Tag: Motherhood

The Many Gifts Of Motherhood

With Mother’s Day being tomorrow, I felt compelled to write about the life altering, personality changing, ever-teaching, extraordinary experience it is to be a mother. We as a society celebrate Mother’s Day by thanking our caregivers, mothers, aunts, grandmothers, or special women in our lives who have made a difference or have shaped us in one way or another. I’m taking a bit of a different approach today, feeling immense gratitude toward my two sons and celebrating the many gifts and wisdom they bring to me daily as their mom.

Before diving into the wonder of momming, I want to first say that I realize there are many women out there who have tried, craved, and hoped for children, but whose bodies had other plans. While motherhood ended up not being their path biologically, something tells me their nurturing ways and calling to be a caregiver will lead them to that in one way or another, even if not in the way they had anticipated. In my experience, I’ve found the universe has ways of bringing what we crave into existence, even if not in the way we exactly envisioned. In the end, no matter how it manifests in our lives, it’s part of each of our unique human experience.

Some women are born nurturing, motherly, caring, loving, and then some. We all know women like this, they are all the things it means to be a mother. When I had my first son, impostor syndrome crept in for a little while. I wondered, like many other first-time moms do, if I was going to be capable of giving this tiny human everything I had hoped to give him. I made a promise to myself that I would do everything in my power to try to be the best mom for him and my future children. Both the exhilaration and terror of this new responsibility felt overwhelming. I consider the amount of gray hair that sprouted in that first year of motherhood to be my body’s way of validating all that excitement and stress , almost like silver exclamation marks that erupted from my brain and out through my scalp.

The first year with my baby boy was filled with snuggles, coos, a new-found kind of love I’d never known, an overwhelming feeling of wanting to protect, co-sleeping, breast-feeding, diaper changes, and ten months of sleeplessness. It was a jumbled mess of zombified work days met with gleeful kisses at home. Juggling a rare breastfeeding condition called Dysphoric Milk Ejection Reflex (DMER), overproduction, as well as four bouts of mastitis, had me feeling elated at month 6 when I would nurse him for the last time. Freedom like that never felt so good!

It was beyond that first year of difficulty and stress, where I found a certain kind of fulfillment in motherhood that connected me wholly with my toddler. The first year we are so stressed! We put one foot in front of the other, clutching our coffee like it’s pure gold. We chant: “Must-keep-this-tiny-human-alive” in our minds as we leave car doors open and pour orange juice in our cereal. Every phase after that first year has been my favorite. Actually, let’s pause on that because I have a teenager who will be turning 14 in less than two months, and there may be a shift happening in terms of how much I’m enjoying this phase.

We all hear moms hearken back fondly to a certain time with their children they treasure. Everyone has those favorite moments they cherish and they love to reminisce about.

“I loved the phase where my daughter couldn’t pronounce words correctly!”

“It was the absolute cutest when my son would climb into bed with me every morning to cuddle and I’d listen to him ponder the world!”

“Ages 7–10 are the best, they still like you, and aren’t grouchy with hormones taking over yet.”

“There’s nothing like walking in the door and having someone jumping up and down, running toward you full speed and squealing with delight for a good ten years.”

“I could never be away from my baby when she was small, I’d miss those squishy snuggles too much.”

While we all think back at the blur that is parenthood when our children are small, there are always the special moments that particularly stand out: the highs, the lows, the milestones, the unexpected, the memories. My personal favorite are the traditions created by each of us, etching our way with our own unique family habits. This is the significant imprint we leave stamped on our children’s hearts to look back fondly on when we’re no longer around.

One of our traditions was to read every single night with both of our sons starting from when they were babies. This tradition is still going strong give or take nights when they sleep over at friends and vice versa. That time has not only made a positive impact on their reading skills over the years, but it’s proven to be a time in their day to open up with questions about relationships, problems they’re facing, wins from their day, and sometimes curiosities about our youth and their relatives lives. I often wonder if this time was never set aside as a bedtime ritual, would these musings ever find their way to our ears?

Children teach us so much about not only life, but ourselves. How many of us are winging it, trying to build in a life lesson during moments when we’re not sure what the right answer is? My thirteen year old told me the way he was planning to talk to girls was online rather than in person because “it’s way easier mom”. Insert my horrified face and rebuttal of, “going up to a girl and striking up a conversation is far easier than surfing the web trying to talk to strangers! Trust me! If online, they may live out of state, be cat fishing you or much older than you, or live in another country! There are girls in your town — real people you can talk to in the flesh!”

