The bed-rocky stuff

I'm lucky enough to be a part of community of lovely creative driven inspired people who let me play with them and it's the best.

The last couple of months, life has surprised us. Like, shaken us in weird ways. The bedrocky stuff.

Relationships that seemed as solid as sailing ships have ended. A landlord ended up supporting a nazi.

It's all very grown up in some ways, and makes us question and confide and reflect and sometimes take action.

I'm very grateful those in leadership positions are truly leaders, transparent and brave and humble.

We're very lucky.

It's the bedrocky stuff that shakes us. 

Cross posted from G+ - - Mother's day

It was an EXTENSIVE mother's day... even though my feelings about the day itself didn't start as the greatest.

Mother's Day is complicated.

Today was pretty wonderful.

My mom was in town.
Me, Mom, Oscar and my sister (and her dog) went to the park.
We stopped for treats.
Mom left for Sux City. (boo)
I bought myself a slice of pizza and didn't share my dessert with anyone (in a blur of "what do I need?" and basic greed.)
I laid down for a hot second.
The internet is a sentimental place on holidays, made up or no.

A robot helmet was dug out.

I am grateful to live in a city (a world perhaps) that people are impressed and ready to be impressed (or at least smile) at a four year old in a robot helmet.

It's a pretty great helmet.

He's a pretty great four year old.

A running hug from T. Danger!
A year with Frog and Toad! (Bradley Greenwald IS a treasure. There's this cookie scene...)
An unexpected backstage tour including backstage cookies!
Sandwiches!
Unexpected Mother's Day wishes from strangers!
Pillsbury House Chicago Avenue Project!
An empty dance studio to play 3 Little Pigs in!
More hugs and generosity and big kids who chased Oscar around like madness!
Kind grown ups who liked my play! (and had much deeper things to say than expected)
Leftover home made eclairs!

And really, it all sort of started last night.. Off Book was an unexpected treat.

All this, and... Neil Gaiman has another American Gods episode waiting for me. I probably won't be able to watch it tonight. I look forward to it's smart stupid lurid well cast-ness. I crave this more than a brunch.

Happy mother's day. It's still complicated. But still, it was a day. And what a day.

Honolulu: cross posted from G+

We are in Honolulu (PG has a conference, and was lucky enough to find dirt cheap tickets). Without the kiddo. He's with grandma and his Aunt, keeping them awake longer than either expected. It's very indulgent, and also very nice.

 - I know so little about Hawaii. Never mind how much Magnum PI one has consumed. But.. I wasn't pumped to be in a city while in Hawaii (which is a very privileged thing to say). Because nature is what Hawaii has in mind-popping ways, and a city can be a city.

But - - Honolulu is neat. I had no idea.

 - A mix mix mix. It would be very hard to be here if you were expecting a place where everyone looks like you. Or wanted an IHOP without hanji translation. You're a one one one ratio with tourists (and locals) from all over the Pacific.

 - Which means it's not hard to find noodle shops and matcha ice cream and korean cafes and McDonalds that serve Portuguese sausage and spam for breakfast..

 - I love Hawaii grocery stores with all of my tiny little heart. Mix mix mix.

 - There's also British or Australian people here. If they're actually British, I tip my hat at their perseverance through a hell of a plane trip. If they're actually Australian, they move very slow while shopping and don't say much. Which doesn't seem very Australian. (I'm judging them all.)

 - I have eaten spam every day and I will not stop. If you offer me Musubi (spam on rice wrapped in seaweed for under $3 a 'sandwich'), I'm gonna eat it with a joy verging on desperation.

 - More rice sandwiches!

 - The beautiful surfers, male and female, young and old, who's bodies are shaped by ocean daily. They're all relaxed lean and muscle, who have very comfortable relationships with their swimsuits. (My relationship with my swimsuit is fine. Maybe a little humorous. I only caught one man eyeing my belly button in strange ways... My belly button is on it's own particular journey through this pregnancy.)

 - We are staying by Waikiki beach (fancy!). Today we drive to the North Shore (fancy!) to watch more surfers and see if PG can find a sea turtle. I'm hoping for some duck diving and more spam.

 - I get back Tuesday morning on a red eye. BWAHAHAHAHAHAH. Let's see how that works. It's five hours behind Mpls. Crossing all fingers and toes.

