To Matt

I've been feeling lost - murky - lately as I dig out from this rubble and try to find my self-worth again.  But these blog entries always sort of have a fortunate "but":  I say there is something beautiful in needing to rethink, reshuffle, and recalibrate in all that was lost, and this is true, but it comes down to this: I have a partner who wakes me up to that possibility every single day.

This is my belated thank you to Matt.  We celebrated our five-year wedding anniversary on the 7th, and this is what I wanted to say then, but will say now (a windy, twisty love letter a few days after Father's Day for anyone to see):

First, there was this, circa 2004, posted online:

How could I not love this face? He's so darn sweet and unassuming.  I mean...the HAIR!

And this is me trying to look sexy (or something, oh Kathryn), taking a self-portrait in my London dorm room.  It was probably photo 30 or something.  Sigh.  Silly twenty-year-olds.

Matt and I met in February, 2004 on Match - have I mentioned that?  Yes -  online. I joined on a whim after breaking up with my college boyfriend and searched the zip code closest to my parents home (because, obviously, I had no job lined up and was trucking it back home to Pennsylvania for the summer).  I went to a school where everyone was well-off, good-lucking, smug in their artsiness and just so damn blase about their lucky lot in life.  That whole "We're moving to Williamsburg (Brooklyn) on our parents' dime and starting an artisan (pickle, cheese, whatever) business" before hipsters were in Brooklyn doing the same and it wasn't a tired joke.  I was so exhausted with New York for that reason.  I frequently said, "I just want to meet a lumberjack or a nice, nerdy guy," and then came Matt.  Poof.

In typical collegiate fashion, we talked over IM and then met during our respective spring breaks.  He was funny and smart, self-deprecating and sometimes shy.  But always sweet.  Always earnest.  For example, he is a programmer and tried to teach me how to code, but I remember throwing the notebook across the room.  He drives a manual and tried to teach me how to drive stick, and I remember throwing his air freshener out the window and stomping out of the car.  Probably in tears - I can't recall but that sounds about right. 

That first spring he came up to New York and I visited him at Penn State.  I'll spare you all the gooey details, but it was easy to fall in love with this boy and if you've read this little blog you know Matt is without pretense, wholly kind, and so very good (to me, to his daughter, to everyone).

It's sometimes hard for me to take his kindness and sincerity to heart: for instance, this pregnancy hasn't been as kind on me in terms of fatigue, weight gain, and I've been having difficulty sleeping.  "I find you absolutely beautiful," he'll say as I stick my gut out in the mirror.  And what do I say?  It's always something along the lines of, "Oh please, you just want to get laid," while rolling my eyes, or "Well, you better, as I'm carrying your child!"  I also started laughing when Matt proposed to me and to this day have no idea what he said.  Oh, and the first time he told me he loved me.  (I'm a gem, what can I say?)

I've softened throughout the years - Matt is my daily dose of mellow - but I sometimes still have a way of ruining moments, and (thankfully) he still puts up with me.  I hope - in my sometimes acerbic way - I feed and fuel him the way he does me.

This blog has become a scrapbook and little ode to my family - of course to Annie - but I hope it's clear that it all began with Matt, who has lifted the burden of my health woes as much as he can, held me when I cried about work, and every day tells me to relax, find my passion, and when I do, he'll be there to help me pursue it.

My world begins and ends with that boy and little girl, and the best decision I've ever made was IMing that fluffy-haired stranger one February afternoon over nine years ago.

Matt, happy belated anniversary.   Happy belated Father's Day.  You make our family whole.

All photos were taken Father's Day weekend at Smith Memorial Playground in Fairmount Park, Philadelphia.

Job loss

I lost my job last week; it was unexpected and incredibly abrupt.  Matt asked what we should tell people if asked, and I said, "I did nothing wrong! I'm not ashamed," so there it is.  It wouldn't be prudent to get into the specifics, but I will say I've felt they were looking to push me (and perhaps, others) out for a while under new management and restructuring and they cited a bogus reason for termination.  It was done with spite and honest-to-god malice and I was out of the building within five minutes.  I was the girl bamboozled, walking down the sidewalk with picture frames and a fake plant in my bag, and other nicknacks I hastily grabbed from my cube.  I called my friend - who had left like a bat outta hell a few months before - and now works at her new gig (that she loves, adores, feels valued at) a block away.  "I'm meeting you downstairs in one minute!" she said, and we talked for thirty minutes on Market Street about how absolutely shitty that place is, the situation is, how, "Can you believe this?!" the thing is/was. She reminded me how toxic that place was, how I was deeply unhappy, how this is the push I need.  Sure, sure.  But I was just fired!, I said.  That sting (no matter how ridiculous or obtuse the reason).  That venom.

