I'm so sorry, America.
I'm so sorry so many are so stupid.
I'm so sorry the people have, yet again, put you deliberately in harms way.
I'm so sorry so many are so easily duped by propaganda - for an agenda so flawed yet, I suppose, in some way, artfully crafted.
I'm sorry the contempt for you will grow throughout the world because of a misguided cowboy with a cross to bear.
I'm sorry so many of your sons and daughters will die or be injured supposedly in "your" name, in vain, for a war that should not be ours.
I'm sorry that it will be you that will be held responsible for more pain, more poverty, more problems - on our own streets as well as the rest of the world because some people don't understand that we have to fix and love ourselves first before we can help anyone else.
I'm sorry that your daughters will have to fight again for their freedoms, from men who have nothing better to do than to pretend they have the best interests of America's women in mind, but haven't a clue what that really means.
I'm sorry that your people will have their civil liberties taken away, one by one, by an administration who claims to believe in less government, but can't seem to keep their hands out of the very places government should least be.
I'm sorry that your orphanages and your streets will become filled with more unwanted children, with less money to serve them.
I'm sorry that your seniors will have to choose shelter and food over extending their lives through health care.
I'm sorry that your young people will continue to lose their ability to take care of themselves medically.
I'm sorry that your beauty may be cut down, drilled into, polluted, and destroyed in the name of progress, leaving nothing for our children to appreciate, enjoy, and learn from.
I'm sorry that your people are so divided. A divided house can never stand.
I'm sorry I have to add caveats to the phrase "I'm proud to be an American."
Because I still am, though it gets harder every day. But I still cling to hope.
Monday, November 08, 2004
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Reconciling Parenting - Can it Happen For Us?
Okay, so I am a first generation suburbanite. My parents decided when I was a wee one to move out of the city in search of "greener pastures" as it were, (though I wouldn't call our 1/4 acre lot a pasture, nor very green as neither of my parents had any clue as to what gardening meant, which apparently is in the genes and is dominant, as I now myself have a larger lot of land that I am equally clueless about and unwilling, as they were, to shell out the bucks to pay someone else to make it pretty - but ah, I digress), to make a wonderful, nifty life for the three of us as they raised me to be the child they, perhaps, themselves always wanted to be.
I was to be independent, creative, a free-thinker, who chased after my dreams with passion and verve, and would achieve the dream of so many - to indeed, have it all, fulfilling career and life purpose (which where I grew up were one and the same - thank god I moved to the west coast for a while and got some other perspective on that one), phenomenal wealth, enduring health, get married, have an adoring family that was stable, happy, and successful in all their endeavours, and maybe become a whole and happy person, satisfied with all of my choices in life.
And that was all well and good. The key to a lot of that it seemed, was to put myself first, satisfy my needs, my desires, not sacrificing my goals and wants for anyone else's - as perhaps, they felt they did, and certainly, their parents did before them They didn't want for me to have to do that. That was an integral part of the suburban dream.
And they were not alone. My friends and I - we had it all when were kids, really. Some might even have called us spoiled (though the spoiled kids really lived in the next town over - when they turned 16 they got new cars, as we all got the hand me downs because our parents wanted new cars). We didn't really want for anything. Sometimes we had to plead a bit, and maybe do an extra chore or two, but our parents thought a lot of happiness came in a box, and maybe to some extent it did, at least when you're 12, it works for a short time, and well, that's all we knew. Until our therapists told us differently.
But don't get me wrong - our parents were there too. They came to our plays and our games and our meets and our ceremonies - that was important to them, because their parents couldn't do it for them. And that was part of the package as well. And to us, that was a given. Our moms and dads, even if they were divorced - which started becoming pretty popular when I was a kid, showed up when and where they were supposed to, generally. We rarely doubted that.
And for the most part, I like to think, they were successful in their plan. I'm a pretty happy person, an independent person, satisfied with most of my choices, relatively stable emotionally, have a beautiful family, home, blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda. As are most of my peers - in the relative grand scheme of things.
At least on the surface. Here's where the reconciling issue begins to become evident.
Per the plan, we all became parents. Older, wiser, parents, having experienced some more of what the world has to offer than the previous generation before settling down. The most educated, aware, informed, and responsible (sometimes to a fault) parents of any generation.