Greeted with eye roll and exasperated exhale from teen.

While the teen years are supposed to be the most difficult, I’m trying to keep an open mind and a peaceful heart about it. This is a dawn of a new age coming out of the pandemic, not to mention social media melding their growing minds and personalities.

It’s rare I’m alone with my teen, but the other day we were in the car and had a lovely conversation. I appreciated that moment, we hadn’t had a nice long chat like that in quite sometime in spite of our now dwindling reading time at night. His life, like most teens, is made up of friends, video games, Tik Tok, and two physical activities- parkour and weightlifting. Being his mom is the best feeling in the world. He’s a serious go-getter and he’s so comfortable in his own skin. This year I received a letter from one of his teachers expressing what an exceptional human he is and I’m planning to print it out and put it in his baby book to save forever. I’m so proud of the man he’s becoming.

These are the positive life nuggets I’m trying to focus on, instead of worrying about him being corrupted by Tik Tok and that in 2 short years he’ll be driving.

My younger son, now ten years old, was the absolute opposite experience as a newborn. He was an angel with naps, eating, and sleep. He slept through the night by week 3 and was hardly fussy. His tough times as an infant revolved around driving in the car. We had a few trips where both our boys cried almost the entire drive to New Jersey, where my in-laws lived at the time. One time, we pulled over multiple times on the side of the highway, each of us trying to console with pacifiers, plushies, and fresh air. We couldn’t figure out why drives were so difficult until he began to vocalize that it made him feel sick, often vomiting on car rides. His brother struggled with this too, but not nearly as bad.

Nursing was still hell the second time around, but I held on tight for five months and then threw in the towel, ready again for that sweet freedom. But the second time around as a mom I had an “I got this” mentality and the added sleep really helped. There was a one month stint where he was colicky, and then we discovered simethicone drops, which saved the day. That month felt like a year… to all of you parents out there who dealt with colic for months, there’s a special place in heaven for you.

Once again, also with our second child, after that first year the veil of stress lifted, and I have adored every age since. Some moms will tell you they love and miss those infant years with a passion-I am not that mom! For me, the golden years of momhood have been every age over the age of one. But it sure did help when baby number two was much easier as an infant!

The mind bending thing about siblings is how different they can be. It forces you to bring your A-game to the parenting arena and keeps you on your toes. Did something work great for your first born? Great, well prepare for a curve ball from your second child. Over time, you come to parent each child differently because they are so entirely their own people.

My younger son has always been much more affectionate than his brother. And his brother is certainly affectionate, but not to this level. He still, even at ten years old, squeals when I walk in the door from work, albeit from his computer chair in his bedroom. I’m accosted with hugs from him randomly and often. He is one of the most observant kids I’ve come across and I don’t hold back in letting him know how surprised and impressed I am at the level of detail he takes in and recounts in his stories about his day, someone’s facial features, not to mention conversations he recalls from years ago.

While he expresses his love with hugs and cuddles, he does not say “I love you” often. I am one of the only people lucky enough to be on the receiving end of this phrase, possibly the only person he says it to. It’s a reminder for me every time he decides to say it that when someone says those words to us, it’s a gift. It isn’t owed us, we can’t demand someone say it, and it’s not something we can ever force someone to feel. I learn so much from my youngest son.

Just the other day, my sweet ten year old asked me earnestly, “Mom, do you think you’re fat?”

I had just been looking at a photo of myself and as per usual was ripping myself to shreds. Thankfully, I had not said anything about my weight, but I was talking more about the fine lines and wrinkles that now grace my face.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re more down on yourself than I even am about myself. So I was wondering if you think you’re fat.”

Holy hell! Note to Self- the kids are always listening. And, insert dagger in the heart when he said he was down on himself!

“I have become soft, which I’m not thrilled about, but I’ll exercise and eat right and try to improve it. That’s all I can do, and I’m working not to beat myself up about it. It’s basically what happens as we age. BUT, why in the world are you saying you’re down on yourself? You are perfect in every way, I mean no one has eyes in that shade of blue like you.”