The thing with getting fired?  It's not as much the tactical concerns (although they are incredibly stressful - finding another job, financial worries, and so on).  The thing that kills me is this: it's the stripping away of any sense of self-worth.  I hate that they took that from me.  Work - even though I never loved it - made me feel more whole.  I feel devalued, dejected...all of that.

But...it's been a whole week now, and I've experienced more positive feedback and reinforcement from family and friends in this week than I have for the last two years at my former employer.  And for that I am so very, very thankful.  It's things like that that make me tear up now (I haven't cried about the job itself in days).  Like this email from Matt, which I re-read often:

Wanted to make sure you know how valued you are.  If [former employer and former manager] can't see it, it is entirely because of their own shortcomings.  You are lovable  smart, kind, charismatic, friendly, funny, loyal, and gorgeous.  You are a great wife and mother.  Annie and I will be happy to have you more to ourselves, and not wasting your presence on people who can't appreciate you.  We're going to be perfectly ok.  I can run some numbers if that will ease your mind a little.  I'm so sorry you had to go through this rejection, and my thoughts are with you as you figure out how to reconcile yourself with it.

(So he's not like that all the time, but I totally had to post that.)

Or when my friend (the lovely Danita) sent this, like, Visio-esque crazy chart mapping out available steps entitled "Mojo Rising: Operation You've Got Options, aka The Mojo Reclamation Project" (the girl has a way with words and a thing with titles, what can I say?...love you Danita!).  Or how friends are reaching out almost daily asking how I'm doing, saying let's go out for lunch, and sending me job postings.  Thank you, thank you.

One of the things I've cried over many times was taking Annie out of daycare.  Obviously, there is no reason for her to be in full-time care - and we can't afford keeping her there on a full or part-time basis - but she loves her friends there.  She wobbles with such joy to her seat at the table every morning, with breakfast in hand.  She and her friends giggle and screech and when we pick her up it's like, "Yeah, I see you, but as you can also see, I'm finishing something up here."  I love that she had that.  This week Matt and I visited a few in-home daycares in our area that allow two days a week (for my sanity, job searching, what have you) and that we can manage financially.  I also want her to continue to have that experience: to learn and cope with others, grow independently, discover things on her own away from us.  We're so proud of that girl, and I know she'll be fine, but it makes me hate this situation so much more.  Here are some photos of today at her last pick-up:

Two of her teachers, Mr. Eddie and Miss Holly.  Miss Holly knew her since she was a wee newborn at 11 weeks old.

So I'm not sure where this is going, or what my next step is, but there is beauty in all this ugliness.  Yesterday Annie and I had our first full day together and went to toddler time at the library and made a craft, then took a long nap together (she wasn't napping alone and I'm a bit under the weather).  Sweetness wrapped in a duvet.  Tomorrow we're going to our first local mom playgroup (I'm sure there will be more on that later).  And today I had an interview.  So...things - life - are moving along.  And in it's own way, it's still quite lovely.

A Perfect Sunday

The above four photographs are from a late afternoon walk today in Valley Forge.  We often walk this river trail .  First with Penny.  Now with baby in tow.

There's a whole lotta love in this photo.

We were gifted with leaves and leaves of basil so Matt made homemade mozzarella (on the plate), and I made a pesto with almonds we had in the freezer.

The two bath photos are from a few days ago; we've taken to give Annie baths in the sun room this past week.

My (a bit older, and so much wiser) co-worker has this saying: "Eat the meat, and spit out the bones".  She means that to absorb, chew, on the good stuff, and take the rest with a grain of salt.  It's a way to get through the utter BS of cubicle culture.  But I thought about it in a different way today as I was choosing what photographs to highlight in this entry.  This past week at work has been a a dizzying nightmare.  And I have been taking it home with me.  So I'm going to work harder - really hard - on leaving my Monday-Friday at work, and wholly absorbing my home life in that little girl, above.  Oh, and that boy, too - he's not half bad. :)   I've worked too hard to get where I am in my personal life to have a job gnaw at the edges of that beauty.

