List for the other day. I should have written down the date for posterity reasons, but meh. Honestly, this could be any day around here.
Woke up too early
Put a stop to Rachel giving the toilet paper roll a bubble bath in the sink
Cooked eggs for 3 hungry kids
Fed most of thsoe eggs to the SamDog
Went for a run (hooray!)
Showered (double hooray!)
Cleaned the kitchen
Baked cookies (it’s still not even 9:30 am at this point, mind you)
Baked more cookies
Cleaned the kitchen again from the cookie debacle
Played an impromptu game of Hide & Seek
Pulled a 4 year old out of bed
Discovered what “that smell” was in the fridge
Served cookies to 2 year old in lieu of lunch that she didn’t eat
Reassembled piece after piece of cuttable food for Zoe
Outsourced food assembly to Claire
Joined in a tea party with Twilight Sparkle and Apple Jack
Dozed through 4 episodes of Shaun the Sheep
Drank more coffee
Took 3 kids to the pool
Took 3 kids to the potty 5 times in 2 hours
Consoled 3 kids with, “It’s okay, we can come back another day,” 87 times on the way home from the pool.
Faked dinner with a rotisserie chicken from the store and frozen vegetables
Intentionally skipped bath night
May have also intentionally skipped story time
Fell asleep in the rocker with Zoe
Haphazardly picked up the living room toy disaster
May have also skipped the dishes
Started laundry I was supposed to start like 3 hours ago
OMG my bed feels amazing
Made my move in 8 Word with Friends games
Wow. See? Even on days where I really have nothing going on…I have a lot going on. I even spared you the mundane details, like checking email, brushing my teeth (I think I did, at least), and wiping a ridiculous amount of butts. You’re welcome.
Do you abide by a to-do list? Have you ever made a DID list? i admit, I’m an old fashioned pen and paper girl. I haven’t fully converted to the digital world yet in that respect.
*Local gal Amanda Evans just finished and published her first children’s book, Sadie the Paper Crown Princess, an adorable tale of a little girl who finds out that she really does have a royal heart. My girls call it their “princess book.” Hop on over and check it out and learn more about Sadie, Amanda, and their causes.
I’m feeling very poetic these days. See for yourself.
Go to sleep
All three of you
You got up too early
And I’m effing tired.
If Claire is nowhere to be found,
Mind you now, she’s laying down.
If to dream land she slips away,
Tonight there will be hell to pay.
My Little Pony?
It’s not so bad.
In Ponyville there’s
Much fun to be had.
But unless you want me to lose my hairs,
Don’t turn on those damn Care Bears.
Also, Dora can suck it.
According to my calculations
It’s bed time.
Bring on the libations.
What’s it like
To sleep through the night?
I haven’t a clue;
I thought you might.
See, it’s been one thousand
Five hundred thirty-three
Since uninterrupted sleep
Has visited me.
Kids are so adorable,
Except when they turn three;
Or rather three and a half; honestly
I think they may be trying to kill me.
I know it’s early,
And we’re both tired,
But there’s something I should tell you:
The husband who lets his wife sleep in
Will be the one to truly win.
Sweet nectar of life.
It’s all fun and games
Until someone vomits in the car.
So my poetry skills may have started to deteriorate there at the end. Now make sure to go visit my fellow Listen to Your Mother cast member Carlotta, aka A Well Versed Mom for some real poetry. You’ll be happy you did.
I’ll be spending Saturday at MomCom, a “non conference” put together by my effervescent friend Trish Morrison. I went to the last event in January, but didn’t write about it, so I’ll give you guys the skinny this time around. It’s sure to be a fun day.
Also, don’t forget to check out my review of these Melissa & Doug safety scissors over at This Blogger Makes Fun of Stuff. Is there such a thing as TOO safe???
Have a great weekend! What are your plans?