Most of my peers can rattle off any given Conusmer Reports list on the safest car seat, stroller, or portable swing. We know our babyproofing checklists and poison control numbers by heart. We introduce new foods one at a time, days apart, and take copious notes of our children's reactions to them. We shake our heads at the mere suggestion of riding a bicycle without a helmet (though we didn't even know what one was besides for either playing football or for the epileptic kid down the block when were kids). We are diligent to an extreme. At least for our first children, that is - but that's a whole other story.
But what doesn't come in a book, or a checklist, or a manual, or baby prep class is this - and it's no great revelation, and seems like a big "duh", but is surprisingly easy to forget or to misinterpret - being a parent, essentially, is about putting someone else's needs before yours.
I'm not talking about the seniors at the home who can't see any more and need someone to read to them weekly. Nor the homeless folk waiting for their turn at the food line, but have to wait because there's not enough staff.
I'm talking about needs of basic survival on a minute-by-minute basis. Someone's very existence, at least for the first few years, depends entirely on you and your ability to meet (and hopefully exceed), at least, their basic needs of food, water, sleep, and shelter.
This selflessness does not fit in so well with the "me first" attitude we were raised with.
Each generation is more aware than the prior, and that's what's caused this glitch. Our parents, as they came into adulthood, realized the sacrifices their parents made, often putting themselves last, giving up their hopes and dreams, and sadly, often becoming bitter about it. And they feared it for themselves and with foresight, didn't want their children to grow up with that destiny ahead of them.
And that's not such a bad thing, really. But in their earnest, the equation got unbalanced, and we became a test generation of sorts. A group of people raised on untested beliefs. Beta testers, so to speak, running a new program with no template, no proven variables: Be everything you can be and more, do whatever you can to follow your dreams, let nothing stop you from your bliss.
So here we are:
Me first + perserverance = having it "all" - we'll call this Subset A
Me maybe not always so first + patience = having a family - Subset B
Subset A + Subset B = What the hell happened to my life and can I find the place between and truly be happy?
I don't have the answer yet. But I'm working on it.
I was to be independent, creative, a free-thinker, who chased after my dreams with passion and verve, and would achieve the dream of so many - to indeed, have it all, fulfilling career and life purpose (which where I grew up were one and the same - thank god I moved to the west coast for a while and got some other perspective on that one), phenomenal wealth, enduring health, get married, have an adoring family that was stable, happy, and successful in all their endeavours, and maybe become a whole and happy person, satisfied with all of my choices in life.
And that was all well and good. The key to a lot of that it seemed, was to put myself first, satisfy my needs, my desires, not sacrificing my goals and wants for anyone else's - as perhaps, they felt they did, and certainly, their parents did before them They didn't want for me to have to do that. That was an integral part of the suburban dream.
And they were not alone. My friends and I - we had it all when were kids, really. Some might even have called us spoiled (though the spoiled kids really lived in the next town over - when they turned 16 they got new cars, as we all got the hand me downs because our parents wanted new cars). We didn't really want for anything. Sometimes we had to plead a bit, and maybe do an extra chore or two, but our parents thought a lot of happiness came in a box, and maybe to some extent it did, at least when you're 12, it works for a short time, and well, that's all we knew. Until our therapists told us differently.
But don't get me wrong - our parents were there too. They came to our plays and our games and our meets and our ceremonies - that was important to them, because their parents couldn't do it for them. And that was part of the package as well. And to us, that was a given. Our moms and dads, even if they were divorced - which started becoming pretty popular when I was a kid, showed up when and where they were supposed to, generally. We rarely doubted that.
And for the most part, I like to think, they were successful in their plan. I'm a pretty happy person, an independent person, satisfied with most of my choices, relatively stable emotionally, have a beautiful family, home, blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda. As are most of my peers - in the relative grand scheme of things.
At least on the surface. Here's where the reconciling issue begins to become evident.
Per the plan, we all became parents. Older, wiser, parents, having experienced some more of what the world has to offer than the previous generation before settling down. The most educated, aware, informed, and responsible (sometimes to a fault) parents of any generation.