Onward.

My mom swears

My mom swears.

It's now a mark of intelligence (and my mom is very intelligent. Even though she would down play this instantly. Which is probably also a sign of intelligence.)

But, I don't swear around my four year old. I really don't swear much lately, as much of my time is spent around kids.

I pride myself in the code-switch, for better or worse.

But I don't necessarily know if it's a good thing.

So... we don't use swear words. And my mom does. And I twiddle over every well-placed swear word Grandma utters in the presence of the four year old. Probably unnecessarily. As worry may not be a sign of intelligence. 

Start Again. Start Over.

Going with a new plan. My morning quiet time (usually 10 minutes or so) will be used to write. Sorry, world - - here it comes.

I love talking about process when it either comes to things I love love love or to other people's process (as in, encouraging).. but it's the other people's processess that I don't hear about that are really the bomb and that I excite and jealous over. This guy wrote a book. This guy finished a play (usually with a couple of other people and a lot of literal falling down. This gal opened a theater.. or, possibly more important, talked her stories in front of a lot of people over and over until she realized how to do it really well.)

My friend Joe is inspirational in this. He writes poems and sends them out into the world. Poems! The scariest, most personal, most poem-y of all art forms. You can't photoshop a poem. You can't act it into greatness. It just is.. and they're beautiful. I don't have to like every poem he publishes, but I can peek. And now, as far as daily poems goes, he has gallons of poems.

To the makers go the stuff. But let's just put it into a "to the practicers, go the stuff".

On another note, PG is being incredibly loud in the kitchen. I don't know if it's because he doesn't has his ears on, or it's just how he would anyway (or if I'm extra tired this morning), but if there's a cupboard to bang or a bowl to drop or a microwave to slam... he is into it. 

Your 'holiday' is dumb..

We're not really doing holidays over here.

We didn't really do them last year either. Felix was in the hospital. They were just sort of a blur, except for what the staff (very wisely) made of them and other special days. (But the other days were special for a reason - - they were based on him and other family.)

All other holidays seem very arbitrary and, like cold weather fireworks, stupid.

I know they're important to mark the passing of a human life, but... these dates are made up. Why these dates? Why not? (Because they're stupid dates in the middle of winter. Australia wins the holiday war.)

I'll celebrate my own holidays without knowing that they're holidays except in reflection. I'm forever grateful for the time I have and what I've got. Someday, maybe Christmas will feel like Christmas again, and I really do like to go dancing, but for now, I can't. Christmas is when the lights get hung up, New Year's is when it's really expensive to go out, and the neighbor has a party until 12:30 a.m..

And inexplicable cold weather fireworks boom inexplicably from 12mid - 12:45 a.m.. (WHO'S WATCHING THEM? Imaginary dickheads in tall towers, that's who. I truly don't understand.)

I don't care to mark the passing of 2016 because I'm on a different timeline.

I'm glad folks are enjoying it and I am forever grateful for the joy and support and play those friends have brought me. I'll wish them love and can't wait to see their faces. I can't wait to play with them again.

Happy 2017, folks.

Hero Heroes Heroes

Carrie Fisher passed away yesterday, and that sucks. She's fine - - it just sucks for the rest of us.

The public grieving of Carrie Fisher and the explaining... always the explaining.. I don't know if it comes with that variation of geek grief, but everyone seems to not only be grieving, but explaining WHY WHY WHY.

(Sidebar - - growing up, I had no one to talk about science fiction fantasy comic books etc. with. I kept it mostly to myself, except for getting really excited when my fifth grade teacher chose to read Lloyd Alexander's "The High King" out loud. I remember Alana Olson complaining something about how I was the only one in class who liked books like that... but having her read that particular book was magic. After I grew up, and found myself at a couple of Science Fiction conventions, I grew pissed. Here are a group of people with your like-minded interest.. and they were arguing over who knew the most. They were one-upping each other on the trivia vs. celebrating the amazingness of it. Pissed Jen. It was like playing with musicians who were gear heads. I don't care what your instrument is: I care about how it treats you and you treat it. Maybe I just didn't find the right folks. Who knows... )

And here I am explaining why...

Princess Leia was the bomb.

She was not only my hero, but basically my only choice of hero. Visually represented speaking. The 80s were a great time for adventure movies, a rough time from heroines. Most female characters were just plot devices to get the white straight hero in trouble. There was a lot of screaming. So much screaming.