Yesterday Matt and I had a dinner out and saw his favorite comedian in the city (Paul F. Tompkins, with a surprise guest opening by John Hodgman - score!), and today we had a perfect and quiet Sunday whipping up baby food for the week (and some adult goodies for us, above) and ended the day with a riverside stroll.

So to the ugliness that was displayed to me this week: this - this - is sacred.  And you can't touch that.

(I'm already liking my new bad ass self.)

The long, hot summer

Thought I'd share some lovely moments from the past couple weeks.  l.ast Saturday Matt took Annie into his parents' pond.  They swear she liked it, but I don't think she was terribly pleased.  She's a lady, though, and handled the whole ordeal with steel-faced grace.

And below are some photos (and video) of Annie during her evening diaper changes.  What a little spitfire.

I have been feeling good this month.  During the July 4th holiday I found out I was super low on vitamin B12, D, and iron.  My doctor prescribed weekly B12 shots, a daily iron supplement, and lots of good ol' vitamin D weekly (100,000 units!).  Lo and behold, the past three weeks I haven't contracted a cold, or, jeez, another bout of pink eye or Hand, Foot, and Mouth (yes, that really happened) and my Crohn's is chugging along with any additional hiccups.

And last, but certainly not least, today is Matt's birthday.  He is 30 and not happy about it.  I told him to look at all we've went through in our twenties, and look at all the joy we've cultivated and the life we've built.  That boy ain't buyin' it though, and is still mumbling about how "old" he is.  Lord help me when he finds his first grey hairs.

My Matt

If there's one thing I'll miss about my pregnancy it's how it brought Matt and me closer together.  I've heard from so many people that you only have your first once, how exciting the time is, to enjoy every moment of it, but I never was able to appreciate that until now, in the sunset of my pregnancy.


Seeing Matt download audio books on happy babies, or practicing swaddling on that damn stuffed frog, or take my hand protectively as we cross the street, have made my heart swell: I have never been so in love.  He will be a soothing source to our (probable) Scorpio baby: his calming demeanor coupled with his/her passionate intensity.  That's what I like to think anyway.  Two nights ago he told me he hopes our child is feisty like his/her mother, and I know I couldn't be with anyone better: someone who actually appreciates I go from tears to snark in twenty seconds flat.  Someone who enjoys putting up with me.  Someone who never makes me feel "less than" for my shortcomings.  


I know he will be an amazing father, and I cannot wait for the ride of our lives to begin. 

Matt figuring out the infant car seat and the car seat base.
 (I still don't know how they snap apart.)

With disrupted sleep and a long commute, I'm lazier than ever.
Matt has been doing much of the cooking and I just had to snap a photo of this:
toothpicks in my chicken sandwich.  

Using the last of our summer basil he mad a rustic bruschetta.
Lounging on the couch in dirty sweats I hardly thought I was worthy.
And again, a "10" for presentation!

White Chocolate Raspberry Cheesecake

I love my husband dearly.  But not enough to spend forty bucks on an ice cream cake for his 29th birthday in late July.  $40 ice cream cake?!  That is some ardent, first-year-together love right there!  (Or something to save for the much lauded 30th!)  Since we're more of the "Is this a pimple or a tick on my scalp?" type of couple (I seriously ask this at least 2x a week), boy was getting something else.  So I made his other favorite dessert: a cheesecake.  Matt adores cheesecake.  That doesn't make him a sophisticate, because he equally adores pudding (even more so if they come in those little cups).  He is a complicated creature.

I never made a cheesecake because, although supremely simple, they intimidated me (I mean, they crack!).  Also because I know I cannot be trusted near a cheesecake.  After reading a quickie primer on cheesecake perfection (bake with a hot water bath to reduce cracking) I made this super simple white chocolate raspberry ditty that is highly rated on All Recipes.  Many readers suggested to just nuke the white chocolate chips instead of utilizing a double broiler (who DOES that anyway?) so I did.  They also said seedless raspberry jam or preserves are just as good as cooking down the whole fruit, so I did that too.  With those modifications this recipe is simple and fool-proof, and perfect piled high with summer fruit for a deceptively impressive meal closer.