Most of my peers can rattle off any given Conusmer Reports list on the safest car seat, stroller, or portable swing. We know our babyproofing checklists and poison control numbers by heart. We introduce new foods one at a time, days apart, and take copious notes of our children's reactions to them. We shake our heads at the mere suggestion of riding a bicycle without a helmet (though we didn't even know what one was besides for either playing football or for the epileptic kid down the block when were kids). We are diligent to an extreme. At least for our first children, that is - but that's a whole other story.
But what doesn't come in a book, or a checklist, or a manual, or baby prep class is this - and it's no great revelation, and seems like a big "duh", but is surprisingly easy to forget or to misinterpret - being a parent, essentially, is about putting someone else's needs before yours.
I'm not talking about the seniors at the home who can't see any more and need someone to read to them weekly. Nor the homeless folk waiting for their turn at the food line, but have to wait because there's not enough staff.
I'm talking about needs of basic survival on a minute-by-minute basis. Someone's very existence, at least for the first few years, depends entirely on you and your ability to meet (and hopefully exceed), at least, their basic needs of food, water, sleep, and shelter.
If you're on your way to get that slice of pizza you've been craving for two
weeks and someone decides it's nap time, no matter how hungry you are - you turn around and go home.If you finally get a pair of those sold-out-for-months tickets to the
farewell tour of your all time favorite band, and someone begins projectile
vomiting and needs to be held for endless hours of seemingly inconsolable
crying, you give those tickets away.If "no" is not being understood or heard no matter how loud or sternly or
logically you express it, instead of resorting to more severe means, or
ending the relationship, you say it again, take a time out for yourself, and
regroup.
This selflessness does not fit in so well with the "me first" attitude we were raised with.
Each generation is more aware than the prior, and that's what's caused this glitch. Our parents, as they came into adulthood, realized the sacrifices their parents made, often putting themselves last, giving up their hopes and dreams, and sadly, often becoming bitter about it. And they feared it for themselves and with foresight, didn't want their children to grow up with that destiny ahead of them.
And that's not such a bad thing, really. But in their earnest, the equation got unbalanced, and we became a test generation of sorts. A group of people raised on untested beliefs. Beta testers, so to speak, running a new program with no template, no proven variables: Be everything you can be and more, do whatever you can to follow your dreams, let nothing stop you from your bliss.
So here we are:
Me first + perserverance = having it "all" - we'll call this Subset A
Me maybe not always so first + patience = having a family - Subset B
Subset A + Subset B = What the hell happened to my life and can I find the place between and truly be happy?
I don't have the answer yet. But I'm working on it.
Saturday, August 21, 2004
Thank You, Universe
Thank you for diverting that storm. Thank you for us being prepared for the worst and experincing the least, relatively. Thank you for keeping everyone we know safe. Thank you for keeping those that we don't know alive, although they lost so much. Thank you giving us a pass on that one. Thank you for the reminder of what is important. Thank you for all that news coverage. Thank you for storm trackers. Thank you for hurricane flyers. Thank you for giving us the opportunity to help others, though I wish the circumstances were not as dire. Thank you for new hurricane building codes. Thank you for having the opportunity to see people who don't know each other lending hands without question or expectation, before, during, and after the storm, though I wish that humanity could be more evident on a regular basis.
But maybe it will be. This time forward. Thank you.
But maybe it will be. This time forward. Thank you.
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
High Chair Philosophizin'
Okay, so during a battle of frozen peas and salami with my daughter I came up some fantastic nuggets of philosophy that I can't believe I didn't freaking write down. I really assumed I would recall them when needed, at least by later in the evening, to share with my hubby and a friend. But I didn't, and I don't - and I've been making this same mistake for most of my life - and I never fix it. I don't get it. But I digress...
My little girl was desperately trying to break free the bonds of her high chair and reach that final pea that was teetering on the edge of the tray. With her first stretch I took the pea in my fingers and instinctively began to bring it to her. Then I thought about it and put it back. She looked at me, a bit surprised that I didn't deliver the tasty green morsel. She stretched her hand out again and looked at me with that look. I just looked back. Again the stretch and now some vocal equivalent to your muscles stretching. Then a bang on the tray. Ooh, it moved! Another bang, it rolled slightly closer to her. What a neat trick! A few more good whacks and the quarry was within her grasp. Her squeals of delight escalating with every improvement of the situation. And she got it. And she shoved in her mouth with such glee - one tiny pea was never so delectable!
