Learning curve, oh and poop

All of Eleanor’s poop looks just like this. Seriously.

 

So the other day I literally caught poop in my hand. Despite being the mother of two, this was a first time experience for me. Obviously I’ve been pooped on, thrown up on, peed on, had things throw at me, been covered in projectile vomit repeatedly… You know, the usual badges of honour that us parents wear.

But this was, honestly, a first.

Sometimes I think that I can communicate with my baby. She seems to understand me when I babble things like ‘Who’s a pretty girl? You are! Are you pretty? You ARE! Who loves Mummy? YOU DO! Who’s my sweetie pie? YOU ARE!!!!’

(Also, I have to admit…. It is slightly humbling to hear your older child talk to your younger child in the baby voice you use. It makes him look slightly psycho. He’s four. And so that would make me…??? Old and more psychotic. Great.)

She smiles a lot while I say these (and even more ridiculous) things. So clearly we are communicating. And so when I ask her things like ‘Please don’t poop on me. Or pee. Please don’t poop or pee on me.’ as I am carrying her to the bath, I feel optimistic. Since we’ve been ‘communicating’, we’ve have no issues. 2 weeks ago, I started feeding her cereal and since then, things are a little more up in the air. Bowel movements are a bit up in the air these days….

Ie: Feed cereal. Poop it out instantaneously. Feed peas. Poop out immediately.

So I guess my plan of ‘feed dinner, immediately take a bath after’ probably was not the most well thought out plan I’ve had in recent weeks. Other plans that are equally bad? Eating hard boiled eggs bought at 7-11 for breakfast, forget to wash hands and lick fingers that are covered in dry formula and accidentally walk through puddle that is actually ‘garbage water’ (as in that liquid that leaks out of a dumpster).

Naked bottom holding with long distance walking is for sure up with these other special plans. And also, total potential Olympic fodder for future games.

Anyways, blah blah blah she pooped in my hand. Then we both took a bath and I sanitized my hand.

Parenting: a constant learning curve.

xoxo am

 

My love affair with TurbiTwist, or how I am extra lame

Just a half-Mothra in this shot. Extra gorgeous.

A week or so into being a full-time working mum of 2, I realize that having a turbitwist really is an essential item in my daily life.

My mother-in-law gave it to me as a joke gift at Christmas and I actually didn’t regard it as a joke. It wasn’t funny, it was practical. And kind of awesome. And my sister-in-law got one too. She might have been less excited about it than I was, but she is a decade younger than me so that pretty much explains that.

I’d used it on and off since Christmas and let me just say that it never ever ever looks as stylish on me as it does on the packaging model. I look like the hugest nerd ever, with extra big ears. My ears aren’t that big; somehow the towel accentuates their size, turning me into Dumbo. Or Mothra. yes, I think thats a better comparison. Powder blue towel head with enormous Mothra ears on either side.

I look ridiculous.

But

BUT.

Guess what saves time in the morning? Washing your hair at night.

And guess what sucks for people who have ridiculously curly hair and live in a State like, say, Florida, where it’s extremely hot and humid and rainy and tropical all the time? Not having enough time in the morning to sort out said hair, leaving the house with it wet/damp and looking ridiculous in a professional setting as a result.

Yup. That is the epitome of suckage. I might have been able to get away with it when I was in my twenties, but since I am now firmly in my mid-thirties it really is pretty damn sloppy to hit the road in the morning like that. Especially in Florida when it quickly turns into Giant Clown head.

And so? Yes, it’s true. I now wash my hair at night and throw it up in a turbi twist and sleep with it like that. And in the morning, my hair is mostly tame and only requires the merest whisp of flat iron to behave. And this, in between the insanity of feeding a baby, feeding a preschooler, walking the dog, my husband juicing a million fruits and veg for what seems like hours, avoiding getting covered in formula, getting covered in formula, changing my clothes again, slapping on some makeup, driving to Eleanor’s daycare and then speeding into the office… Well, this really does help the morning run smoother.

I also think this really helps bolster my ‘cool mom’ factor. Well, even if it doesn’t (which is really hard to believe), my hair has been looking pretty amazing.

Get one. It will change your life. xoxo a.m.

And back to work I go: First steps

I enjoy a pipe once in a while… (instagram bitches)

So it’s the end of May and guess what? I’m going back to work.