I spent the next few minutes smothering him in compliments to try to understand whatever it was that he’s been feeling insecure about with regard to his physical appearance. It turned out he was getting teased about his new hairdo, a buzz. He had grown his hair sort of long and had decided to buzz it all off. While all of us at home loved his new ‘do, some of his friends at school felt differently and were smacking him upside the head and making annoying comments.

“ I wish I never cut my hair, I have a weird forehead.”

We are never prepared for those bombshells our kids randomly drop! However, this was a connecting moment. One where he’s allowed me to see into his mind, showing me that he’s trying to understand the inner-workings of why I think the way I do about myself and also sharing something he’s going through that’s similar. By asking me that question, it says that he’s paying attention while showing empathy. I had also realized that foolishly I was criticizing myself within earshot of my kids.

This is pure education for me as his mom. I’m learning not to say bad things about myself in front of my kids, and at the same time, I’m realizing they may learn to say bad things or think poorly of their own physical appearance based on modeling my behavior.

One thing is for sure- kids and people are always going to say unkind things or express unwanted opinions. It’s so important for us not to be the ones pouring gasoline on ourselves in those situations. We should be fireproofing mentally by building ourselves up internally.

This is exactly what I mean when I say motherhood is the gift that basically keeps on giving. My kids and your kids teach us things like this all the time, spurring us on, unknowingly, to be better moms and humans overall.

In four years from now, my oldest will leave the nest to go to college or trade school, and in eight years my youngest will do the same. The years in between will bring new and precious revelations and wisdom, which will give me the opportunity to flourish and grow even more as a human and mother. And in the meantime, I will anxiously and excitedly await the next group of phases my kids will experience, when I will undoubtedly sprout new silver exclamation marks from my scalp. This will be a real life reminder of the exhilarating and wonderful feeling it is to be their mother.

When You Enter The Uncool Zone With Your Kids

We’d all like to think we’ve still got it. I’m not talking about that “it” factor that makes people attracted to you. You know, like when the college boy working the ice cream counter appears to have done a double take, and you walk out of there with an extra skip in your step.  I’m talking about the cool factor with your kids. Somehow, we’re hip in our kids’ minds for a certain time. We are infallible for a hot second and, on occasion, they look up to us. Maybe it’s because of the stories we share with them, or the things we participate in with them, or perhaps it’s purely because they feel the love.

Don’t be fooled friends, this can all change on a dime. I’m sure some of you are already being nicknamed and called things by your kids as they chuckle under their breath. You’ve crossed over into the uncool zone if this is happening. On this note, according to my 6 year old, I am what he likes to call “Derpy“.  He learned this word from the FTG family on YouTube and, apparently, it is the opposite of cool.

We went out to dinner recently and I was shamelessly pointing and whispering about a famous person that was dining nearby. Kids, that guy is definitely famous. Teetering on being obvious, I tried a bit too hard to be enthusiastic to hype them up about it. For what reason- I can’t even tell you. I guess I wanted them to have the same excitement I was having so I was behaving like Lenny Kravitz had just blown me a kiss. I guess you could say it’s never quite as fun to spot a celebrity without someone else to enjoy the moment with.

We carried on with a relatively uneventful dinner and about half way through I connected the dots with who the guy was. He was simply someone who worked in the same building as I had for many years. A celebrity he was not! Once I realized this, I almost spit out my delicious margarita. I proceeded to laugh off and on about it throughout the rest of dinner. I thought it was hysterical. My kids and husband sat there shaking their heads at my ridiculousness. Mom, you’re SO derpy my youngest proclaimed.

I pick my kids up from school each day and usually we’ll pass by someone I know. According to my 6 year old, even the way I say hi to my friends is derpy. Mom why did you say “hi ladies” like that? You’re so derpy.

During a playdate, while making him and his friend a snack, I started chatting with my son’s buddy. He whispered to her, she’s SO derpy and rolled his eyes.

Now it’s a face I make in a photo, an outfit I wear, etc….it’s all…you guessed it….SO derpy.

This is surely payback from the universe for all the awful things I nicknamed my mom growing up: Splinter (the rat from Teenage Mutant Nina Turtles), Skeletor (the bad guy from He-Man), and Bronto, short for brontosaurus (because of her long neck and smallish head).

My 6 year old calling me derpy is way better than the mean things I called my mom the moment I deemed her uncool. Think back to what you called your parents or teased them about and get ready for it my fellow P’s.