And so it goes that what I was thinking had something to do with there being a fine line between parents willing to do anything for the sake of their children (which they should be) and parents who do everything for their sake of their children (but the language was far better).
The latter being the problem. These parents do so much for their kids their kids have no reason to do anything for themselves ever. And then those children expect everyone else to treat them that way as children and as adults. Alright, I know that's not a huge revelation, but I just see it everyday and it's so frustrating. For instance, I know a kid who won't talk (he's almost 3). He's been tested up the yinyang for every disorder possible and the gazillion and one doctors can't find anything "wrong" with him.
He doesn't talk because he doesn't have to. His parents forsee every need every whim every everything and the child has no need to communicate. He's home all day, so he doesn't really have outside influences. And now his parents are all freaked out because something isn't perfect. And yet they can't grasp the concept that their kid needs to need. That needing is okay. In relative quantities. And these parents are far from unique.
Is it because they needed so much when they were kids? Were their needs ignored? Did they feel unable to fulfill their life dreams because of these empty feelings of neglect, so they overcompensate for the "sake" of their children? Or is it for them?
Oh, too tired to think anymore. Meet ya at the featherball...
My little girl was desperately trying to break free the bonds of her high chair and reach that final pea that was teetering on the edge of the tray. With her first stretch I took the pea in my fingers and instinctively began to bring it to her. Then I thought about it and put it back. She looked at me, a bit surprised that I didn't deliver the tasty green morsel. She stretched her hand out again and looked at me with that look. I just looked back. Again the stretch and now some vocal equivalent to your muscles stretching. Then a bang on the tray. Ooh, it moved! Another bang, it rolled slightly closer to her. What a neat trick! A few more good whacks and the quarry was within her grasp. Her squeals of delight escalating with every improvement of the situation. And she got it. And she shoved in her mouth with such glee - one tiny pea was never so delectable!
And so it goes that what I was thinking had something to do with there being a fine line between parents willing to do anything for the sake of their children (which they should be) and parents who do everything for their sake of their children (but the language was far better).
The latter being the problem. These parents do so much for their kids their kids have no reason to do anything for themselves ever. And then those children expect everyone else to treat them that way as children and as adults. Alright, I know that's not a huge revelation, but I just see it everyday and it's so frustrating. For instance, I know a kid who won't talk (he's almost 3). He's been tested up the yinyang for every disorder possible and the gazillion and one doctors can't find anything "wrong" with him.
He doesn't talk because he doesn't have to. His parents forsee every need every whim every everything and the child has no need to communicate. He's home all day, so he doesn't really have outside influences. And now his parents are all freaked out because something isn't perfect. And yet they can't grasp the concept that their kid needs to need. That needing is okay. In relative quantities. And these parents are far from unique.
Is it because they needed so much when they were kids? Were their needs ignored? Did they feel unable to fulfill their life dreams because of these empty feelings of neglect, so they overcompensate for the "sake" of their children? Or is it for them?
Oh, too tired to think anymore. Meet ya at the featherball...
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
Fries please, hold the Jesus
Eggplant Fries. Yum-freaking-delish. Debating whether or not they're really healthier than your standard potato/French/Freedom fry, as I slowly made my way up to the largest take-out menu in the free world, I sang the Itsy Bitsy Spider for the thirteenth time in a row to calm my daughter in the backseat who was ready to eat her foot since she'd been schlepped to upteen appointments that morning and great mom here only packed a bottle and some old cheerios in the diaper bag.
So, I'm trying to make out anything on this menu, which while new (the place was rebuilt only last year due to some type of fire disaster), certainly didn't look new - well, maybe the takeout menu survived, was experiencing some humidity problems so many items were partially obscured. I found what I was looking for and then searched the million lines of plastic letters for the beverage section, praying to God there was Coke and not Pepsi products, and lo and behold there it was.
Right underneath the small medium large beverage list and just above the chili dog options it read "have a jesus filled day". All in capital letters.
Like they tried to slip it in. Subliminally. It wasn't separated by any space to make it stand out, it was just there, tucked in to the menu scanned over and over day by day by the hungry masses, searching for sustenance.
So I guess it worked - the praying thing, cuz they DID have Diet Coke. Though I wasn't really praying to Mr. J.C. per se - generally not in my bag o' tricks, I suppose he might have had something to do with it. At least that's what this establishment might hope I believe.
