Dear Cold Caller,

You are lucky if you get this reply from a potential customer,

"We aren't able to use your product right now, but please take my email and send me information because we would like to be able to plan for it."

The correct response can come in many forms.  It does not, however, sound like this:

"Well we don't send out information.  That would be a waste of time for us."

Because, as it happens, any follow up response from said potential customer (SPC) will include a short but sweet declination of your services ending with the statement, "because that would be a waste of time for us."

Furthermore, when you then give out your website address, SPC will not even pretend to write it down.  She will, though, roll her eyes at the not-quite-cleverly misspelled name of your company before hanging up.

Armpit Warmers

Yeah, that's right.  Armpit warmers.  I have 'em.  I've joked about having them for a long time, but today I knew that all joking was over.  ForEVER.

Fynn's apparently hitting that nine month growth spurt, and she's still recovering from a(nother) nasty (fricken) cold.  So we're back to nursing from 1:00 in the morning or so until we get up.  This morning I woke up at 6:45 and realized I was laying on my back. 

Oh the glory of not laying on my left side with my back arched so that my knees aren't disturbing one Miss Fynnie Fynnie Coco Pop.

My next thought was, "She's not even nursing!  Wonder when she stopped?"

And then I realized, she was still nursing.  While I was laying on my back.

*sob*

My Word

Ever suddenly face a new difficulty while doing something you've done hundreds of times in the past with no problems?  If you're like me (the me of these days when sleep is a rare treat and caffeine even rarer), you have a couple of standard responses.

First, you continue attempting to do things the old way.  Why will it only upload one photo at a time?  It's probably just a glitch.  If I keep trying this, maybe the glitch will go away.

Second, walk away and figure you'll come back to it later.  Ugh!

Third, come back and try the old way again.  Five more times.  Begin thinking in symbols.  Maybe I'll just take this piece of %#$&@ and throw it out the %^&##% window!

Fourth, find a new way of doing the old job.  Only this way is incredibly time consuming and, therefore, extra frustrating.  %^#^#%^%*  $%*$&%*$&*  @$@#$^!!!

Fifth and finally, you might try posting a question about how to resolve the problem.  Anyone know of an easier way to post photos on my blog?  The old way isn't working.  #@$$$%!  If anyone knows the answer, you can be my new BFF.

Someone wonderful and full of the knowledge of Blogger and Picasa might. come along and give a simple suggestion.  Have you tried uploading directly to Picasa?

Well I'm here to say, Step aside Nance!  There's a new BFF in town and her name is Heather (no, not Luke Skywalker's mama Heather).  This Heather is mama to Baby J and Bean.  Baby J is older than Bean, which is just confusing enough to make me like her even more.

When one acquires a new BFF, it's a good idea to learn a little about them.  I mean, I'm used to awkward silences and uncomfortable glances, but keeping those to a minimum whenever possible doesn't hurt either.  So I dashed over to Heather's blog, conveniently named Mama to Baby J and Bean.

I already was aware that Bean is cute as a button and has Williams Syndrome and that Baby J is adorable, even without any "and has"'es.  And I remember watching a news program (20 or so years ago) on the happy, smiling, musical, elfin people with Williams Syndrome.  So I felt like I already had a handle on all of that.

Yeah, no.  Yet again I discover that there's a whole other dimension to life than what I'd heard.  You can check out some of that by reading this post.

Above all else, Heather is a mama and as many mamas do, has a couple of birth stories to share.  She's not as wordy as some of *ahem* and managed to get both stories in one post about her relationship with pain management.

If you're over there, feel free to drop her a comment, letting her know how happy you are to see pictures on my blog again.  And to help you feel happier about photos on my blog, here are a few from Madelyn's first Easter, which also happened to be her first birthday.  I'll post photos from yesterday and today another time.

Feeding herself.

First time directly in the bath.  She loved it!

Daddy will do anything to make it better.

Bad News/Good News

Fynn is finally starting to be less boobiefied.  She'll even stop at night so Daddy can put her to bed instead of nursing off to dreamland.  I'm happy letting her nurse as long as she wants (pretty much), but it's also exciting to have a bit more freedom.

Yesterday I called my local parks and rec department and left a message saying I'm interested in teaching a sign class.  Mentioned that I'd taught down the hill for 13 years.

