Yowza!

I love Hans Zimmer. Okay, maybe not in that sexual, romantic, spicy, hoo haw kind of way. But I love his music. I believe that man's musical score in his head and mine are identical twins. He can write things that my soul seriously dreams, feels, and projects daily. I just don't have the ability to write it down in musical notes.

We have finished our time in Iraq. Seriously. That country is no longer on the forefront of my mind. I have been looking around for a tune to describe to you what it's like. How my feelings are and where they're at. I have found it! It's from the movie Spirit (my family reading this is currently laughing....side note story: when I was pregnant with my oldest child, she would go crazy any time the Spirit soundtrack was played....they all mocked me heavily for this). It is called "Run Free". Google it. I'm serious! Yes, I know it's over synthesized, and yada yada yada. But the spirit behind the music...it is exactly how I feel.

My heart is insanely in love with my husband. I honestly do not believe there are enough words to put on paper in the course of my entire lifetime to say how blessed I am. This man is the love of my life. To try to even begin to contemplate how deeply, passionately, intensely I love him brings tears to my eyes. Not in this sappy, trying to brag or irritating way. We are both flawed and imperfect. We both fail, sin, fight, argue, are selfish, and on and on. But the joy I have been given in being able to love him...I am thankful that I am able to love him! I am thankful for being his helper! For being his partner! I couldn't have asked for a better mate. God seriously was so generous in giving him to me. And it's all God. I'm not kidding. I dated an enormous amount of dooshbags and losers. I also dated a wonderful assortment of amazingly wonderful men, who were COMPLETELY wrong for me. I do firmly believe that each of them assisted in molding and shaping me into a better woman for my husband. But they were, for lack of a better word, all inevitably disasters.

I have always been a passionate, emotional being. My feelings are intense and powerful. I have also always been aware of this. But here is the kicker...my husband is the perfect balance for it! He so wonderfully gets fired up when I am, and also mellows me when I am ridiculously upset. He balances my insanity, and encourages my passions. He allows me to sore on wings, by pushing, prodding, and assisting me in growing into a better woman....into a better image of God.

Okay, so you're wondering what the heck is the correlation between all of this romance nonsense and the end of the Iraq situation....I am working on bringing you there! Be patient! haha! I am giving you the emotionality of being finished with Iraq. Four years of my husband's life have been spent in that country. To say goodbye stirs sad feelings, fearful feelings, and enormous amounts of joy. I am sad that what has become familiar to me is going away. It is a country with so much civil unrest, that it is unlikely I will ever be able to visit there. Plus, most likely my soldier will never desire to go there. But I have enjoyed looking at pictures and having my soldier explain to me where it is, what he was doing there, and the stories behind the locations. I will miss those moments, and the hope of ever hearing more of the wonderful stories my husband has. I feel fearful because this means he will deploy to other locations... I know his life is in God's hands and I have peace about that. But the fear comes from the unknown. I know what to expect in regards to Iraq. I know how things roll for the most part, and how everything plays out. If he should go to Afghanistan...everything will be different. Different=a little bit of scary. The joy...well, do I really have to explain where the joy comes from!? One less place for him to deploy to! WOOHOO!

So anyway...go check out that song. And forgive me if this doesn't make too much sense. I'm too happy to worry about clarity! HAHA!

humph

It seems like I woke up only to discover it has been QUITE a while since I've written on here. Here I sit trying to think of some witty and interesting topic. Truthfully, I don't think anything pertinent is coming to mind.

My kids have started school. I homeschool them and it keeps me quite busy. Now before you put your "uh oh...she's a weird one" panties on, let me just say...I dare you to try it. Seriously! I do! I dare you to actually take on trying to educate your kid. It. Is. Hard. Okay, the word hard is maybe not quite the right word. It's not exactly extremely difficult to understand. It's not like trying to venture through a read of Atlas Shrugged (seriously, one of the most difficult books to read...). It is hard because of the enormous amounts of organization, creativity (how many different ways can YOU think of to do a craft, memorize, study, practice writing, and being able to grasp the concept and sounds of the letter "A"), patience (lots of this is required), persistence, being able to teach one subject in a multitude of ways (one child learns one way, a different child learns another), flexibility (no...we're not talking splits here folks), and insanity. Yes, I say insanity. It is not a typo. I think you sincerely must be insane to educate. Why would any sane person CHOOSE to sit down with a bunch of young children day after day going over the alphabet. I mean, this isn't exactly adult stimulating.