Mom, you have my permission to call me Derpy whenever you want.

He Said

He said you girls will always be my number one most important thing in this world. It felt very true, until it wasn’t anymore.

He said we are going to have to kiss on the playground. But only because they want us to. No choice. He didn’t want to either. The crowd surrounded us, pushing, cheering, smiling. The teacher’s whistle blew and it was time to return to the 6th grade. The back of my arm wiped the saliva from my upper lip, chin, and cheeks.

He said it again, and again, and again. The words hissed and hung in the tan leather of his extravagant car. Weekend after weekend the words repeated and washed over this brain. Women who have sex are whores. Never have sex.

He said take this necklace, I will miss you after you move. Let’s be pen pals. His sweet second grade hand-writing a precious memory tucked away in the pages of my childhood journal.

He said do you want to go to the football game with me? New school and a new crush. The innocence; the electricity of our knees touching while shivering on the bleachers. The smell of high school concessions and crisp leaves in the fall air. The lights over the field shining down on the athletes as we watched. The familiar car lights pulling up to retrieve us. Hands interlaced, but only for a few seconds. Comforted to sleep by images of his pretty face; pointed nose, thick dark eyebrows, sharp cheekbones. The anticipation of the bus ride palpable. The rush of excitement as my shoes met with the bus stairs. The sounds of the whispers. The name in the whispers was mine. The blood draining from my face. The lies washed over me, like a bucket with too much water poured over my head, into my nose and mouth. Drowning in the feeling of betrayal. The sentences with our names were horrible lies. The ruining of my reputation in an instant. Confused by his kind, hand-holding innocence. Long term damage by untrue words spoken from his lips like wildfire in a matter of seconds.

He said you girls should come back to our hotel room. We’ll play cards and drink beer. He left the sliding glass door to the balcony cracked. The sliding glass door, his one mistake, and the only viable escape. Come out and look at the stars with me he said. Crashing of balcony furniture,aggressive scuffling, ripped clothing. His friend, a living angel, walking toward that sliding glass door, opening it gloriously wider, tilting his head quizzically at his red-faced, attacking friend. Running, running, running through that beautiful space between the sliding glass door. Running through the humid Florida night clinging to my sweat soaked skin . Running to freedom through the lobby, away from that hotel, and that strange, scary, teenage boy.

He said you have a gift, you should keep writing. A teacher that was otherwise insignificant in this life, in this mind, were it not for this statement.

He said nothing as he used a fleeting moment in a pool filled with people to rip my bathing suit off and grope me.

He said she’s my number one now. Sometimes things change. You girls need to listen to her because she’s your stepmom now. And then everything changed.

He said you’re no longer my daughter. You’re nothing to me. It was truth.

He said I’m sorry for what you have been through. I’m glad you’re here. You’ll always be a sister to me, I’m here for you and so is my family. This was truth. Truth that felt good.

He said of course I’ll sign. If it will help you buy your first car, or help you in any way, I will do it. You’re my niece, I’d do anything to help you. And because of this and because of him, I bought my first car.

He said just hang out with my older brother while I’m upstairs hanging out with N. He thinks you’re pretty; he remembers you from that party a few months ago. He was 21 and I 13. My friend later descending the stairs, jovial, beautiful, content. My state of mind a flagrant contradiction to hers. He got up and waved good-bye. We walked back to her house. I wiped his saliva from my chin, my face.

He said among the hundreds of tulips of every vibrant color covering every inch of my teenage bedroom, with white lights woven in between, will you go to prom with me?

He said That prom dress you wanted, it’s yours. I’m buying it because you deserve it, and I love you. And the dress of my dreams became the dress I wore to prom. Forever grateful, this I hope he knows.

He said I’m sorry for what you’re going through, we’re always here. You’re a good kid and I hope you know this. He was a man of few words and his few words meant the world to a sixteen year old girl. It was never forgotten, heartfelt, and so uplifting in that moment.

He said get in the f-ing van you slut! Gripping my wrist, my body hanging out of the open passenger side door, the van accelerating through the parking lot. Pulling, spitting, shouting obscenities, the man pulled as hard as he could to get all of me inside. A strange man, in a van, nude from the waist down. Pull, pull, pull away. Asphalt, hot, trip back to work. Call police to report. Horror, horror, saw you again; your smile, your stare searing through my flesh. Off to Boston, go, go, go, press the gas; leave this real life nightmare behind.