***The recipe, in the original form, appears below.  Again, I used raspberry preserves, microwaved the 1/2 and 1/2 with the white chocolate chips, and did not add additional sugar to the crust (like Oreos don't have enough sugar?! Pah-lease.)

Ingredients

• 1 cup chocolate cookie crumbs
• 3 tablespoons white sugar
• 1/4 cup butter, melted
• 1 (10 ounce) package frozen raspberries
• 2 tablespoons white sugar
• 2 teaspoons cornstarch
• 1/2 cup water
• 2 cups white chocolate chips
• 1/2 cup half-and-half cream
• 3 (8 ounce) packages cream cheese, softened
• 1/2 cup white sugar
• 3 eggs
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Directions

1. In a medium bowl, mix together cookie crumbs, 3 tablespoons sugar, and melted butter. Press mixture into the bottom of a 9 inch spring form pan.
2. In a saucepan, combine raspberries, 2 tablespoons sugar, cornstarch, and water. Bring to boil, and continue boiling 5 minutes, or until sauce is thick. Strain sauce through a mesh strainer to remove seeds.
3. Preheat oven to 325 degrees F (165 degrees C). In a metal bowl over a pan of simmering water, melt white chocolate chips with half-and-half, stirring occasionally until smooth.
4. In a large bowl, mix together cream cheese and 1/2 cup sugar until smooth. Beat in eggs one at a time. Blend in vanilla and melted white chocolate.  Pour half of batter over crust. Spoon 3 tablespoons raspberry sauce over batter. Pour remaining cheesecake batter into pan, and again spoon 3 tablespoons raspberry sauce over the top. Swirl batter with the tip of a knife to create a marbled effect.
5. Bake for 55 to 60 minutes, or until filling is set. Cool, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for 8 hours before removing from pan. Serve with remaining raspberry sauce.

This cheesecake should be called "Pseudo White Chocolate Cheesecake" because I ate half of these suckers before they got nuked.

Same thing with the Oreos.  You know a sleeve of those things was gone before baking began.  Duh.

For water bath (to prevent drying): Wrap spring form pan in foil and place in a jelly roll pan with about a 1/2" of hot water.  Bake.  Eat.

Tip: Arrange copious amounts of berries to hide any imperfections.

Poor Matt looks like he's enjoying his birthday treats alone.  I swear: there were folks on the other side of the table.  (Maybe.)

Happy Super Duper Belated Birthday, Matt!

Oh, Jersey...

This week was stressful and we had some time off to burn.  So to the shore we went!

We spent a quickie overnight in Cape May this week in an effort to burn some PTO days I thought I could add to my maternity leave (no just luck - fail!).  Anyway, I did win REPEATEDLY at skeeball  on the beach so at least I have that (and yes, we are 12 years old).  Notice my row of tickets on the bottom of the photo.  Yeah; that's right.

Poor Matt just doesn't get a break when it comes to my renegade camera tactics.  Although he's getting panic-stricken over the baby timeline, I'm sure he's giddy he won't be the subject of every single darn photo from now on.  We spent a good hour or so snoozing on the beach after a relaxing afternoon swim.

Matt said all we do is eat on vacation.  My response: "And the problem with that is what?..."
We had a fantastic, romantic (SO NEEDED!) dinner the night prior - one of those several course shindigs that lasts for hours.  A definite worthy splurge after a couple days of bickering and baby crunch time approaching.
Here we are the morning after carbing it up at breakfast.

I included this photo because of Matt's expression - doi.  He said I was poking his ear with my sunglasses; boy needs to get a grip!  Look, I love Matt, but that god awful beard and those sunglasses make him look like he should be on Sons of Anarchy or American Chopper or something.  He promised me he was going to trim it today (still waiting...).
Here we are walking on the beach after breakfast.

A bit better I suppose.  

So when we checked out of the hotel in Cape May we drove north to Margate (next to Atlantic City) where Lucy the Elephant was waiting.  Lucy was built was a tacky tourist attraction in the late 1800's.  Obviously, this was right up our alley.  You can climb up Lucy but that cost $7, so we weren't buying into that charade!  (Sorry Lucy.)