Today a woman called back.  Her name was familiar.  She said that the budget cutbacks have hit parks and rec; they are cutting classes, not adding them.  We agreed that this is utter nonsense since the cost of hosting my class is essentially paying someone to type my info into the online community guide and paying someone else to pay me periodically.

So that's the bad news.

The good news is that the woman's name was familiar because she was the person who hired me 15 years ago.  She said, "I'm familiar with the quality of your work and I'd love to have you.  Please fill out a contract and I'll let you know when something opens up."

That made me feel pretty darn awesome.

And the not being able to teach a class up here just yet?  Well, I consider it one more roadblock in my path to making friends up here.  It's almost entertaining at this point. 

Tom and I did a bit of home market research.  The countdown is well under way.  All we need in order to move is 11 months and a down payment.  The time part is taking care of itself quite nicely (although I was devastated yesterday to learn it was only Tuesday morning and not Wednesday afternoon).  The down payment part?  Well we're saving.  At this rate it'll be about six(ty) years before we're able to afford the area where we want to live. 

Maybe by then my classes will be established and I'll have made some new friends.

Celebrate Good Times, C'mon!

Mad wanted ducks and frogs, chocolate cupcakes and white and a spoon for her birthday party.

I admit these frog cupcakes are rather pitiful.  I found the best frog cupcake toppers, but Tom decided "we" should make these instead.  In the picture we'd found online, the green candy stayed in a smile.  Ours would hardly stay bent at all.  When I tried putting a very bent piece on one cupcake, it dragged the frosting down until the frog looked even more grim than the others.

Corey said these look less like frogs and more like green French people. Vohoho!

Oh, and what they lack in style, these cupcakes made up for in ability to stick to the paper.  I don't say I completely forgot to put oil in the batter.  I say I made fat free chocolate cupcakes.

The same lady who made these perfect ducks was the maker of the frogs Tom said we shouldn't buy, because "we" could make our own.  (Our order was perfect and shipped a lot more quickly than I'd expected.  Not only that, but since we'd purchased the candy for the frogs at an overpriced mall candy shop, the cost savings for doing it ourselves was $3.)

Banana nut muffins cupcakes with cream cheese frosting.  Um, yes please!

I am just so relieved that Tom didn't insist we make duck cupcakes, too.  Oh, I found an adorable ducky cupcake.

But I also found a blog that showed exactly what my ducks would look like, should we attempt such a feat.  I think the fact that the writer calls her sister-in-law's (I believe) effort "mutant rubber ducks" speaks to the horror.  You can check that out here.

When the kids arrived, they hunted for butterflies.  The butterfly nets had one "catch" in it and the kids had to find the matching prey.  Good thing Grandma put the butterflies out and not me.  I envisioned them being spread high and low around a couple of rooms in our house.  She put them all in one tiny little section.  The kids are two, so easy finding and matching is different for them than for me.  Note to self.

This little lovely is still on the wall.

Critter tree.  For looks.  We are using it for Easter, too.  Just as you see here, only without the balloons.  It may also become our Cinco de Mayo tree.  Arribe!

Making caterpillars in our weed-ridden backyard.  Check out those short sleeves.  It was a balmy 53 degrees in the sun.  With wind.  Jackets were brought out shortly after this.

Lots of activities to do, but what's better than digging in cement-like clay?

Each of the kids had a pot and a selection of veggies to choose from.  Samantha and her mother opted for an ambitious looking watermelon plant.  I am not kidding.  That's what she called it (the mother, not the child).  I love Valeria.  She's from the mommy group I was in when Mad was born.  We were the rare group that had nothing in common aside from our babies.  Valeria is from Belarus and a model.  Now she's working on her own clothing line.  I can be counted on to not wear makeup, accessories or, often, shoes and a bra.  Somehow we make it work.

Mad got some great gifts. Apparently people felt like they could help us furnish our barren abode house at the same time as they celebrated Mad's third birthday. She received a puppet theater and a table and chairs.

Safety is important.  We were all happy to read this on the box.

Not as happy to see this on each and every chair.  At least they won't pinch!

And now for the dramatic conclusion...

Right after this was taken, Mad seemed to have a seizure.  Thank god my mother-in-law was there.  Her nursing skills, speed and calm exterior helped us all cope a little better.