I was pregnant yesterday. Don’t you remember? I have to admit that I have to concentrate to remember myself. Eleanor was first and foremost a dream. And then an unexpected reality. And then vividly and sometimes violently present, in a manner of speaking.

One day, she was in two places at once. That’s how amazing she is.

And then, suddenly, we were a family of four.

If you asked me 15 years ago (and it pains me to even have to use that number to go back far enough in my past), I never would have imagined myself with two children. And now I can’t imagine myself without.

This past week I packed it in with Vince and Eleanor. Edward told me I was crazy pretty much every morning when I told him what my plans for the day were. But you know what? Grocery shopping is the big test with two kids. If you can manage that, then it’s safe to say that everything else really can be that easy. He has yet to experience it and therefore doesn’t thoroughly understand. Jerk.

Afternoon stroll

Therefore the Zoo and Gatorland are totally doable. The Brevard County Zoo is amazing and I’m not even a big zoo fan. You know… animals… cages… Makes me slightly uncomfortable. Not the biggest fan. But there happened to be animatronic dinosaurs and that is always a winner. And a splash-pad. Ignoring the fact that we were yelled at by a zoo employee for splashing in an, apparently, inappropriate area (assholes), it was amazing.

Mummy! I love gators. A lot.

And Gatorland? Gatorland has a train. AND, obviously, gators. AND PopPop came and met us. And nobody yelled at us. AND there were hotdogs. Win!

We hit Disney up too. Vince has been dying to go, has mentioned it non-stop for weeks. We finally managed to get a date that worked for all of us. And as a bonus for me, my lovely cousin was able to join us. Since the boys rode all rides possible and Eleanor and I just hung around, it was awesome that she was there to assist in mocking tourists non-stop. It’s an easy job, but someones gotta do it. And she does it well.

Friday was a day I was proud of. I took Vince to the library AND he used  his inside voice THE WHOLE TIME. And nobody yelled at us like the week before.

So I guess you can boil down the things that I taught my son in the last few weeks to be the following:

How to use a remote control

How to operate the dvd player

How to open the front door and run down the street (wait… what?)

How to pee like Daddy does (What? Wait…. Didn’t he already know how t…. Oh. No. Nope. he didn’t. So glad I learned that…)

How to pick up his sister and carry her around like a sac of potatoes (this was not taught, he learned all by himself)

How to identify his sister as ‘his’ and ‘not yours, Mummy’.

How to fluently use the term ‘sweetie-pie’ and ‘big-brother’ and neither used in a creepy manner.

How to pick up and carrying around our chihuahua, in a manner that does not invite dog-bites. Mostly.

How to (help me) make scrambled eggs. And also how to (help me) do the laundry.

Tomorrow I head back into the office. After dropping Ms Eleanor off at daycare for the first time of course. I am hoping that everything goes smoothly. For me, I mean.

Second time through being a mum is way easier. I might have mentioned this before and it’s completely true. You know what to expect this time and I found myself pretty much not fazed by anything. Poop, pee, coughing, rectal thermometers, crying, rashes… whatever. It’s just so much easier to handle mentally because, in my case especially, everything awful that could have happened already has. In some case, it’s happened repeatedly.

Even daycare is easier to approach and so I’ve been gearing up for it for the last couple of weeks. Most likely I’ll still be a mess tomorrow, that’s just my emotional m.o. I am a Cancer, after all. But this time around, I am way more confident in my choice of a caretaker (Vince’s school) for my sweet girl. {ie: She’s not staying in someones garage and that someone won’t lie to us and disappear months later. Still weirded out about that.} (also that sounded way worse when I wrote it out than it actually was. Honest.)

Regardless, it will always be hard to leave your child for the first time. And after weeks of Eleanor daily sweetness, and about a month of gummy grins and gooey little noises I know that it won’t be a cake-walk.

So wish me luck tomorrow. I will be keeping it together.

xoxo a.m.

Most of us are adjusted. Mostly. Honest.

Edward and I comprised the adjustment team in our household. Most of the time we function properly...

Ok, so I know that I said that having a second child was a piece of cake. And it is. Honestly.

Honest honest.

For the adults anyways. Should I have clarified that?

