What's NOT up?

I think it's kinda funny when people say, "Hey, what's up?" or "How's it going" or "How ya been?" or just plain 'ol "How are you?" Do people really wanna know. 9 times out of 10 it's a courtesy question; a filler for dead space when you're facing someone and you can't really say something like, "Wow, I can't believe you wore that shirt in public" or "adult acne is really hitting you hard."

The problem with me is I have hard time being genuine when I say, "I'm okay" because a lot of the time I am not okay. In fact 9 times out of 10 when I am asked one of those questions I want to scream and whine and complain and cry and, yes, sometimes, I would like to curl into the fetal position and suck my thumb. But, I don't. Instead I say, "Not much" or "I'm DANDY" or my favorite go-to reply, "I'm hanging in there."

"Hanging in there" has a lot of different meanings for a lot of different people. For me it means I live in a constant state of "to-do"s and lists and halfway done projects. If ever there was a case for adult ADD, I maintain it's all the mothers around the world who are so constantly busy that they start one thing, but then have to start something else before the first thing is completed. I find myself overwhelmed at the magnitude of my own expectations and deathly afraid of letting down everyone else. [People pleasing is an issue of mine, I've decided.] I pretty much do everything SORTA well (or SORTA crummy if you wanna be a half-empty-glass kind of person: laundry is washed and SORTA folded and put away; homework is done but SORTA doesn't make it back into the folder and/or backpack; chores are done SORTA; kids are fed SORTA good food (thank you for cheese and tortillas); lesson plans are SORTA done (if you count the really good ones floating around in my mind.) Sometimes I am cool with SORTA; other times SORTA bugs me and I get all wah wah wah about my life . . .Just a heads up for anyone else reading this who may be relating in any fashion. The way wah wah's usually end up with the bishopric counselor drops by when I am SORTA already ready for bed and says "Hey, how's it going" and I say, "Hanging in there" and then he says, "I want you to talk in church on simplifying your life...." And I SORTA want to hit him in the face, but I can't BECAUSE I NEED TWO HANDS TO HANG IN THERE!!!!

So, yeah, this week (and last) I have been trying to figure how to *SIMPLIFY* and avoid excesses. Thus far I avoided excesses when I did not eat the entire container of chocolate covered raisins at my mom's while watching Downton Abbey... that counts, right? Avoiding excesses is tricky when there's 5 kids (that's excessive. it is. I get that.) Avoiding excesses is hard when you're bred to be productive and industrious and the best and giving and, well, you know, all that jazz. I did call the choir director of my community choir and ask to have a break for this season because I just couldn't hold on to one more thing. What's really sad, though, is that when I think about simplifying, that's one thing that lifted me up instead of adding weight to my shoulders. In all fairness, one less "have to be [somewhere]. . ." is a lift in and of itself. I have been going to the gym and trying to lose some poundage before a much needed couples trip to Hawaii, but I have managed to not be excessive there (hmmm... maybe not such a good example.)

Bottom line, when people wanna know "what's up with Sarah" it's basically the same stuff. I am trying to keep my nose to the ground and take care of my family, be a good teacher, and a semi-decent person. If I seem to be "hanging in there" when you ask how I'm doing, just know I have no intentions of letting go.

Lists

List of what I did today:


Got up (HUGE accomplishment)


Showered, etc.


Dressed in heels


Caught up with Ms. Jones. She's the bomb.


Started grading papers


Helped students


Collected fundraising money


Helped more students


Started 1st period


Helped a lot of students


Worked on grading the same papers


Met with the department chair and Assistant Principal 2nd period


Started 3rd period without the papers graded


Tried to uncover the papers I was grading


Played a vocabulary review game with 4th period. It was intense.


Lunch.


Listened to Creative Writing from my students.


Tried to grade more papers.


Worked on the course catalog for our department.


Said a lot of curse words to myself.


Administrator came back in.


I almost cried.


But I didn't.


I spoke my mind instead.


Collected more money for the Educational Travel Club.


Thought about how this club may get these kids to Rome and Greece this summer. Sweet.


Helped several students after school before a 504 meeting.


REALLY helped a great girl so she can succeed in my honors class.


Packed up the same papers I started grading before school to grade tonight from home.


Rushed to in-laws to pick up Briggs.


Left in-laws grateful (once again) for all they do to help their kids and grandkids.


Got home to crack the homework whip.


Drove to Orr Middle School to watch Kenzie cheer.


Watched the bball team win.


Had to follow the bus to the school instead of bringing Kenz home so they could have a meeting.


Came home to dinner cooked by Tyler. (LOVE THAT MAN... have I mentioned he's going vegan?)


Checked facebook while eating dinner and pushing Kenz to do her homework.


Gave Briggs spaghetti with ketchup so he'd quit whining about wanting to eat it. Gross.


Send Brevin, Brock and Tyler running while I bathed Briggs.


Bathed Brevin and Brock when they came home winded while Tyler finished running.