Princess Leia did not scream. She got shit done.

She had awesome outfits and wore her long brown hair (representation matters, folks) in actually practical ways. She was brave without saying she was brave. She was frustrated at the ineptness of the males around her, and just wanted to get the shit done.

SpeederBike Chase! Communing with Ewoks! Cloud City Dinner with Vader! Garbage chute! Bustin' up a Starbux! WHY DID SHE NEVER GET A LIGHTSABER! GAH!

I was her for multiple halloweens, and when in Kindergarten, we were able to make hand puppets out of paper bags, I made Princess Leia. With a tiny black blaster.

All my other heroines of note were letters on a page, until the edited-for-TV version of "Aliens" showed up and suddenly I had 3+ badass female heroines (I include Newt. Newt survived for a very long by herself in a spaceship full of monsters. Newt's great. And Martinez! And that poor pilot!) And of course Ripley, who, again, frustrated by the ineptness of the males around her, got shit done. Points for being a brunette.

And that was about it.

Marvel comic books eventually entered my household, and I got that weird mix of often poorly written but pretty awesome heroines (Hi Kitty Pryde. What. You also have a pet dragon. What? You're a brunette? That's fantastic.) and boobs. As the 90s continued, the scale tipped to all boobs all the time, and I gave up.

Things (obviously) have changed, thank god. The YA genre is filled with very capable heroines, and new comic book heroines have appeared, fully dressed. And, visually speaking, we've got a Rey and a Jyn and a Katniss and that poor tortured looking girl from whatever Divergent is. Hopefully we'll get some non-white heroines in there eventually please.

And Carrie Fisher. We love you, Carrie Fisher. You were smart capable honest flawed and funny. Your smile was amazing. Thank you for putting up with us, and not putting up with our shit. I wish you were still here. 

Dec. 24th, 2016

Google "Rediscover This Day" is kind of a jerk. 

This day, a year ago, we began our trip in hospital. Began what we might have suspected, but truly didn't know would define 2016 and ourselves for us. I see pictures of baby on a hospital bed. Our 2? 3rd? 4th EEG. My hair. 

I didn’t know. We didn’t know. Felix went code blue four times this night, terrifying 6th floor nurses, until they promptly moved us back to 3rd floor before the shift break. We didn’t know. All of the EEGs. All of the acetone. All of the glue. All of the readings. All of the questions that never really gave up answer. And at the center, a sweet trapped little boy. 

It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. We miss him so. 

I have my to do list on the refrigerator from before he was born. It says to Assemble the crib. The crib has been assembled, and it’s never coming down. 

I love you, Felix, and I miss you. There are so many people who love and miss you too. You touched so so so many. How can one little child, one little life, do that? YOU ARE AMAZING, DEAREST BOY, AND WE MISS YOU EVERY DAY. WE WILL NEVER FORGET YOU. 

I’m so lucky to have carried you, to have held you, to hold you. That your cells still swim through me, just like the other kiddos. Four pregnancies. One miscarriage. One beautiful healthy boy. One beautiful baby. One Who Knows. 

Yesterday was such a beautiful day

It was such a beautiful and nice day.

Kiddo only had a cannula on. No eeg. Not anything else. Short seizures, rarely desat'ing. I just want to hold and hold and hold him.

Today, he has the EEG and a BPAP on. He kept desaturating over night.

I knew how rare and precious yesterday was. I miss it, and I hope we can go back to it. 

A unnecessary meditation on comic book television

From infant feeding to hospitalization, my intake of media is currently pretty limited by what I can stomach.

Which, right now, includes Superhero sitcoms produced by the CW..

Things..

 -  Brandon Routh and Grant Gustin are absolutely fantastic. I will watch them as superheroes, no matter what superhero they play. 

- why does the gentleman who plays Arrow always appear to be wearing eyeliner? Like a tiny underdressed Eddie Izzard.

- the superhero costuming makes sense.

- the regular costuming makes absolutely no sense... There's should not be that many crop tops as casual wear. Why does it seem to be continually 1995? I don't get you, TV's DC universe.

- Did you need a reminder that comic books are actually, in their heart of hearts, soap operas for 15 year old boys? Look no further!