Okay, yes, I'm complaining, and yes, I know I've chosen to do this. I want to educate my children. The schools here=not so good, and I will NOT do to my children what was done to me when I headed off to college (me in class-I don't understand anything you're saying despite being valedictorian.... them-Where did you go to school? me in class-L.A. them-OOOOHHHH. That explains everything! Your high school education is our junior high...you're going to have to work very hard). I refuse to put my children through this. So until we move to a better school district...this is what they'll get. But my point behind my whining is...teachers are amazing. School teachers, Bible teachers, life teachers, parents, Sunday School teachers....they are all amazing. We honestly have NO idea how much hard work, determination, and self discipline is required from our "leaders" in our community. I know that more people are becoming aware of this notion of gratitude, and wanting to pay them more. I'm not arguing for or against that. I'm just saying, have you thought about saying the word "thank you" recently? Has it even crossed your mind how completely and utterly irritating it can be for leaders? Seriously! People are urgently quick to complain, point out flaws, state all of the problems... But yet they are literally moving at a snail's pace to appreciate, congratulate, or thank. humph. I don't like it.

Yellow blanket

I learned to knit when I was very young. In fact, I've been doing it for so long that I can hardly remember how old I was when I actually learned. My mother taught me to knit and her mother before her. In fact, my grandma was so avid a knitter that her knitting abilities are almost interwoven into all of my memories of her. To think of her is to think of her afghans, slippers, pillows, dish cloths, and many more hand made, knitted items. I have so many sweet treasures in my heart of my grandmother. I will honestly say though, that I believe my love of knitting is a trait I have been blessed to inherit from her. My grandma died two years ago on my anniversary. It is impossible for me to pick up some knitting needles without thinking of her. When she died, I was blessed to be given so many of her knitting treasures. Needles, yarn, pins, patterns, and on and on.

I found it completely accidentally. I was looking through a bag of a mixture of different colors and types of yarn I had been given from my mother who thought I might be able to use it since I love to knit. The yarn had been my grandma's before she passed away. I was sorting through what I thought I could use to create with and what I could use for crafts with the kids when I found a plastic bag. Inside was a skein of yellow yarn and a treasure that have been knitted. It was too big to be a scarf or a washcloth, and too small to be intended as an adult sized afghan. The stitches were imperfect. There were dropped stitches and some errors. As I picked it up in my hands...I could smell her. I knew in my heart it had been knitted by my grandmother.

I called my mom to be certain. She hardly remembered it at all, but she said towards the end of my grandma's life, she had given my grandma knitting projects to do to keep her busy. This, it turns out, was one of those projects.

I found this beautiful treasure of my grandmother's work shortly before my sister gave birth to her second child. I got into my head that maybe I could complete this little "afghan" and give it to my soon to be born nephew as a gift from his great grandmother. So one day, I set about the task. This was the first time my fingers had been so blessed to knit an item after my grandmother's had already been there. I lovingly took up where she left off. With every stitch I have thought of her sitting on her sofa knitting away. I have thought of my nephew, snuggled up underneath it. I have thought about whether to fix the imperfections or leave them. I decided to leave them. Not because I wanted to embarrass her or show any flaws. But because to remove them meant to replace the work she had done. This very well may be the last item my grandmother ever knitted. To me, each of those stitches (flawed or not), are beautiful and wonderful. They are also emotional.

Tonight, I have almost completed this afghan. Here I sit with the final stitch on the needle. I have yet to remove it, because in removing it, that means it's completed. Her work has been finished. I miss her. I miss her laugh. I miss her books on tape. I miss her black shoes and white socks. I miss her hair appointments. I miss "tut tut". I miss her smell.

So here I go. I am ready to complete it. One, two, three. It's done.

I wish you were here to see it.

I thought I had dealt with this. Yet here I sit, with this book right next to me, barely able to make it through one page. Tears are pouring out of my eyes. Today in church, tears just kept coming. "God doesn't make mistakes. He makes people as He intends them to be." Why was that statement so exceptionally painful to hear? Why when I heard it did I sit in my seat fighting back tears? I thought I had processed and dealt with her autism. Yet, here it is. In my lap and tears are falling.