For Edward and I, adjusting to Eleanor (who is delightful, smells delicious and is, in general, gorgeous) is like nothing. We already had 9 months of me sleeping like crap, so getting 3 to 4 hours a night in a row is a total bonus. Plus, and maybe I shouldn’t say this but…, she’s perfect and so much easier than Vince ever was as a newborn.

Get this: She cries when she’s hungry. The end.

Well shit. I think I can manage that…

Edward and I have this theory that she is going to be the ‘easy baby’. Vince was a nightmare as a newborn. I have recurrent bad dreams of singing ‘He’s got the whole world in his hands’ repeatedly and watching endless infomercials on the couch. Edward and I would compare notes every morning on what we’d seen (we took turns every evening). Vince would not got back to sleep after being fed, he was always awake and miserable.

Now Eleanor? Angel! Sleeps like that’s her goal in life. I haven’t watched an infomercial in the last 3 weeks. Hopefully I can keep this up. Or she can keep this up.

So as for the adjusting… well, like I said, Edward and I are adjusting just fine. Now Vincent? Not so sure…

There is no doubt about how much he loves his sister. Every day he makes some sort of comment about how she is ‘people’ and in his family. As opposed to the dog, who is not ‘people’ but is still included in the family member count.

He wants to rock her, feed her bottles, give her a pacifier (or binkie as it’s randomly been named here). He kisses her all the time, sometimes at rather precarious angles. He pats her on the back and head and says ‘excuse me’ when she burps. He is just great with her.

And with us, he is a complete and total basketcase. So awful. Horrible. Ick. Yuck. And ‘nasty’.

He’s started spitting in the house and has spat on the dog (for no real reason we can see, poor dog) and us randomly over the last few weeks. He has completely stopped listening to us and as a result we’ve had to implement rather strict punishment. Which means that pretty much E and I are laying down the law all day, every day and it is exhausting. I hate to list his misdeeds, so just imagine everything awful that an almost 4 year old could do and that’s whats going on. Frankly, it’s a relief when the weekend is over and he goes back to school. I think he might be a tad easier to handle there, where there are more children and very strict rules that are rigorously enforced (unlike some places…).

Like my house. In case you hadn’t picked up on that.

Listening right now is a huge issue for us. As in he doesn’t. At all. Or pretends to, but does something else entirely. So you ask him to do something and his response is to ignore you. You repeat yourself several times. No response. Or my favorite response: spitting. Or something else that’s just poor manners.

A confrontation regarding bad behavior yields not that much. The only thing that’s gets his attention is to remove privileges. And that’s where you get a response. A huge ‘I’m a liar’ response:

“I’m going to be good”.

“I’m going to be nice”.

“I’m going to listen”.

It’s usually one of these followed by “Mummy, are you happy of me???”

And this one is a hard one to answer. I hope he is addressing his behavior, but since he is in preschool, I am pretty sure that I would be reading too much into the issue if I did. I certainly don’t want to tell him he isn’t making me happy, implications and all… So E and I have compromised with ‘I am not happy with you when you spit on me, but I am happy when you have nice manners’ or something to that effect. At least we can let him know his manners are bad, but we still love him.

Such a precarious balance.

And really this balancing act is what is making things a little bumpy. I like saying ‘bumpy’, makes it sound like a plane ride that is a little out of hand and will be over soon. Optimistic overtones, ya?

I’m going to keep these tones in mind over the next few weeks and try to double my smooth breathing technique and monitor my blood pressure. And drink my tea every morning and make sure my pants are pulled up properly. All of these morning techniques should make for me having a calm and even temper and, of course, make sure that I KEEP MY TEMPER IN CHECK.

Because I certainly would never let me any 4 year old get to me.

Ever.

And I still have most of my own hair.

Partial wig only, swear… xoxo a.m.

Fever, again

Mummy? Change me. NOW.

As I type this, my eyes are closed. There is a glass of Merlot in front of me. Julia and Julie is playing on the Blue Ray. V is sleeping. I just finished sauteing some scallops for my salad.

Key phase in above ramble? ‘V is sleeping’

3 days of super sick baby, Mummy has now reached an insane level of ‘over it’.

Except, Mummy can’t be. Not like Mummy is when Daddy gets sick. Nope, with Little Booboo, Mummy is always on.

Wednesday morning was a low fever, Wednesday evening it was 100 degrees. Thursday early morning it was 101. I stayed home that day with the sick Little Man. It was awful. Fevers scare the crap out of me.