I'm not much of a theological scholar - but hawking Jesus in a drive-thru just didn't seem very well, Jesus-like. But wow, "Hawkin' Jesus in a Drive Thru" sounds like an awesome ditty, doesn't it?
And those Eggplant Fries were superb. But I did choose the Ranch dressing on the side instead.
So, I'm trying to make out anything on this menu, which while new (the place was rebuilt only last year due to some type of fire disaster), certainly didn't look new - well, maybe the takeout menu survived, was experiencing some humidity problems so many items were partially obscured. I found what I was looking for and then searched the million lines of plastic letters for the beverage section, praying to God there was Coke and not Pepsi products, and lo and behold there it was.
Right underneath the small medium large beverage list and just above the chili dog options it read "have a jesus filled day". All in capital letters.
Like they tried to slip it in. Subliminally. It wasn't separated by any space to make it stand out, it was just there, tucked in to the menu scanned over and over day by day by the hungry masses, searching for sustenance.
So I guess it worked - the praying thing, cuz they DID have Diet Coke. Though I wasn't really praying to Mr. J.C. per se - generally not in my bag o' tricks, I suppose he might have had something to do with it. At least that's what this establishment might hope I believe.
I'm not much of a theological scholar - but hawking Jesus in a drive-thru just didn't seem very well, Jesus-like. But wow, "Hawkin' Jesus in a Drive Thru" sounds like an awesome ditty, doesn't it?
And those Eggplant Fries were superb. But I did choose the Ranch dressing on the side instead.
Sunday, July 11, 2004
The Meaning of Love
I have two beautiful children. They certainly can test my patience more than often, but they're still beautiful, wonderful miracles nonetheless.
I tell them I love them all the time and that they are loved by many people. Then my little boy usually replies with "I love you too, Mommy." But he's not even three years old yet, and part of me thinks, perhaps, he replies that way because he thinks that's just what you're supposed to say. Like when someone sneezes he says "Bless You" and when someone gives him something he says "Thank You" and when he burps he says "Excuse Me". Conditioned response.
So I asked him the other day if he knew what love was. He paused, and got into his thinking pose, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands, humming, searching for an answer, "Hmmmm." I asked again since sometimes his repose lasts so long he forgets what the question is, or just moves on to the next thing, as children his age are wont to do.
"Do you know what love is, sweetie?" I asked again.
"Yeah," he said.
"Well, what is love then?"
"Love is Mommy, Daddy, Sister, Granma, Granpa...and me!" with a resounding finish.
I could not have thought of a better answer.
I tell them I love them all the time and that they are loved by many people. Then my little boy usually replies with "I love you too, Mommy." But he's not even three years old yet, and part of me thinks, perhaps, he replies that way because he thinks that's just what you're supposed to say. Like when someone sneezes he says "Bless You" and when someone gives him something he says "Thank You" and when he burps he says "Excuse Me". Conditioned response.
So I asked him the other day if he knew what love was. He paused, and got into his thinking pose, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands, humming, searching for an answer, "Hmmmm." I asked again since sometimes his repose lasts so long he forgets what the question is, or just moves on to the next thing, as children his age are wont to do.
"Do you know what love is, sweetie?" I asked again.
"Yeah," he said.
"Well, what is love then?"
"Love is Mommy, Daddy, Sister, Granma, Granpa...and me!" with a resounding finish.
I could not have thought of a better answer.
Thursday, July 08, 2004
Speed Sucks
And I'm not talking about the drug. Okay, this is just a rant. What is with these people? There are three reasons for a human being driving a car to go faster than 77 miles per hour. I give you the 7 for kicks. You're bleeding excessively. The person next to you is bleeding excessively. You or someone in your vehicle is giving birth - not just in labor, I mean actively giving birth. That's really it.
Just because you can doesn't mean you should. Here's an idea...LEAVE EARLIER.
I wish they'd just make cars not able to go that fast. Have you seen what happens to a car when it hits something else going at that speed? Or after it's flipped over a million times?
I'm all for personal freedoms. But not when they impinge on mine. I've got two kids in my vehicle. I'd like them to see their lives. I'd like to see my own. I don't need my life or theirs obliterated in a second because some idiot feels the need for speed. Nor does anyone else.