We have gone through several months with her seeming to be so normal, that I suppose I forgot. Or maybe I adapted. I can not be sure. But here lately, so much of the behavior that seemed to be gone for good is back with a vengeance. Her speech is difficult to understand, assuming she'll talk at all. She is withdrawn. Disconnected. She sort of wanders around aimlessly. She doesn't want to be held, but she doesn't want to not be held. She's been pulling her hair recently. She hits herself again, and slaps her face. She's biting herself again.

She doesn't listen. She barely uses utensils anymore. All of this since the 4th of July.

Some of it may honestly be that we ran out of a supplement that she has been on. I hate to be dependent on a supplement or vitamin, but truthfully, DHA and ARA and fish oil make HUGE differences in her behavior. It's almost like her brain is cloudy and foggy and something in those supplements help to clear things up a bit. I ran out and I have ordered more, but they're not here yet.

I also think this is happening for a purpose. I need to be reminded. I obviously have not dealt with it. I clearly have not accepted that this is here for good. It won't go away. And it hurts. Not in a selfish oh woe is me way. But it hurts because I hurt for her. This is my child. My beautiful, immaculate, and wonderful little girl. If you could see the beauty in her...if you could just understand her, you would fall madly in love with her.

God made her this way. There is a purpose, a meaning behind it. He has allowed her to be this way.

Why is this book so difficult for me to read? Why do I feel almost frozen still? I have known for the last three years that she was "different". I have known that she did not fit into the status quo of any child I had ever known, for a long time. Or perhaps, I have always known. I don't think I can clearly put it into words.

I guess I will just have to go through this. One page at a time. One sentence at a time. I know I need to read it. I know I have to process the information. I know this is a journey that I will take. I MUST take. How can I possibly allow her to walk this road alone? I will not. I CAN not. So I will cry my tears. I will sit here with my box of kleenex. I will go through the process of coming to understand...she is perfectly and wonderfully made. She is beautiful, immaculate. And all of my dreams...all of my hopes...are nothing in comparison to the purpose that she has been created for. I will let go. I am thankful for this day. I am thankful for this moment. I am thankful for her presence here. Oh the lessons that she has taught me. And continues to teach me.

There is this song that every single time I hear it, makes me cry. If you have never had a child with "difficulties"...then it is probably difficult for you to relate to. For me this song brings me enormous amounts of comfort. Because I remember the exact moment where the words he says happened in my life. He sings, "When you realize the dreams you've had for your child won't come true. And when the phone rings in the middle of the night with tragic news. Whatever valley, you must walk through...Jesus will meet you there." It is by Steven Curtis Chapman. I remember the moment when I realized it. I remember the moment that it finally hit me that she was "different". And even now, as I recall that moment, my heart breaks all over again. There is so much that I want for her and I don't know if it will ever be possible. But none of this really matters. Ultimately, the only thing that really matters, is that she was created for a purpose. She wasn't an accident. She wasn't erroneously created. And neither was I. God knew that one day I would give birth to a child in this situation. And He knew that I could handle it. He also knew that I would so desperately and deeply need His presence, His love, and His healing in order to do it. So I am thankful. I am grateful that Jesus has met me here. And I know that He and I are walking side by side, hand in hand, down the road. He's on one side, she's in the middle, and I'm on the other. I find enormous comfort, also, that one day I will pass away, but she will not be alone. Her Creator will still be walking with her.

Can I get your digits?

At one point in my life I didn't think they were terribly significant. It isn't that I thought they were insignificant, it's just that I didn't really put much thought to their presence. They have always been there and I suppose on some level, I completely expected them to always be there. I was born with TEN fingers. That's right. TEN! Now I know that ten sounds like an awfully high number, but I completely believe, and have grown to understand in my older years, that I WANT to have ten fingers.

My hands used to show my youthfulness. There was a time when I would put my hand against my mom's and pay attention to how small mine was compared to hers. They weren't wrinkled, scarred or tainted. They were small and stubbly.