Thursday was a ‘Motrin’ day. And a ‘Tylenol’ day. And a “Mummy, I need a cuddle’ day. And that is how I always know my V isn’t feeling well, when he searches out Mummy’s lap and snuggles down.

Thursday afternoon was 102 and Friday morning was 103.2.

POINT TWO! POINT FRIGGIN’ TWO!

Jesus Christ, how can anyone’s heart take this sort of thing?

And then I had to go to work.

And M took him to the Doctor. Bad sinus infection and a molar coming in. How Dr E even managed to get into his mouth to look, I have no idea. I can barely get a toothbrush in there. One time I had to remove something(s) (paper, pennies, dog kibble, pieces of wood, dirt from the floor etc) and I swear he almost severed my finger. Baby teeth are sharp things.

So apparently those 2 things are enough to raise ones body temperature.

Sooooo… amoxicillin, Motrin with alternating doses of Tylenol, decongestant cough/nasal drops, Singulair tablets AND Pulmacort nebulizer treatments.

Last night, while I was dosing the Little Man, I couldn’t believe how many things I was administering to him. Basically 5 (or 6 depending on how the day is going)  different things. Seems like an awful lot for one small body.

Something which was rather apparent to me this morning. Let me fill you in on last night.

Last night, post-bath, as I went to diaper and pj the Little Man I discovered there WERE NO DIAPERS upstairs in his bedroom. Which actually meant that there were no diapers in the upstairs. Which meant there were no diapers in the house. Carrying a naked baby downstairs, I rifled through the diaper bag and found 2.

Oh thank god. One for tonight and one for the morning. And then M would be up (from his double shift) and I could do a run to the drug store and it would all be ok.

So this morning, at 7:30, it was not. My morning started with some hard-core grunting. Oh say it ain’t so. Say it ain’t so!! But the smell said otherwise. Of course, being that the last diaper in the house had just been put on a small bum, it only made sense to use it. Apparently immediately.

Oh sick child of mine, we now have an endless supply of diapers and you can fill them to your hearts content. Which you will. I know you too well.

Gravy

Maybe that's what I should dowith the left-overs...

No more verbal diarrhea about, well, garbage. Part of my New Years resolution.(see last nights post for garbage)

Plus do more yoga, blog more about interesting things that attract more readers, potty train V, run a 10 k, spend more time with M, lose this damned baby weight, contemplate a Masters Degree, maybe get pregnant… Clearly I am setting my sights high… nothing wrong with that!

I am just getting a head start, preparing the list of ‘resolutions’ a little early. We all know how much I like to make lists.

Can I just complain about the baby weight for a minute?

It’s a son of a bitch to lose.

SON OF A BITCH. Period.

Before there is even a conversation about baby #2, this weight needs to be so last week. Let’s ignore the fact that I have been talking about another baby for EVER. And focus instead on how I am going to find time to shake this crap off.

Already I am back on the super diet. And am about to hop back aboard the exercise train. I had deboarded due to some antibiotics that I was taking that made me feel a bit funny. But that kicked that nasty cold to the curb, so I was happy to sacrifice a week of exercise for that.

So welcome back yoga!! My first class will be this Thursday night. Now it won’t be Bikram yoga. The studio is now just too far away from my house, plus now that my home owners association fees include a membership to the YMCA I have no argument to not go to ‘free’ yoga. I don’t care, I just need yoga.

I really feel like it brings some measure of balance into my life. Calms me down. Makes me slightly less spastic.

So I eagerly await Thursday night’s appearance.

And on a completely different topic, my husband made  2 litres of gravy last night.

Why you ask? Not too sure.

We were eatting left over roast from Sunday night and I asked him to go and get some dry gravy mix. Gravy in a jar creeps me out.

Anyways, he came home with 2 packages and proceeded to spend about 30 minutes sauteing mushrooms in red wine, mixing the powder and water together in a separate bowl and then slowly added it to the boiling water on the stove. You would not even believe the mess in the kitchen. It looked like he had been cooking a la Julia Child.

It was gravy!!

Anyways, if you need some, just let me know. I have about 2 litres in the fridge and am happy to share it with you…

xoxo a.m. (a gravy-filled atlanticmama)

17

17 months, that is…

And it is a most interesting number. And a most interesting, um, adventure for Mummies and Daddies. You know who you are (or were).