Killed a scorpian.


Nagged Kenzie.


Finally took off my heels for the day. Ahhhh.


Carried my school papers in to my bedroom to grade from bed.


PJs on.


Checked email.


Updated Scrapfest blog.


Started to get a visual aura.


Got really annoyed by that.


Decided to blog anyway.


Can't really see straight because I am clearly getting a migraine.


Cursed out loud about the migraine.


Worried that I will be throwing up tonight from said headache.


Going to take some pain med and go to sleep.


Will transport papers back to school and pray they get graded before third period tomorrow.





Cheers y'all!

Greetings from the brink

I heard on the radio this morning that by today, ten days after the first of the year, is when people first slack on their new resolutions for the year. I found it incredibly interesting that in the falling short category of meeting my goals I was excelling (quite the paradox, right?!) I have much more pragmatic approach to goals being an ongoing process as opposed to an expectation (that I will inevitably fall short of) so I wasn't down on myself or anything. At the same time, I nodded my head that I was one of the statistics mentioned on the super reliable 94.1 morning show. [and yes, please don't judge me, I listen to Mark and Mercedes in the morning.]

Speaking of statistics, we are one of the most people in the world who were hit with the stomach bug this past weekend. Barf fest 2012 as my friend Moana called it when it hit her house last night. If you missed my bemoaning and complaining on facebook (YES! another statistic that I meet . . . being one of those annoying facebook posters who complains about illnesses!) Brock got the stomach bug AT school (poor kid allllllmmmmost made it to the toilet. And by poor kid you know I mean poor custodial staff at Wiener Elementary!) and was out of commission until Friday. Just as he started to rebound, Brevin was taken down and by midnight Friday Briggs was tossing his dinner. And on Saturday, Caylee was the last victim [so far...haha]. LUCKILY, Tyler and I escaped praying to the porcelin gods all weekend, but I am not gonna lie. Everything I ate this past weekend made me wonder, "Am I gonna regret this if it comes back up." It's kinda a good diet plan. ;) Just to keep the germ spreading to the minimum, we did refrain from spreading germs at a birthday party, church, and a family get together to celebrate my niece's 13th birthday. AND THAT WAS THE WORST PART of the whole thing! Fine, have a kid puke all over his bed and then roll in it (thank you amateur 3 year old) so I am doing laundry and cleaning bedsheets and children at midnight; okay, crap your pants WHILE you're throwing up and leave it for Dad to clean up because you're still too young to figure out how to manage all those fluids at once; great, deal with an overly emotional daughter who moans and whimpers for an hour as she is fighting the feeling to upchuck even though we keep telling her it's going to feel better, BUT kill my social life and I might get a little cranky. I was in a serious depressed funk by the end of Sunday and completely barn sour [read: sick of being cooped up.] I understand it was the responsible thing to do, but now that the whole world is being infected (seriously, so many kids in elementary and middle schools are being hit... high school is next, I am sure) I am reminded of my mantra that if it's out there, you're gonna get it anyway, so why use so many percautions. *Sigh. Not to really complain about the whole thing, the bookends of the weekend were my favorite: dinner at Grimaldis with good friends Friday night before it all went crazy and visiting my in-laws Sunday night [since we figured they'ed been exposed by virtue of babysitting the sicko kids all last week.] I am a girl that likes to be out and about, that's for sure.

The compensation for NOT getting the stomach bug was a killer head cold which is gratefully moving into my chest. Do-able. I sound very manly and lecturing today was interesting, to say the least. Hopefully I can keep my voice at least through finals next week. Happy winter season.

And by happy winter, I mean, happy to be suffering all this misery when our winter is only 60 degrees cold. What on earth am I whining for? Peace and love home-peeps.

The funny thing about family stories

Dug this treasure out of the May 2008 file.

At bedtime, my boys like to hear stories. They don't care if they're made up or not, but they do particularly enjoy true stories about Tyler and me when we were growing up. I've learned I can never go wrong with the story about me barfing in the school parking lot or with the one where I got busted by my dad at our neighborhood bike track after he told me to stay home and keep my bike put away. Night before last Brevin asked me about the night he was born and I could give him some sketchy details at best. I couldn't really remember the particulars about his birth. Whoops. Product of being our middle child, I s'pose. That AND the fact that 4 out of my 5 births have been middle of the night-ers and all my boys started pretty similar. I actually had the thought that I was going to have to call my sister to get most of the details of their births since she has a memory like a trap and has been there every time my kids were borned.

Today's after school activity once homework was done should have been to unload the dishwasher and put away clothes. However, instead I pulled up the pictures we have on the computer from the three boys births and I narrated their stories from a couple weeks before up until their blessing day. They were most interested in how their older siblings reacted to them and how big I was the days before birth. I was surprised at how much they weighed since I don't keep that info on my mind file. . . I know Kenz was my biggest at 7#15, but the rest gets kinda fuzzy. It kinda got me excited for Scrapfest in a couple weeks so I can actually record some more of the family memories before I forget more and more of the deets.