Now that I am older, fingers have taken on certain roles. I must admit, my most favorite label on my fingers is that beautiful multi thousand dollar hot shot blingaby bling that wraps around the second digit on my left hand. That's right! You guessed it! My wedding ring finger. That finger used to be identical to my other ring finger. Over time, this has changed. For the last six years, it has had a wring on it. I can tell you that now it bears a permanent reminder of that ring. If I slip my ring off to clean it, that finger bears a permanent impression of the ring. There is an indentation. There is a tan line. It shows that a ring belongs there. This is not to say that I must wear a wedding ring, or that my value comes from this ring. But it's a beautiful reminder to me that so many years ago, my knight in shining tanks put a shnazzy gift on my finger and gave me a new name. He re-identified me. I was no longer "Jane Doe" I was now "MRS. John Smith". I was no longer "single". And I think it's pretty cool that one of those ten fingers gets to wear a reminder of that beautiful gift.

My left hand bears a scar. It has a scar where a five gauge IV (that's a big one) was quickly shoved into it on an ambulance ride to a big city an hour away. That was an adventurous moment because it was the night I delivered my triplets. I remember the EMT holding my arm while the Paramedic drove (he was on the phone with the medivac team. The BIG guns! lol). They didn't want to stop the ambulance because my contractions were back to back. They didn't want to lose any time and risk me delivering thirty week old triplets in an ambulance. Literally, the paramedic was telling me if I felt like I needed to push, to NOT push and to hold those babies in. He literally said that he could only MAYBE keep ONE baby alive in that ambulance. MAYBE. So the EMT held my arm as steady as he could, while I breathed through a VERY painful contraction and he put that IV right in. He was an expert because he got it the first try. But in his haste, he taped the plastic part of the IV so tightly to my skin (and my adrenaline was rushing for hours) that I didn't notice it had sort of dug a bit of a hole. So I have a scar there. I always wonder, just a bit, if every time I have to give blood, the technicians wonder if I'm sort of recovering junky. My vains are pretty shot. I gave blood so much and had IV's so often with that pregnancy...Thank God I'm not scared of needles!

My fingers have done well by me. They help me accomplish the many actions that I take in each of my days. They have held bottles, held breast pumps, buttoned up clothes, folded clothes, written, opened doors, driven cars, and on and on and on. With my fingers I soothe my children's tears, memorize my husband's face, cup my children's cheeks, and hold hands. I have re enlisted my soldier, touched my baby for the first time, and let go of the man I loved. My fingers have been with me through every tear, every smile, every laugh, every moment.

I honestly am not really sure how to accurately describe my fingers to you. They're still short. They're still small. I don't have long nails. I don't wear nailpolish or fake nails. I like to keep them "natural". I figure, if God wanted me to have red nails, He would've delivered me with them. :)

Okay, but seriously I kind of dig them. So how about you? Have you thought about your ten digits today? What would you do if they suddenly went away?

autism. A beautiful gift.

There are times in my life when everything goes along so smoothly that I almost forget. I forget she is "different". I forget that her brain doesn't work like yours and mine. So this past fourth of July, I was all excited to celebrate as I always do. We spent wonderful time together with family and friends and were all revved up to watch the fireworks. I prepared the kids in the sense that it's loud noises and big lights. Completely spaced that this is a bit much for autistic children. And then BOOM! They began. Friday night, sitting out in a windy parking lot, looking up at the sky. She screamed. No, this wasn't that beautiful scream of glee and delight that so many children and adults let out when the beauty of fireworks are displayed. This was complete panic. She started swishing her head back and forth in the three point five seconds it took me to jump up and grab her. So began a very long and challenging evening. I picked her up and she was completely rigid. This is typically how her spells begin, however, I have never had her so rigid that it took all of my adult might to get her bent in half. I have been taught to bend their legs at the knees, and that usually relaxes them. It was a physical impossibility to do this to her body. She dug her tiny little fingers into her legs and squeezed. This isn't a normal response. She squeezes so hard that blood pours out. I pulled her hands away, and kept trying to soothe her. She put them into her mouth and started biting. One hand in her mouth the other covering her ears and her rocking head. She was crying. A cry I honestly have never come out of her. Completely rigid and yet shaking uncontrollably. I pushed her head against my chest and started rocking her. All of the "training" stuff wasn't working. So I resorted back to rocking her, which helped when she had the swine flu. No such luck. Didn't work. I rubbed her back, I paced her. I sheltered her from the noise and lights. Nothing. It was like she wasn't there. Like she couldn't hear or see me. Like she had been removed from this world and was now in a completely different place filled with terror and horror. To watch your three year old go through this...