... These two are romantically engaged, talking about past life couple dynamics... This is why one should rarely engage in EXPLAINING comic book plots to anyone. Your crazy fever dream can be  scary and alienating. 

- there's one actor who's approach to the his character is to bark every line... It's actually fantastic.

It's so dumb. But so smartly dumb. So self-conscious, and yet not. Much like comic nerds themselves. 

Onward.

Things that seem feasible right now

Things that seem feasible right now

 - Starting drinking. By choice.
 - Starting a faith in god. .. This also seems appropriate.

Luckily, escapism can currently come in the form of streaming television. I supposed to go to rehearsal today, and I don't know if I have the brain power. But. It's escapism too.

And also, there's just being here. Surrounded by isolation gowns and caring people who don't know.

Do parents just up and leave this situation? I keep wondering this. Whatever the saying from "Lilo and Stitch" (which would leave me even more crashed if I could remember it right now): that's what's happening right now.

Poor sweet little kid. Strong dude.  

Things I have contemplated while becoming a 'Hospital Mom'...

It turns out that there is a title for my current 'condition': hospital mom.

I never planned on becoming a hospital mom (I've only been a mom mom for around three years), but it's chance you take, having kiddos. Someday, the varietal of mom I am might take a different form: right now, I'm writing you from behind my almost-three month old's fancy-yet-janky hospital bed.

Things I have contemplated getting while hospital-momming:
 - Tattoos. Possibly all of them. My kiddos' names in the best of writing. (Although, I've found that their picture as my phone's home screen works really well. I look at that screen 100s of times per day. And now, everything time I get to see the picture, I get happy.) :)
 - A perm. This might be a cry for help. Or possible genius.

Things that are fun:
 - The anagrams that peppers medical speak. "I's and O's" meaning "Ins and Outs" (how much fluid he's taking in and producing), "PRN" for "per diem? something something", etc.. It's another language, and one that's fun to throw around.
 - The support. This place is amazing. And the systemic support is heartening and impressive.

Things that are not:
 - Intubation. Intubation is a godsend. Intubation is rough. I hate it and am so grateful for it.
 - This cold that follows me.

Things that are things:
 - We don't know what we don't know.
 - Even what we know, we really don't know.
 - We don't know much...

Please know we love you. (As does Aaron Neville. On every soft rock station. Forever.)

ART/Art/art

I thought of a handy definition today. And this is nothing new. People have said this before. It just never clicked for me before. 

I think I got hung-up on the word Art. I love this word. It's what I wanted to do, it's the direction I wanted to follow, it's what we should aim for, etc.. And, I think, art became ART and lofty. 

I didn't mean it to. 

It's just easier to give into fear if art is ART. Why attempt that? I might get it wrong. 

This is what I've decided: art (music, dance, theater, art, poetry, comedy in any form, ALL OF IT) is just another way to communicate. 

And is a way to help us process. 

Our brains are processing machines. But, even though we are married forever to the facts (the data reel of who, what, and how), the facts are never the entirety of any experience. 

"I gave birth" will never be just "I gave birth."

Just as, "I was dumped" or "I was alive in 2014" will never only be just that. 

I think.. our brains crave reflection. Dreams give us that (they process and process). And so does art. 

Some of us need to see bodies move in space to deal. 
Some of us to holler with a song. 
Some of us need color or contrast. 
Some of us need stand up comedy (especially when processing the political). 

This art does not have to be 'good' (whatever that means). This art just has to be. 

So... in thinking about my own (scaredy cat) Art/ART making, I've realized that.. 

I have all the excuses in the world not to Make. And this serves no one, especially myself. 

So - - you! We need your art!

We need your dumb song lyric. We need your doodle. We need your poem. We need your character. We need your sketch. We need you to dance. It doesn't have to be 'good', it just has to be. Make it. You don't even have to show us your art, but it'd be wonderful if you did. Let us witness it, please. Sharing is caring. My brain, and myself, will thank you for it. Even if it doesn't serve me, something will click with someone. And that's amazing. 

Through another's act of reflection or creation, some part of me will process and reflect. 
I will frame and re-frame. 
Something, maybe mysterious, might click. 

We can find the answer, hiding in other's stuff. Does that make sense? (I"m really tired.) Cool? Cool. 

The non-art of feeling all the things

I know it's part of the human condition, feeling more than one emotion at a time. Or, really, all the time.