Yes, she's seen a doctor.  He said it could've been a seizure or she could have been holding her breath from all the excitement.  Waiting on a neurology referral.  Yes, that's a ridiculous thing to have to wait this long for.

Mad Mouth

Daddy, to Mad:  "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I want to be a purple."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"That's Babies R Us.  That's where stinky diapers come."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mad, to Mama:  "I want a chippie."

"You do?  Where are they?"  (Asked as I scan the post-birthday party bomb blast that is our living room and kitchen.)

"They're right over here, honey.  They're right over here, hon."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

And what does Fynn add to a conversation these days?  A lot of panting like a dog and blowing raspberries. 

To Answer the Question

It's now 29 degrees and everything's covered in frost.  Upside:  no wind, so it only feels like 29.

Hooray?

Yesterday I bought Mad an outfit to stand in for her cute sundress, and bought a sweater to go over Fynn's.  I may just stay in my sweats and yoga pants.

Incoming!

Upon turning on my computer this morning I can see that today is the day my in-laws will arrive at our house.  How do I know this (rest assured it's not my sleep-deprived brain that cannot keep track of complex lists or the days of the week)?

At this moment outside my window it is 36 degrees and raining.  Which probably means it's snowing in the pass.  In the middle of April.  Officially warmer than where Judy and Larry left (just outside Chicago) a few short days ago.

On the upside, the wind is about 35 miles per hour slower than it was yesterday...

Not That Wild After All

Tom and I are sitting here catching up on tonight's Idol elimination show.  I like that we can fast forward through the commercials, including the in-show Ford commercials*.  I also like skipping the often horrendous group songs and some of the guest performers.

Tonight's guest performer, to my utter shock, was Iggy Pop.  (Yeah, I know that Constantine Maroulis "performed"... whatever.)  I love me some Iggy Pop.

But not on American Idol.

And maybe he's gone the way of Funyans.  Those were some of my favorite bites of junk when I was a kid.  Had them about ten years ago and realized that either the ingredients or my palate has changed.  Or both.

Mr. Pop, who is almost exactly a year older than my mother, did some things tonight that made me contemplate his AARP membership.

The peepee stance.  Feet out, knees in, hips to one side?  And you're gonna look like you're scanning the aisles for the blue light of a restroom sign?  Almost sent me to the restroom.

Or how about that Marilyn Monroe-esque rolling around on the stage?  Again with the out-of-breath-how-the-hell-did-I-end-up-here-and-where's-the-restroom/whiskey/next-shot-of-something-strong look on your face.

*Seriously, winning a 20-anything Ford Focus is not a prize.  It's a white elephant.  White elephant gifts are not funny unless you don't "win."

I Know Why They Say

... glasses make me look smarter.

Now I look like I can read. 

Unless I take them off, in which case I sound like someone trying to read in their new second language.

(Note to self:  So what if you  read "today" as "holiday," you got three-fifths of those letters in the right order.  And location!)

Sticking With Tradition

Tomorrow it should be in the upper 70's around here.  A few days ago it was in the 90's down the hill, mid-80's here.  Sunshine and blue skies are a lot more common up here than any other type of weather. 

My in-laws will be here on Friday.  The forecast?  Rain and temps in the low 50's.

I don't know how they do it, but they manage to bring cold, often wet weather every single time.  One time they arrived to gorgeous blue skies and nice temperatures.  About two hours later the wind kicked up and blew in this awe-inspiringly massive storm cloud.  Rain splats the size of silver dollars pelted us as we stood there in disbelief.

We have scheduled Mad's birthday party to coincide with their trip.  For some ridiculous reason we have included messy outdoor activities.

Dear Diapers.com

You amuse me.

Yes, I love that you don't charge sales tax.  And that there has been a 20% off coupon code each time I have needed to order a ridiculously expensive European car seat from your fine establishment.  And that I have ordered on Saturday night and received the shipment on Monday morning.  That's all cool and, yes, you rock.

But no, I will not be utilizing the "reorder in seconds" link.  Each girl has one car seat per car.  We're done.  Please stop sending me invitations to spend more money we don't have on things we don't need.

Sincerely,

Me

Oh Yeah, Huh?