I held her for hours. My arms were completely aching and broken from exhaustion. My husband kept asking to take over. I appreciated his desire to help but he hasn't been through all the training stuff, so to try to explain to him would take too long and could possibly cause harm to her in the meantime. And I was blessed, God gave me the strength to endure. Honestly, I didn't even notice that my feet were swollen to twice their size until I fell into bed and noticed them then.

In those moments, what I normally adore, became my enemy. I hated the fireworks. My mind drifted to the mothers who hold their screaming children while ACTUAL bombs are going off. And I felt horrified for them. How many women have endured moments like that? I was blessed that I could hum to her and soothe her and know that she would be safe and that this would end. What is it like when you can make no such promise to your child?

I love my little girl so deeply. I do not understand what goes on in her beautiful mind, but she has a soul that is amazing.

Since that night, she has been awful. Completely withdrawn, disconnected. It is a struggle to get her to talk (she is barely above a whisper) and she doesn't answer when you ask her a question. She acts afraid when my husband or I call her to come to us. It is almost like that experience was so traumatic for her, that she is in complete fear of it ever happening again.

She is so beautiful. I would give anything to save her from this anxiety. I want so desperately to prevent it from happening to her again. I felt so helpless, but yet so blessed at the same time. I felt helpless because I couldn't bring her out of it. But blessed because I was able to be there beside her, holding her, doing everything I could think of while she endured it. I am blessed because she exists to begin with.

I would give my life. I would give it in a heartbeat, in a second, with no thought or hesitation. How blessed am I to be in the presence of such a beautiful person?

Walking...

I have grown to adore silence. When I was a child, my mom would always lament about how she wanted quiet. I remember thinking she was crazy....why does this woman constantly want silence!? Noise is great! But as I sit here in my rarely quiet home, I enjoy the silence. My family is all asleep. They are beautifully resting and peaceful in their beds...snuggled up under the comforters and dreaming. I think it's wonderful. I enjoy not hearing all of the noise that so often becomes a distraction in our lives. I have spent many years working hard to fill the void with noise. I never wanted to feel alone. I never wanted to feel afraid. I never wanted to listen to the silence. What is it about silence that can be so intimidating? What is it about our own thoughts, or maybe God's thoughts, that we don't want to hear?

Recently God has challenged me to embark on a journey of alone-ness. Sin is constantly crouching at the door. It is ready and willing and eager to destroy me. Often times, I have found that sin entices me, through other people. It is extremely difficult for me to have female friends. Not because other women are wicked or evil or bad or anything of that sort. It is difficult because I am! I love to hear the juicy details of gossip. I have spent many years enjoying "being in the know" and feeling like I was a part of some "organization" of women. I have spent years seeking that out. It is all foolishness. I have no need for any other human being. Period. No need. I have often found that when I come home from spending time amongst a group of women at a social gathering, if I truthfully examine myself, I have come home from spending time gossiping or judging or ensnaring myself in drama.

I think we as Christians are completely unaware of how much we judge others. For example, if a friend comes to you and she's mad at her husband, you automatically will have an opinion about it. That's judgment. It isn't your place or your right to have an opinion about anything in that situation. Your "opinion" is irrelevant. But we get all high and mighty and we like to pick sides. This is foolishness. Women, as a natural tendency, like to vent our problems to other women. We like to retch out of our mouths all of our discomfort or dislikes or irritations, and then sit back and watch everyone congratulate us on how we're "such a great person" and "how could they do that to you" and "you'll get through it." We like to be pitied.

I must admit, I am the worst of all at this. I adore pity. It is a terrible wickedness that grows and swells and often times pours out of me. I seek pity. I have no idea why. Why does that aspect of myself have such a dominance in me? I believe it is because of pride.

I recently read this book about pride that my husband brought home. It was the most amazing book I have ever read. I don't know if I should really call it a book, or a large pamphlet. It was pretty short. But it hit the head on the nail, completely accurately, about how much I struggle with pride. It had so many examples of why people's sin are related to pride. Quite honestly, probably all of sin is somehow attributed to pride. We are so quick to see the sin and errors in other people and completely slow to understand or perceive the sin in ourselves. "Becky Sue judged me and was mean to me. She is a terrible 'Christian' and I can't believe she is doing ABC for the church." This is a perfect example of how we focus so much on the sin of everyone else...not ourselves. Because in that statement, the person talking about "Becky Sue" is the one who is completely immersed in wickedness. She is proud, judgmental, and slandering towards her SISTER in Christ.