Or perhaps it's more part of becoming an adult.

 - I'm so grateful for it all...
 - I'm so scared.
 - I'm so happy (when glimpses of something that might be seen as positive.)
 - I'm so sad (so sad this is happening, so sad for him, so sad for us).
 - I'm so tired.

Really. Just very tired.

I'll come back for rounds tomorrow, and hang out. My ability to speak and spell drains away.. there is no autocorrect that can translate it all.

I don't know when and what to eat. I know logically, and so, that's what I've set myself up for. And I do that. But.. not having an appetite is weird. (Unless cake is involved. I'm pretty sure that I always want cake.)

Sleep is a big hammery anvil that swings it's way down onto me. I hate it when it misses. Lately, it rarely does.

I double check my things. Keys, phone, cords, water.. every little bit. I don't trust my ability to track. There's not much to be done (which makes things like playing with the two year old weirdly easy and fun.. There's not much more to think of.)

Feeling all the things. And mostly, just tired.

Snow - a compromise

I don't like snow.

Yes, not liking snow and living in Minnesnowta is stupid and contradictory. 

But -- I like other stuff about this place.

I scrooge. 

When some one celebrates "snow on Christmas", it grates on me. 

More Scrooge. 

It feels like a Hollywood prescription of how the holidays are supposed to go, and someone has drank the consumer hallmark kool aid. 

I am yucking someone else's yum. 

The whole idea of 'Christmas isn't Christmas without snow' makes me want to decorate a cactus.

Holidays and family are just that, and to me, at this time in my life, snow is not related.

I will give snow a break. I will marvel a its complexity. The science of snow is absolutely beautiful. And here's more.

Truths about snow:

- it's pretty and covers everything up. 

- snow is a fantastic equalizer. When I lived in north Minneapolis, a snow fall would make everything as pretty as anyplace in Minneapolis. (And bring about the truth that North Minneapolis IS as pretty as anywhere in Minneapolis.)

Things I like about snow:

- it's a muffler. It quiets things in a very personal way.

Things I don't like about snow:

- it could kill you. That's probably the main one.

And so could the desert. And the ocean. And that cinnamon roll. 

But here I am. Happy with cinnamon rolls and hating on something which doesn't care. Something that turned to ice and something I'm usually pretty good at walking on (the majority of this post was written before biffing it today).

Happy holidays, friends. Hoping it's beautiful, snowy or not.

It's okay to call it a come back, if that's LITERALLY what it is.. literally

Hi! Hi hi! Hi blogspace I haven't touched for over two years!

The very tiny baby has turned into an two year old, sometimes contrary, genius. And now there's actually ANOTHER tiny baby, almost two months old, farting and pooping and learning how digestion works.. We're all learning how digestion works.

To the makers, go the spoils - - so, here I am, trying to make again. Or at least write. Or at least, something. I feel like I 'don't have much to show' for the last two years, whether that's true or not. (I've honest to goodness done things! Neat things I'm proud of and feel so lucky to have been a part of! Things! I love things!).

And now - - things! Things written into the digital blogspace and thrown into the digital wind. How's it going, blogspace?

Onward. 

Candy Crush / Bejeweled / Time Suck Guilt Juice

I have decided that playing my little phone game (I don't Candy Crush. I have no idea what Candy Crush is. I play Bejeweled. Alas, was there such a time suck?) is akin, to me, to drinking.

Instead of watching my beautiful child's development and how he's basically managed to twist around on his own (this shit is amazing), I played Bejeweled while in the same room as him. It occupies the same indulgent, sometimes guilt, space. And I don't have access to a whiskey sour. If I had a whiskey sour, I would probably be guilty of drinking while in the same room as my beautiful son, as he discovers the joy of cartoon owls.

I could also be using these Bejeweled moments to WRITE or to get decent at the ukulele or blog or call my mom. But my mom is asleep, my ukulele is thousands of miles away, and I WILL write some today, goddammit. I will also watch my beautiful child. And play some Bejeweled.

On my mind:
 - http://www.cracked.com/blog/6-harsh-truths-that-will-make-you-better-person/
 - http://thelastpsychiatrist.com/2012/11/hipsters_on_food_stamps.html

By the end of the year, I hope to take a hip hop dance class. It could be a repetition of two years ago's tap class, but.. NO MATTER!