He said through tears and the kind of hug that makes it hard to breathe, I read your diaries while you were gone. Please don’t be mad. The sounds of the airport loud and distracting. Wrought with emotion, he continued on You don’t have to worry anymore in your life. I want to marry you… I love you and I want you to know I will never leave you. It was truth.

He said Congratulations it’s a boy! And the universe, God, love, and all of the emotion that embodies being human swept through this mind and body. Entangled experiences that shaped my unique world falling, falling away from me. Paradoxical.

He said I love you, Mom. Then later, They said I love you, Mom. And no more beautiful words were ever spoken to this mind, this heart, this human, this spirit. And I believe it to be truth.

When Your Child Turns 5 – The Final Goodbye to Having a Little One

Not daycare, not pre-school, not your first, second, third, or fourth birthday. Not even the first day back from maternity leave. None of those days stirred the type of emotional storm that hit me like a ton of bricks this week.  The catalyst brewing this storm of emotion is the birthday that awaits you in just a few short days- your fifth birthday.

The young age of 5 means so much more than it sounds. It reduces me to a weeping mess unable to gain control of emotions because it is having to accept a plethora of things.

It is having to acknowledge that you are changing every day so much right now. It is the realization that certain everyday things are coming to an end.  Like when I tried to lift you and place you into the shopping cart a few days ago and could barely get you off the ground. It’s the not being able to carry your sleeping body out of the car and lie you down in your bed. It’s having to respect the “I don’t want kisses” mantra (really, already?). It’s the end of being Mommy to you and now I’m just plain old “Mom”. It’s the knowing that this is likely the last time we can bring cupcakes and read a book to your class for your birthday. This means I will need to memorize the glee on your face when it’s taking place because I know you’ll be bursting at the seams with excitement. And honestly, I don’t know what’s worse-knowing this could be our last birthday visit to your classroom or that you want your dad to bring the cupcakes and read the book to the class on your birthday instead of me.

You will start Kindergarten in 8 short months. You are our last baby and we’re trying with every ounce to hold onto that before your “little” years are gone. Having gone through this once already with your older brother we know that it is definitely the age of many changes.  Shifts in normal day to day interactions start to take place and before we know it, you won’t be considered little kid status anymore.

For the last year, your dad has a running joke that you don’t get to have anymore birthdays. This is of course because he is also sad that you are growing up. He knows what turning five and starting kindergarten means.

When your brother turned five, it was also a very emotional time. The week he started kindergarten, I cried like a baby (this is what becoming a mom did to me, I used to have difficulty crying, and now I cry rivers). I just had this strong sense that things were going to change once he went to elementary school.  I remember calming myself with the thought that I had one more baby to go through all these stages again with.

But now you’re about to be five.

Being the second child means having to share the attention. This has made you an incredible sharer, extremely patient, smart, and unbelievably observant. It also means you get annoyed by us a lot because we’re always trying to pinch your cheeks, hug you, kiss you, cuddle you, etc.

But being the last child we’ll ever have means I’m of course questioning everything I did with you.  I know we gave our undivided attention to your brother since he was the only one for 3 and a half years.  So did I express that I love you enough during your infant and toddler years? Did I hug and kiss you enough? Did I chase and tickle you enough? Did I pay close enough attention to you when you most needed it? Because if I didn’t, it’s a bit late and the agony of not knowing if I did enough is really weighing on my mind. In fact, the more I think about it, the more of an insane person I become. I hope with all of my being that you felt the love my boy.

The other night, while I was lying in your bed reading to you, you were unusually tired and asked me to turn out the light. I stared at your face and in my head asked myself why the heck I often stare at the ceiling instead of your precious face during this nighttime ritual. As I started to drift off next to you, I felt your tiny hand land on my cheek. You patted my cheek and left your soft baby palm there, then you slipped your other hand into mine and fell asleep that way. This was a rare and gorgeous moment. It’s not often that we hold hands at bedtime and the last time I got a face pat as you were drifting off was when you were 3.

It felt as though you knew I was filled with worry. I searched your sleeping face.  Silently through this beautiful gesture, I felt some reassurance and some serious love.  And I felt really sad. Like really, really, really sad. I know I’m done having babies, but frankly, I wasn’t prepared for how hard the realization was going to be. There are emotions that just come out of nowhere.