I've had my new eyeglasses for a few days.  Seeing with them on is different than without.  Strange that everything is not only clearer, but seems closer, too.  Stairs are still weird, and I'm not exactly thrilled with the way I kind of get woozy when turning my head.  I'm sure I'll adjust to those things soon enough.  There is one thing I have to get into my head STAT, though.

Wearing glasses isn't like wearing sunglasses.  If one is a people watcher in shades, nobody really knows whether you're still looking a second too long.  Note to self...

Ha!

This post had already been written.  Badly.  I'm sparing you that, and will instead get to the point.

Tom said this afternoon (after a full day of cleaning and organizing while Margaret watched the girls here at home), "This is fun!"

And again I say, "Ha!"

People Get Into Trouble For This, Right?

I do wonder if Fynn will some day sit across from a therapist and uncover hidden memories of being left alone.  In a closet.  With the door pulled shut.

Will she ever recall images of her parents high-fiving over their schemes to find the darkest recesses of their home and sprawl her out?  Has she seen the desperate glee as we've plotted an end to her days of napping only in a carrier or someone's arms?

Or, as I sometimes suspect, will she someday drive us to weekly therapy sessions, where her father and I will try to figure out how we went from being two people who could successfully sleep train an infant for nights and naps in one day (bless you, Mad-A-Girl!) to people who have to bring Grandma up to the house to help with Fynn so we can get things done?

Only time will tell.  For now, I'd better get all that pre-cleaning day laundry put away so I have time to deal with everything else tomorrow when Grandma's here.

Tribute to a Man I Never Met

MH II died far away from here this week.  His father, a teacher I've only been working with for a couple of months has left to meet his son's body and bring him home.

I don't know how he died.  I have the basic understanding of why he was in the Middle East that most of us have.  So, like a lot of us, I don't really know why he died either.  All I know is that a soldier is coming home with his father by his side.  Twenty-four years are what they got together.  In friend years, it's a lot.  Not so much in parent-child years.

My Precious

Poor kid's got Mama's frizz already.  But check out that toothy grin!

Party Planning

Tom decided he'd like Mad's third birthday party to be WordWorld themed.  Or The Wiggles.  I have never really disliked a kids' show until seeing a few episodes of The Wiggles.  Granted, they have some catchy tunes, but they also... okay, they're just weird.  And they're not my kind of weird.  Ugh!

More importantly, do we have to have commercial themes?  We did get her a musical Elmo balloon last year (the music piece lasted five or six months longer than the balloon itself... an excellent investment in Mad's eyes), but are we really the type of people whose parties match up with television shows?  We may as well shop at WalMart, catch Bieber fever and start teaching Mad that Hannah Montana is an excellent role model right now.

*sigh*

Margaret and I did a little birthday decoration reconnaissance Monday night.  Stopped at a home decoration store rumored to have butterfly nets for cheap.  When you're looking at a dozen kids, they weren't that cheap, and for some reason, the more appropriately sized small ones were twice as much as the large ones.

Went to the dollar section at Target and found the small ones for a buck.  Along with some frog slippers and a frog magnifying glass.  Have I ever mentioned Mad's unswerving adoration for frogs?  I do find it ironic, since my dad insisted on calling me Froggie from age 11 to probably 19 or 20.  It was cute for about three minutes.  People loved to gift me with frog statuettes, stationary, stickers specially printed with my "name."  Beginning at age 22, frogs were given away, donated or tossed with every move.  I moved four times that year alone.

It's probably inevitable, Mad's frog love.  She also loves ducks.  They do not have quite the same luster as fwogs, rather they are fwogs' pond buddies and, as such, held in a position of esteem.

Behold part of her collection of frogs and ducks:

Allow me to introduce you to some of her friends.  Back Row: Duck, New Frog, Backpack Frog, Other New Frog.  Front Row:  Another New Frog (sometimes known as Fynnie's Frog, which Mad reclaims as often as possible), Little Green Frog (AKA Original F.R.O.G., this is the dude that started the craze... ahem... for Tom... before Mad was born), Duck and Frog Blanket.  (Not pictured because she's sleeping on him right now:  Big Green Daddy Frog and a collection of fuzzy and rubber ducks, but no, not fuzzy rubber ducks.)

The other morning on the drive to Grandma's, I asked Mad, "What do you want to do for your birthday that is coming up?"