Ah.. now my child has stuck his foot through the bars of the crib and appears stuck.

Onward.


  

Non-Obligatory Food Post: Salt and Lemon Juice

What I have learned over the last two years: many many things are improved with lemon juice and salt. You might have some fancy ingredient in said something (like tahini or fish sauce), but as long as you add lemon juice and salt, you might look like a genius.

*denotes fancy ingredient, which is often skippable. Take that.

Hummus!
 - Chickpeas
 - Lots of garlic
 - A little bit of tahini*
 - Lemon Juice!
 - Salt!

Potato Salad!
 - Boiled potatoes
 - Boiled eggs
 - Chopped up whatever else is in the refrigerator
 - Mayo
 - Mustard (Dijon*)
 - Raisins*
 - Pepper if you like
 - LEMON JUICE!
 - SALT!

Chicken
 - Chicken
 - LEMON JUICE!
 - SALT!

Zucchini* Carrot salad
 - Carrots
 - Zucchini*
 - Olive oil
 - LEMON JUICE!
 - SALT!

Eggplant/Asparagus/Brussel Sprouts*
 - Eggplant/Asparagus/Brussel Sprouts*
 - LEMON JUICE!
 - SALT!

Fish* .. like.. all fish
 - Fish*
 - LEMON JUICE!
 - SALT!

Pasta with butter

 - Pasta

 - Butter

 - LEMON JUICE!
 - SALT!

 - Parmesan cheese*

Eggs (I haven't tried it but why not!?)
 - Eggs
 - Butter
 - LEMON JUICE!
 - SALT! 

Your mom
 - Your mom
 - LEMON JUICE!
 - SALT!
(your mom = not fancy.)
(Now I feel bad. Your mom is lovely. Please call her.)

.. You see.

Excuse me, is this a food blog? 

The imaginary dinner party in my head proclaims things like, "Oh, how summery!" and "You cook so light!" and again, you will feel like a mad genius. This imaginary dinner party all are wearing hats,  mustaches, and bustles. 

I'm pretty sure it's all about the acid. And I'm pretty sure that this acid could be replaced with just about anything (white wine! vinegar! Win!), but lemon juice gets top billing for the pure food blogginess of it all. You're welcome.

Onward. 

Non-obligatory food post: Blau Milch

Back in 1996, for all the stupid reasons, I was studying abroad (hi-oooh) in East Berlin. In the winter. For all the stupid reasons. (Did I speak German? NO. Did I have any previous interest or knowledge in Germany except for being partially of German descent and I had watched "The World at War" in History class? NO. Sometimes it is better to jump into these things blind. And stupid.)

I lived with an incredibly cheap and angry hausfrau, her nice and removed husband, and her beautiful, PERFECT ENGLISH SPEAKING and racist daughter. This daughter introduced me to my one German friend: Arne. Arne was awesome, and we would go on adventures. And he took me to BlaumilchKanals.

I remember BlaumilchKanals because:

a) It's excellent name
b) I think it was the place that had the wall of Barbies in jars. Thank you, art scene of mid-90s Berlin.
c) It served Blau Milch!!!

Blau Milch (blue milk) is milk with blue berries and blueberry syrup mixed in it. And it was new and weird and delicious, and I felt badass next to the barbies. (90s!)

Tonight, I had Red White and Blau Milch.. Do you like milk? Do you like strawberries and cream? Do you like America (not this week, but the general concept when it sometimes works and isn't full of stupid)? Then you will like this!

 - Take berries (I used blueberries and strawberries). Throw them into your glass.
 - Sprinkle sugar on top. (If you are a super cuisine badass, you have already rolled your eyes at me, as you've cooked up a simple syrup on your stove top. In fact, you even added berries to your simple syrup. It's stupidly delicious. You've already put your simple berry syrup in your glass and are feeling superior. Good.)
 - Muddle the berries in the glass. (i.e. take the end of your potato masher and smash them for about a minute.)
 - Pour on the milk.
 - Drink. And then take a spoon to eat your berries with.

I am putting this picture here so you believe that this is a food blog. 

Delightful. And easy to boozify! (i.e. add some Baileys.)

Feeling the urge to blather about food more.. Onward!

Sapphire bullets..

Man, this kid.

Bullets of pure love. :)