It recently started with the word ‘No”. And then was followed by “Mummy, no. I don’t want to hold your hand”. This was communicated by, well, mostly grunts and, um, annoyed looks.

Someone is in the middle of asserting his independence and is not enjoying the doubts that Mumma is having regarding his decisions. Such as decisions regarding crossing a street without holding onto Mumma’s hand. I am pretty sure that all of you reading (ie my Mum and possibly my mother-in-law) realize that I am right.

Could you please tell V? Since he is currently a non-verbal Italian, he just stops in his tracks and squats down, trying to pull his hand out of mine. Since I am an emotional Canadian, I can read his body language.

I think all he wants to do is careen madly down the sidewalk, looking slightly tipsy as he bounced back and forth on our various neighbour’s lawns. I think he hears the name ‘V……’ and the word ‘No’ and reacts accordingly.

A few major temper tantrums have been introduced. Mostly involving him having a ‘fit’ (and very loose terminology is used here),  throwing himself on the floor and mostly smacking his head while doing so. Which induces crying. And so then I pick him up. And then he struggles with me holding him. And then I put him down. Repeat. Repeat etc etc.

And so life is interesting.

And my Mum is laughing. I know she is, as she was laughing earlier while I was complaining about this. I figure its divine retribution. I know I was  a pain in the ass. And I know M is a pain in the ass. And so the equation.

M+J=V(pain)2

Our respective mothers are peeing their pants laughing right now. Busting a gut (in a refined manners… as I know they are lovely ladies and all). Still. So tired.

xoxo a.m.

Suck it up, Mummy

How did November suck so fast?

I had high hopes for it. REALLY high ones, especially considering that October was the month of the plague in our little family. I was really over it all. Sick husband. Sick little boy. Projectile vomiting. High fevers. Lethargy. Do I need to go on? Are you getting the picture? Just skip back a few posts and you will be able to read all about it.

So as I got home today, my father-in-law was outside with V playing. I parked, scooped up that little Man and got the down low on how V had behaved for Pop-Pop and if anything was going on in daycare that I needed to know about.

Last week there was a confirmed case of Hand Foot and Mouth disease. They sent home a handy little info sheet, all about the disease and some ways of combating it. There is no cure. It is just a virus that runs its course and is also fairly common in care facilities with small children. Everything goes into the mouth and everything comes out of the mouth and goes onto everything else.

I was pleased that they had let us know, but thought nothing further about it. My son couldn’t possibly get something like that. Only dirty people do (that thought might have been lurking somewhere in the back of my mind…. it didn’t surface…just saying it was there…).

I clearly must have pissed someone off with that deeply hidden thought as not only is it Monday, but V has a blister inside his bottom lip. And a bit of a rash on his bum. That rash could be anything though. But Day-Care seems pretty sure that is what it is. You know, with all of their medical licenses and stuff.

I’ll be making my weekly call to the pediatrician tomorrow morning.

Read all about what we are going through HERE

I will be trying to suck it up while you are doing that…. (I am a big girl. I can handle this…again…still….forever…)

xoxo a.m.

Nebulizers suck

Oh please... who's child sits like this for treatment! Come on!

Can I just say I am frustrated?

Damn. It.

Several months ago when V was sick, it turned out that he was mildly asthmatic. So darling Dr E recommended a nebulizer and to start ‘treatments’ when he had attacks.

Attacks? Almost never, unless he has a cold, which is where he is right now.

So last night he woke up crying and coughing and I rushed upstairs to comfort him. He was coughing and then crying. Nose running all over the place, cough and crying in spurts. And just with the most miserable look on his face while this was all going on.

So out came the nebulizer as he sounded pretty wheezy. And that’s where my evening got awful.

Wail, scream, wail, scream, shriek shriek shriek. I think that is baby talk for “Mummy, I hate this thing, the way it sounds, looks and smells…. basically everything about it. I hate it.”

Yup. He hates it. I think it made him cry more.

Eventually I got him calmed down and off to bed.

He slept all night. Woke up early despite the late night, coughed on and off all day. Ate BBQ with Mummy, Pop-Pop and Gramma.

Went to bed like an angel and woke up about and hour later with exactly the same symptoms as last night.

And so 30 minutes ago we went through the same routine. Except I thought I was being clever by being prepared.