We spent a few hours in Atlantic City walking the boardwalk, dodging in and out of casinos, and spending some time on the beach.  I've never been but it was as I expected: kitschy and sort of sad (please put me out of my misery if you catch me in old age, wearing a kitty cat sweatshirt, smoking Virginia Slims and playing penny slots for hours on end).  I know, I know: I didn't get the whole effect (we were there in the day after all), but the whole operation just didn't sit right with me.  At least Vegas has enough splash to offset the sad!  I was pleased, however,  I made 80 cents on one of the slots.  That's going to the baby fund, obviously.

With hundreds of slots in each casino, Matt zeroed in on this one: Kitty Glitter.  It spoke to him.

It was getting late and I was getting ornery, so Matt bought me a bag of roasted and candied nuts to shut me up (works every time!).  Then we saw this huge Monopoly game board, so everything was right again.

Third Trimester!

25 weeks!
Totally cheating with this fitted, black dress.  But that's how I work.

28 weeks!  Beginning of "big mamma".  Sob!
(This dress REALLY accentuates the belly...I swear I don't look exactly this big in person.  Now, not small, mind you, but this is some 36 week shiznizzle right here!)

Who doesn't take self-portraits in the work bathroom?

Today I chose a dress I only sometimes wear because it makes me look pregnant.  “Well now’s as good time as any,” I said as I examined my sloped mid-section in the morning mirror.  Thing looked PLUMP!  It’s amazing how clothes can accentuate or minimize a baby bump (I swear: on Saturday I wore a peasant top that made me look Kathryn circa 2010).  Today I’m full-on baby mama.  Case in my point from my co-worker this morning: “Kathryn – you POPPED!  You looked different last week!”  There’s something liberating about no longer being able to suck in a burgeoning gut. 

This week I am 28 weeks pregnant, which is the beginning of both the third trimester and the seventh month of pregnancy.  I am ecstatic and giddy.  Matt is panic-stricken and looking a bit nauseous. 

“You had a while to get used to this, you know,” I deadpanned last night as I showed him a changing table I was contemplating.  “I don’t think you can ever get used to this,” he replied, glassy-eyed.  He reassured me on how excited he is, but I also know, as my internal clock can’t go fast enough, his is ticking with a thud. 

On the weekends he is a flurry of activity as he looks at wood finishes in preparation to re-sanding the nursery’s shoddy hardwood floors.  On Saturday night, when I was out with friends, he painted the nursery a bright yellow appropriately called Sunbeam.  He put the last coat on after I returned home, ten minutes to midnight, in his underwear with classical music echoing throughout the house.  We discovered mold creeping across our basement yesterday, and I think the boy was positively going to cry at the thought of another house project. 

Not to say I feel sorry for him.  The way he thinks about housework is the way I think about work.  Period.  My last work trip is to Michigan and Colorado the first full week of October, and it can’t get here quickly enough.  After that it’s local events, but even that (Three hours at an evening networking event?  Five hours at a job fair?) still doesn’t pacify the alarmist in me.  Luckily, I feel great and I’m hedging my bets I’m going to have a seamless, uneventful last trimester.  Or at least willing the fact that it will easy.

Now, look – carrying this baby should be easier on me.  I’m big: 5’10”.  I’m no skinny ninny but thick and (I’d like to think), strong.  If I was waddling at this point there would be a problem.  A woman I know, pregnant as well and three weeks behind me in gestation, said, “Are you still fitting into your maternity clothes?  I had to go buy all new ones!”  This comment made my day because 1) I’m hardly wearing any maternity clothes as most of my wardrobe is already fashioned for a generous bajunk-a-junk stomach, and 2) of those I do wear they’re only starting to look appropriate, and 3) I’m really quite smug.  While my baby can grow up and down, hers (she stands about 5’3” or so) can only jut out.  I finally feel my height is to some advantage (other than intimidating people of course).

I still don’t identify fully with my pregnant peers.  I visit two “November 2011” baby forums.  Last night many of them were talking about their baby’s current position.  “Oh, he’s transverse” and “My little bugger keeps flipping around!” to “Mine’s been head-up since the beginning.”  This intrigues me because I cannot possibly induce how they know this because all I can tell is that it feels like I’ve got some heavy-duty gas in there.  The woman who is three weeks behind me in pregnancy?  She said her kid wakes her up in the middle of the night with their kicking.  Really?  Because I just feel like I ate a burrito that didn’t agree with me.