"I need chocwet."

"Yes, honey, that's because you're my daughter.  What do you want to do?"

"I need chocwet and white."

"You want chocolate cake?"

"Yeth."

"And white cake?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Do you want a cake or would you rather have cupcakes?"

"I ravviveler have cupcakes!"

"Chocolate cupcakes and white cupcakes?"

"Yeth.  I need chocwet cupcakes and white cupcakes.  And a spoon.  And ice cweam."

One thing I love about my girl, that ability to separate the needs from the wants.

Today we made more progress in the party planning details.  There's a cupcake bakery that recently won Cupcake Wars.  Margaret pulled the address for me so I could check 'em out.  I asked Mad if she had any particular decorations she wanted on her cupcakes.

"Yes, ummm... I want fwogs."

"Anything else?"

"And ducks.  And fwogs and ducks."

In case that wasn't clear, this evening she explained the whole situation to Tom.  Covering her bases, don'tcha know.

Tonight Tom made invitations that feature a frog who is a complete unknown in the world of children's television.  Or probably any television.  Printed on duck yellow paper.  Has some cute wording.  I gave it a fun font.  More of a garden/pond feeling than a theme.  At our house in the desert.  All is well.  (Yes, I am dying to go all "ducky" here, but a modicum of restraint, people!)

Psychically Linked to My Physician

No, not the one who gave me the naked hug.  I have a team of specialists, people.  A team.

Or, well, I have an OB (AKA the Naked Hugger) and a regular doc.  Regular Doc has been my dad and Margaret's GP since right before Margaret had her accident.  Only he didn't know he was her doc yet.  The switch was that right before.  So when it came to getting doctor's orders for Margaret to be moved from an intermediate care unit at the hospital to a rehabilitation center, my dad had to call and explain.  Only he couldn't deal with one more thing at that moment, so I called. 

I explained the situation to the receptionist, figuring she'd speak with the doctor and either let me know what he said right then or call me back to do so.  Do you know what happened?  The man got on the phone within a matter of about 30 seconds, got the lowdown and approved the orders.  Margaret was moved at 5:00 that night.  That man is magical.

Do you know why else he's magical?  Because my father, the man who throughout my childhood proudly displayed a poster with a picture of an orangutan and a caption that read, "If I want your opinion I'll beat it out of you" (yes, really... I have a photo of him sitting proudly on his Harley in full biker regalia in front of that poster... he gave one to each of his girls about 10 years ago), actually listens to the man.  And follows his instructions.  Dad's health isn't great (that's what being free and easy in the 70's will do to a person, I suppose).  He gets blood work done regularly.  And goes to all of his appointments with Dr. Mike.

Do you know why else he's magical?  Because my mother, the woman who had an infection in her leg so bad that she basically slept through her mini-vacation at my grandparents and then promised them she'd go to the doctor as soon as she got home... but went to a cabin in the mountains ALONE for three days before going home (thereby keeping her word, don'tcha know), therefore ending up in the hospital for a week, followed by a couple weeks of home health care... she actually listens to the man.  And follows his instructions, gets blood work, etc. etc.

In case you're wondering, yes, there was some confusion in the office with my dad, his wife and ex-wife all being patients.  I think it's clear now.

Dr. Mike has officially been my doctor for a few years, but I'd never been to see him until recently.  Mostly I don't get sick (this past fall and winter were an aberration... and if my aberration coughs on us one more time I will flip out all over him, mm-hmm).  There was one time when I tried to get an appointment, but couldn't.  Doc was on vacation and his receptionist didn't have an on-call alternative, nor would she schedule my appointment before he was back.  It was bee-zarre, to say the least.  And annoying.

I never bothered to find another doctor.  When I recently had issues that should be dealt with, I tried again.  I have to say I don't care for Dr. Mike's front office people.  But the man?  He took care of everything that could be handled by him, referred me to an orthopedist for a ganglion cyst (am I becoming freaking cyst-tastic or what?).  When I had more issues, I saw his physician assistant, who ran labs and gave me some suggestions on how to manage my dizziness in the meantime.

I didn't get right on the blood work because that night was when Fynn got so sick.  Then I was sick.  Then I was on my period.  I figured my best blood should be tested.  So I went when things settled down (and after I resumed prenatals).