I got a juice bottle. I prepared a dish of snackies. I brought the nebulizer downstairs. I put on Sesame Street.

I. Was. Ready. And I felt awesome about it…

V did not. Total repeat from last night. Except worse and with a snottier nose. And more crying. And just worse all around.

The neb and him are not a fantastic team.

8 months ago there was no problem with it. He would happily eat snackies while the nebulizer was pumping away in front of his face.

Now, not so much.

Any tips on making it tolerable?

(besides lollipops and doing the treatment while he sleeps– who are we kidding, neither of those work)

But any tips are greatly appreciated…

xoxo a.m.

Fever times 2

16 months in and my first experience with a really, really sick little boy started yesterday…

All in all, not too shabby. All we’ve had to deal with prior has been food allergies, allergic reactions, mild asthma and lots of poop. Ok, looking at that list, let me revise that  ‘all we’ve had to deal with’ comment, that kind of made it sound like parenthood has been a cake-walk over here.

Really what I mean is that this is my first experience with scary high temperatures, scary lethargy and projectile vomit (Exorcist-style).

V woke up yesterday a wee bit warm. Babies are warm in the morning, so I didn’t think too much of it. He ate all of his breakfast, drank his bottle and just was a little quiet. I took his temp, it was 99 degrees…a little ‘ping’ of concern hit me, but again, he’s been warm like this before so I figured that it would go away once he was more active…

I WAS going to make Canadian Thanksgiving dinner Sunday for all my peeps in Orlando. We were also supposed to be going to see Elmo at UCF Arena in the afternoon. So we had things to do and so off we went to do them. Whole Foods (that I might leave M for and marry in a legal, binding ceremony) and Ikea. Done and done.

On our way there and back, he dozed the whole time. That ‘ping’ of concern started to ping a little louder. As I unbuckled him from his car seat and picked him up, he was really really warm. So warm, in fact, that when I handed him to M once entering the house, he immediately said to me “Wow, hes really hot, you aren’t going to Elmo, are you?”, to which I replied “No. Not at all” (although secretly I really wanted to).

I gave him some infants Tylenol and took his temperature.

103.2

What. The. Fuck. (Pardon my dirty mouth, but seriously, what the fuck!)

That is one high mothering-fucking temperature! So high that I remember using temperatures like that as bragging tools when I was in Elementary School to illustrate how sick I had been. “Ya? Well, my temperature was 103.4 and my Mummy said I might die. DIE!!” (I tend towards the dramatic). I tried not to remember that as I calmly said to M “We are going to the walk-in clinic”.

He calmly replied “OK, I think that’s a good idea”.

In reality both of us had cartoon steam-whistles on our head and steam was shooting from our ears. And my body might have become an ambulance. At least that’s what I told myself as I did 75- 1.000.000  (miles per hour, folks) down the expressway to the Pediatric clinic.

An hour later, I emerged with V and my awesome in-laws. Who are awesome and met me there, at the clinic (M called them) and stayed with me the whole time. Again. Awesome.

Influenza type A. And an ear infection. Antibiotics and Tamaflu (which makes me think of Tama-chan, that seal that swam into the Tokyo Harbour and became a national icon [I have a Tama-chan doll somewhere]).

The rest of my evening was not awesome. I went and got the meds filled, drove home, medicated V up. He remained hot. In-laws returned with food (M was at work). The rest of the evening was a blur of trying to force food and fluids on Little Man. Mostly fluids.

He cried non-stop and was so hot I swear I could have cooked something on his forehead. At about 9 pm he projectile vomited all over the place and as I went to pick him up, he threw up down the front of my tank-top. Wonderful. Hot and shivering at the same time, I stripped him down and washed him down in the tub… the rest of the evening was a blur.

We finally got him settled down with some fluids in him and he went right to sleep. Poor baby was so exhausted.

I went to bed too. Poor me, so exhausted….

Actually, I went to bed on the floor of V’s room. He made so many little noises and I woke up and trekked into his room with every one that finally I made a make-shift bed from a duvet and the pad on an Ikea chair and slept with my hand on the edge of his mattress.

Fever all night long. It finally seemed to break around 2 am… and we both slept.

And did I mention that M came home from work with the stomach flu?

Our home is a bubonic plague zone right now. DO NOT COME OVER.