And then, don't get pissed off when and if you get stopped. Then you're not only an idiot but you're a whiner. Be prepared to get caught. And take it. You felt the need to do this stupid thing so accept its consequences. I can almost tolerate an idiot - but I can't stomach a pathetic whiner.
And this goes for tailgaters too. You know what? I'm going to let all you speeding tailgaters in on a little secret. I'M NOT GOING TO GO ANY FASTER. I left on time. And even if I'm late, I am still choosing to obey the traffic laws. So screw you.
I wish I had a little button in my car that would release a large air cannon out of my bumper. But then again, maybe it's better I don't. Blowing people away into uncontrollable spins probably isn't the best example to set for my kids, huh?
Okay, rant over.
Just because you can doesn't mean you should. Here's an idea...LEAVE EARLIER.
I wish they'd just make cars not able to go that fast. Have you seen what happens to a car when it hits something else going at that speed? Or after it's flipped over a million times?
I'm all for personal freedoms. But not when they impinge on mine. I've got two kids in my vehicle. I'd like them to see their lives. I'd like to see my own. I don't need my life or theirs obliterated in a second because some idiot feels the need for speed. Nor does anyone else.
And then, don't get pissed off when and if you get stopped. Then you're not only an idiot but you're a whiner. Be prepared to get caught. And take it. You felt the need to do this stupid thing so accept its consequences. I can almost tolerate an idiot - but I can't stomach a pathetic whiner.
And this goes for tailgaters too. You know what? I'm going to let all you speeding tailgaters in on a little secret. I'M NOT GOING TO GO ANY FASTER. I left on time. And even if I'm late, I am still choosing to obey the traffic laws. So screw you.
I wish I had a little button in my car that would release a large air cannon out of my bumper. But then again, maybe it's better I don't. Blowing people away into uncontrollable spins probably isn't the best example to set for my kids, huh?
Okay, rant over.
Thursday, July 01, 2004
Opening the box
This is more frightening than I thought it would be. Thinking about things is one thing. Writing them down is another. But putting these thoughts down where someone else might see them? And believe me, if you met me you'd never believe that I thought this was a terrifying thing. Most people would probably think this would be the most natural thing in the world for me. And maybe it should be.
It's sort of like when I ride a horse (which isn't very often). I know I can ride it. I know I know what to do. And I love it. But then I get up there. Up high. And feel this enormous, powerful creature just underneath me - and it's exhilerating, but troublesome. This beast could kick my ass in an eyeblink. What is she going to do? Will she trust me? Will she feel my apprehension? Does she know I don't do this often? Can she tell I'm not as confident as I let on? Will she make me feel I'm in no position to be taking control of the situation? Will she throw me?
And then I breathe. I take the reins. I submit my request for connection to this animal to the universe, and I breathe again. She can tell I'm nervous. I put my hand on her neck and feel the warmth, the strength, the will - and I relax. I gently kick her sides and we're off - at first slowly, getting to know one another, getting into the rhythm. Then I press again with my heels and we go faster - we've agreed to work together and the rush is building. I dig in once more and lean into her stride and we are off - to where I'm uncertain, but I don't really care much either - and it is freedom. And we don't want to stop. Until we have to.
And then the whole thing starts all over again. So let's see how this goes, shall we?
It's sort of like when I ride a horse (which isn't very often). I know I can ride it. I know I know what to do. And I love it. But then I get up there. Up high. And feel this enormous, powerful creature just underneath me - and it's exhilerating, but troublesome. This beast could kick my ass in an eyeblink. What is she going to do? Will she trust me? Will she feel my apprehension? Does she know I don't do this often? Can she tell I'm not as confident as I let on? Will she make me feel I'm in no position to be taking control of the situation? Will she throw me?
And then I breathe. I take the reins. I submit my request for connection to this animal to the universe, and I breathe again. She can tell I'm nervous. I put my hand on her neck and feel the warmth, the strength, the will - and I relax. I gently kick her sides and we're off - at first slowly, getting to know one another, getting into the rhythm. Then I press again with my heels and we go faster - we've agreed to work together and the rush is building. I dig in once more and lean into her stride and we are off - to where I'm uncertain, but I don't really care much either - and it is freedom. And we don't want to stop. Until we have to.
And then the whole thing starts all over again. So let's see how this goes, shall we?
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