Why are Christians so quick to forget that we are ONE BODY!? Why do we go on wickedly believing that we are able to have quarrels and fights and just to let it go? That is the complete root of evil. It is divisive and wretched and awful. Why do Christians believe that there can be clicks and that God would think that's okay? We are ONE! Like a husband and a wife. The Body of Christ is ONE entity. You can not have clicks, quarrels, drama, and problems and go on as if life has not changed and nothing is different. As Christians we are called to obey God. Not ourselves, not our pride, not our fear, not gossip, slander, malice, dishonesty or anything of that sort. We are called to be one body. One people. One unit. The essence of belonging, as being a part of the body of Christ, is not that we "belong" to our small group of friends at our church. It is that we belong to Christ as a whole. All of us, collectively, are the bride of Christ.

I grow tired and weakened by the wickedness that seems to thrive everywhere. Honestly. I hate how sin has such dominance in my life. I hate how what I want to do I don't do, and what I don't want to do, I seem to continue doing over and over again with such ease. I feel sometimes like sin is always winning.

The other day I was talking to someone, and all of this rage and hatred and resentment was pouring out of my mouth. It had been welling in me for several days, and I was praying for God to take it away...but He did not. He had a lesson for me to learn. I sat there and poured out these horrible, horrible, horrible words on my dear Christ brother. I unleashed a wickedness in me that I have not seen in a long time. I remember sitting there watching this horribleness defeat and deflate my brother in Christ. I could visibly see what it was doing. When my eyes saw through my own horrible pride and saw what this was doing I became silent. My brother in Christ asked me why I had stopped talking and if I needed to continue. I started to cry. And pride continued in its wickedness and I walked away so that he would not see me cry. Alone, I cried to God and asked him what He wanted me to learn. Why this situation was here. What did I need to change. My dear friends, I kid you not...my brother in Christ, my fellow heir in the kingdom of heaven came in and comforted me in my tears. He poured no wrath or rage on me. He retaliated in no way. In humility and kindness, he embraced me with complete forgiveness. I was broken.

This is such an example of our glorious Father in heaven. As we pour out enormous amounts of wickedness...He is there embracing and forgiving.

To be honest with you, this post is now so long that I have completely forgotten what I was originally writing about. I suppose, I am trying to write about what I'm learning. Oh yes...now I remember what my point was. My brother in Christ had "wronged" me. I mean, he literally did. It was a clear cut, anyone could see, how he had wronged me situation. And I was hell bent on licking my wounds and being angry and feeling sorry for myself. I was determined to be angry and to wallow in self pity. I was completely blinded by my own pride. Instead of embracing my brother (as he did to me when I was completely sinning against him) and forgiving him with open arms, I resented him and wanted to hurt him. I was so focused on his sin, that I didn't see my own.

In the busyness and the noisiness and the chaos...it is so easy to ignore my own faults. It is easy to continue walking onward, as if I was really different, or really changed by God's grace. It is easy to convince myself that I really am obviously different from the "non saved" and that people can see God working in me. When I surround myself with believers, who will be there to actually tell me whether or not I really am different? Christians have been taught to seek out Christ in other believers. We are quick to do that for our fellow Christians. We rarely do it for those that are not in our click. I was too comfortable. I was too contented by the people I had surrounded myself with. I do not want to be comfortable ever. I want to constantly be bended, challenged, pushed and changed. I want at the end of my life, to be so clear an example of Christ, that there is NO question about who lives in me and who leads me. I don't want to be like everyone else. I want to be like Christ.

Okay...so this has been really rambly. God is good. Please always know...when I write these things...I am writing about myself. I am judging myself and condemning myself. I would never be so presumptuous to assume that I know what anyone else needs to hear. God is teaching me so much about myself, who He wants me to be, and how He wants me to get there. I am a constant work in progress. I am not now, nor will I ever be, content with who I am. I do not believe the day will ever come where I will go, "Okay. I've finished working. I am a complete puzzle now" at least not while I walk this earth anyway.

Oh I can't wait to get to heaven! I can't wait to be free from myself! Until then...these boots were made for walking, and that's just what they'll do! :)