Today I was thinking about what the PA said about getting my test results.  "If there's a problem, we'll contact you.  If not, we won't."  Personally, I don't trust this method of communication.  Sometimes people overlook something or forget to make a call.  Wouldn't it be nice if they could just call?  Is that too much to ask?

This evening I asked Tom what came in the mail.  "Bill for my car, something from DirecTV (dude, that's junk... have you noticed we've had FiOS going on two years now?) and something for you from some medical place.  I don't know what it is."

Turns out it was a card from Dr. Mike's office, but in an envelope so that prying eyes would not know my test results.  'Cuz I'm mysterious like that.  It says I'm normal.  In writing.  I don't care what you've heard or read.  Dr. Mike said it, so it must be true.  Like magic.

PS Coincidentally, now that Fynn's past that growth spurt/illness/teething thing, I get more sleep.  Turns out I'm a lot less dizzy when I'm not exhausted.  Go figure!

Mish-Mosh

In case you were wondering, I love making food for Fynn, just as I loved making Mad's baby food.  (Corey couldn't have cared less about food until around a year, so he just went straight to food.)  It's easy, natural.  The bananas Fynn eats are never pink (wth?).

I do not, however, love the feeling of Fynn's food on my hands or wrists while I'm feeding her.  I was the same way with Mad.  It's like being slimed.  It practically is being slimed.  I do not want to be slimed.  On my hands.  Clothes are fine, go for it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The other night Tom brought the girls home after work.  It just so happened that I arrived home about 45 minutes ahead of everybody else.  Part of my free time was used doing dishes and getting the girls' dinners ready.  I also went across the street to check our mail.  We received a card from my in-laws with a check "to help offset those rising gas prices." 

The mind immediately starts coming up with ideas, dreams, lofty goals for what we could do with the money.  One thing was a priority, however, and that was getting oil changes for both cars.  Tom's went to the Toyota dealership.  Mine went to a local franchise tire shop.  They had awesome reviews online (as opposed to either of the Ford dealerships within 30 miles).  When I walked in, the two guys behind the counter were friendly... to the point of being charming... and said that my car would be ready in 20 minutes.

Going to a tire shop for an oil change usually means a bit of a wait, so Tom and the girls were in his car, ready to go shopping for each of us with some of the remaining money.  With a 20 minute wait, we decided to hang around.  On our way back from a jaunt up a hill, Michael called to tell me that my oil change was done, but that my rear differential needs to be serviced and that my tires need to be aligned.

*sigh*

Have I ever told you my theory about extra money?  When the money comes, the problems will follow.

The upside?  I mean aside from the fact that my girls will be safer travelling up and down the hill each day.  Seriously, a couple of young mechanic types being charming.  With me.  I haven't come across charming mechanics in years.  (Okay, my old guys were charming, but they were... you know... old).  Yeah.  I'm wondering if I just paid $200 to be charmed, too, but in my mind the answer is a resounding no.  Stained baseball cap holding back unruly hair.  No makeup.  Clothes with this mornings bananas, cereal and breastmilk combo all over 'em.  Bloated because my period's coming.  I mean, these things are all normal for me, but I guess I should have sent Tom in for me.  Bua.Ha.Ha.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I recently scouted out local eye doctors.  Called one and inquired about the cost of frames.  I haven't needed to wear glasses regularly for about eight years or so.  When I did, I often allowed myself to be suckered into expensive frames.  Those days are gone.  I set a limit and don't want to try on anything over that amount.  It makes sense to me that I should have a decent selection of lower cost frames in this area (where Tom recently discovered 48% of the population is on welfare, gah!) than down the hill.

I went in and spent about half an hour trying on glasses.  (The less expensive ones were in a tray box in the corner, in case you're following my lead.)  I go back on the 17th for the exam.  After noticing that I had to walk 10 feet to see myself in the large mirror, Tiffany, the woman helping me suggested that I should perhaps not be too surprised if bifocals were necessary.  In which case none of the glasses she's holding for me will work.  Whatever.  Then we talked about how my eyesight has just tanked since having Fynn, and how I'm going to be turning 40.

"Oh.  Ohh yeah, that's it.  That's the problem.  Mm-hmm.  It's the big FOUR-OH.  Yep.  That'll do it."

Again I say, whatever!