Now, I’ve got some cushioning if ya know what I mean, and apparently an anterior placenta, meaning that squishy blob is on top of the baby and softening his/her karate kicks, but lord almighty!  I’ve finally just come to the conclusion that these women are crazy and they gotta calm the heck down because they have a few more months of cookin’ to do (and uncomfortable incubating it sounds like to me).  They also post things like, “I feel so guilty; I had a Diet Coke today,” or “How long do I need to heat my cold cuts so they’re safe?”  I’m seriously reading this half the time with a soda in one hand and a turkey sandwich in the other, chompin’ and snortin’ (chompin’ and snortin’ is my most natural, relaxed – and common – state).

Then there is the ubiquitous post about the “coming home outfit”.  This is the outfit mothers spend no less than 22.6 hours choosing and what their new bundle of joy will be wearing when he or she is brought home from the hospital.  Other commenters “ooo” and “awww” over these get-ups, resplendent with frogs and ducks, princesses or monkeys.  I momentarily took a break from chompin’ and snortin’ to ruminate if I should buy a special outfit for this occasion.  The answer: no.  Back to the turkey sandwich.

This is not to say I’m not spectacularly excited, and often times, my snide commentary takes a back-seat to the belly pics, the “Is this safe?” questions, and even the posts about awful things their “DH” says.  For those not in the know, “DH” stands for “Dear Husband”.  These are sometimes my favorite posts, for DHs can say supremely clueless and tactless things, and it’s my job to read them all and sort out which of these Neanderthals are huge dicks.  From what I can tell there’s a lot of whale and “big as a house” commentary, frightened pointing at burgeoning stretch marks while DHs crinkle their eyes in horror and say, “What ARE those?!” (good thing I was practically born with the things) and not-so-gentle jabs at the quantity of food these soon-to-be mothers are consuming.  This all plays into my smugness really well, because Matt is a nice and quiet guy and wouldn’t dare utter these things.  He’s also scared of me, and I feel like I have to teach my preggo compatriots on how to put the fear of their wives (much worse than the fear of God) into their husbands. 

Last but not least on our baby odyssey are the baby classes!  Our first class was this past week on breastfeeding.  We were told to bring a baby doll for positioning and holding, but we brought a tie-dyed frog.  I surely thought we were already the class delinquents but I was happy to spot a teddy bear in the audience as well.  Most women in the class were eight months along and their husbands were dutiful (this is the Main Line, after all).  I thought I’d surely leave the class with some good commentary but there wasn’t much to work with in this Ann Taylor-clad crowd.  I was also hoping to the very end the free-spirited instructor would whip out her boob for a life-like reenactment, but no such luck.  I’m hoping the class we take in a few weeks brings me more fodder: it’s for clueless first-time parents so my hopes are high.

But somewhere in between all my inappropriate wisecracks, I’ve found myself crying for no inexplicable reason other than the fact that I’m going to HAVE A BABY.  That Matt and I are going to be responsible for this life that we’ve created (horribly cliched, I know, and the creation was in a lab, but still!).  This morning, on the train “Our House” by Crosby, Stills, and Nash came on and with my headphones on, and with Bryn Mawr and Ardmore flashing by, I cried out of total and complete happiness at the thought of the life Matt and I had built.  I thought of Matt painting late at night in his underwear to Chopin, our Saturday trips the last two weeks to the vet for Penny’s stubborn ear infection, and of all the baby furniture propped up in our living room waiting to be assembled.  I thought of early-morning weekend trips to the practice in New Jersey, our recent date nights to the city to enjoy each other before the baby, us cooking in the kitchen together (roasted chicken last night and Greek pitas today) or watching bad TV in bed and late-night back rubs.  I thought of him lounging on my hospital bed during my Crohn’s flare a couple years back and us watching movies with the volume low, or how he told me, “If this is as bad as it gets, then I have it pretty good” when we ran to the pharmacy late at night for medication our first year together.  I thought about the most mundane things: arguing over what brownie mix to buy in the grocery aisle or about what evening newscast to watch, what actor was in so-and-so movie and how no, he’s not going to go out there and attack the hornet nest nestled in our garage.

I thought about how much I love this man, and how I wouldn’t trade this life for any other.  And then I thought there’s nothing sweeter than being gifted with something you thought you may never have, and how so very good we have it.