In your mind, you’ve already graduated to I-can-do-and get-whatever-I-want-when-I-am-five; which you legit said the other day. Life moves onward and we should not stunt its growth no matter how hard it pulls on our hearts-obviously. This is perhaps one of the main reasons why humans have a memory. To frame in our minds moments that are most precious to us. Moments like the one last night; your small hand on my cheek and your other laced into mine. Hands that once fit only inside my palm.

Your life and future are going to be so much fun to watch and be a part of.  So while one part of us sadly says goodbye to your little self, the other part of us embraces the awesome big kid you’ll be. You can expect to see a mix of strange face expressions from your parents that include smiles of enthusiastic encouragement on our mouths, yet tears of nostalgia in our eyes.

Happy birthday, my last baby.

 

The Paths We Take

One of my favorite movies is Sliding Doors (1998) with Gwyneth Paltrow as the lead role. The movie takes us through her life in two ways. One half of the film shows how her life unfolds when she makes the train, the other half of the movie is what happens when she misses the train. I think the reason I love this movie so much is because it’s both timeless and incredibly thought provoking.

It’s fascinating to think about the many different paths life can take. Recently, I had the pleasure of  hanging out with various old friends whom I haven’t seen in awhile. The conversations were some of the most interesting I’ve had in a long time. I felt an immense amount of admiration while hearing some of their stories. Career accomplishments they’ve made these last few years, some had bucket list trips they had taken or are about to take, others were growing their families or had just bought their first home.  Some of them had started out with very little and have ended up quite successful. Others needed some help along the way due to the economic crash and had finally felt like they’d turned a corner. Some were living back under their parent’s roof and have now purchased their own homes and are more appreciative than ever of what they can now call their own. Watching people grow over the years and seeing who they become is one of the beautiful things in life.

Most people don’t see themselves as extraordinary.  Meanwhile, if they only knew how far they’ve come! As the listener, hearing these stories made my heart grow two-fold. People are out there working hard at life and damn, I want them to know these unique paths they’re on are all a pretty big deal! People need to take a moment and reflect on where they were 5 years ago versus where they are now. Be proud. Seriously. You’re killin’ it!

I look at my husband and how hard he has worked on his business. The path he chose actually lead us to Connecticut. That was my Sliding Doors moment: to stay in Chicago or not to stay. My path forked and while I was unsure about starting over again, I was sure I was in love, so I took a leap of faith.

These paths we all take aren’t 100% ours though. In part we owe thanks to the supporters that said the things we needed to hear or maybe the things we didn’t want to hear to make it to where we are.

Looking back on the night before I moved, my mother said some words of encouragement to me. She was probably wondering how I would be across the country, on my own with my boyfriend of only 5 months, no job lined up, a roommate I didn’t know yet, and so much uncertainty that lay ahead of me.  As it turns out, if she was nervous about my choice, she did not let on that she was. Instead she was excited for me, she told me she was convinced I would marry this guy, that she felt it was the right call, and that it was pretty awesome I’d be living near a beach and not too far from New York City. She 100% supported my decision. It was just the boost I needed to go forth and see what was in store for the next chapter of my life.

So here I am on Chapter 37 of my life and that little decision I made turns out to have been one of the best.

It got me thinking about the decisions my sons will make and where their lives might take them.

The other day I pulled into our driveway and both my sons were dancing out front. They had a little speaker set up (thank you bluetooth) and a sign taped to the speaker that said “Please give us Money”. After I stopped laughing at their cute creative way to make a dollar, I quietly watched them. I don’t know how long I stood there, but I tried to encapsulate the moment.

I took in their blonde fluffy hair, their face expressions, and their moves while jamming out with wild abandon. I thought about the men they will grow to eventually be. How will they choose to spend their days? Will they live far away from us? Will they want to call us or have nothing to do with us?  I wondered if they would choose to be married or stay single, to travel the world, or settle down and have families. Most of all I wondered if as their parent I could somehow bottle this carefree happiness that they embodied in this moment and make sure it stays part of them into adulthood.

For now, while they are young, it’ll be fun to talk about what they want to do or be or what they like and don’t like.  And then of course when they’re teenagers I can look forward to making them watch Sliding Doors with me. I’m very much looking forward to that.

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