After the kids had their fill, I went back and looked at some of the old pictures and was loving on all the pictures of my nieces and nephews who've grown up with our kids. How blessed I am to have my kids have their cousins as such good friends. There's nothing more awesome than 2 year old little boys (Hayden and Conner) digging in the dirt and have another picture of the two of them as 8 year olds! So fun. Since today's my niece Sydney's birthday, I was marvelling at how she is 13!!! years old today. All the pictures of her and Kenz kinda made my heart swell a bit realizing 2/3 or their time with their folks has passed. Before we know it they'll be headed to college together. (Erin and I have already picked out their dorms at BYU... have y'all seen the new DT dorms? Gorgeous.)

When Tyler got home and started to make dinner (he's on this vegan kick) he wondered aloud what I was doing looking at pictures. I told him how the kids and I were trippin' down memory lane. His response was, "who cares? It's all about the future." Of course, he's just giving me a hard time. I do think a lot more about the future, but I LOVE remembering the past. We've been blessed with such good people and family in and out of our lives the past 15 years and it's fun to remember specifically (with the aid of pictures for me who is memory deficient) those events and times and cute baby outfits and the time when I could afford fake nails and ward parties and young men/young women activities, etc.

(And trust me... I found some doozies of many of you who are actually reading this post. I'm tempted to make a facebook album of random pictures from the Barlow family files... they may consider that file for the technological Smithsonian one day. THAT's how good some of them are!)

I am headed back to the school for a hot session of grading tonight, so I will miss story time when bedtime comes. See. . . it's a good thing we spend the afternoon doing that [read: doing nothing but looking at pictures this afternoon] instead! Peace out!

A day when my life got better

I have blogged two days in a row... now I am feeling all this pressure. There are still about ten of you who are reading and that kinda stresses me out. Just be warned. I really don't have a ton of exciting things to write about. Read at your own risk. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

So, I do have something I want to record for all posterity. The crush I have on one of my sisters-in-law, Stacy. I really love her. A lot. The past couple months have sealed the deal and I would like to dedicate this post to her.

Nate, Stac, and Zoee at their wedding. June 2006

For those of you don't know my brother, Nate, he's #3 of the 5 Garrard kids. Instead of the stereotypical forgotten middle child, Nathan was a rock star. He was the firstborn son and as my "oldest" male counterpart, he and I have similar take control personalities (although, I do recognize he is nowhere near as bossy and particular as me.) To illustrate how important Nate is to our family, allow me to share a story. One night, in the midst of Nate serving his two year mission for the church, my mom had a dream that all her kids died. It was one of those wake up sobbing stories. Ya know, devastating and stuff. Later in the morning after she had composed herself, Mom called me to tell me about her dream, and she ended the retelling with (and this is a direct quote), "the whole thing was so sad, but I was most sad that Nathan died." Well then. There ya go. Kinda rearranged the pecking order right thar. But really, I get it. Nate's a good guy. He was never a little brother that I "couldn't stand" or anything. Sure, he was quirky and marched to the beat of his own drummer (and to his own hair stylist), but I've always been grateful to have the siblings I've had, Nate included. [I seriously can't remember having a fight with Nate growing up . . . perhaps some of the other family can remember more than me...]

Anyway, fast forward (or rewind) or whatever and Nate found himself with a kid and a wife [yes, in that order] and that whole thing isn't that important. BUT what is important is that when he got a wife, we (the Garrard clan) gained the one and only Stacy Layton. We've all agreed, we really scored in that deal.

Stacy is funny. There's no question she is afraid to ask . . . to anyone. She is honest and transparent and REAL. I can always count on Stacy keepin' it real and saying things that nobody has the nerve to say. . .out loud. She is a good mom and an excellent wife to her "huzz," my brother. AND there's the small wondrous factor that she has provided me with a niece and two nephews who are cute and so friggin smart and fun and funny. Once she bet Tyler $100 we'd have a 6th kid. She hasn't given up the hope even though we've both literally been sterilized... and she doesn't pass up the opportunity to let us know how it could work out to her benefit. She has said some classic (not-even-appropriate-for-the-blog) things since I've known her and she'll laugh at herself as much as she'll laugh at someone else. It. Is. REFRESHING.

So, a couple months ago when my brother, Nate, had this brain aneurysm mess [recap: Nate had a brain aneurysm and then a craniotomy and then a gnarly infection and then a long recovery] and my love for Stacy increased a badillion fold. The whole thing has been awfully tough and mostly I've just watched the whole thing go down. In all my empathetic emotions for my brother, nothing has surpassed the emotions I have felt for Stacy. For a while, there was no way to know what Nate's prognosis would be and the agony of that uncertainty would have pushed me into a loony bin. Stac was ah-maz-ing. She talked with people, kept a positive perspective, balanced raising 3 kids with an incapacitated husband, blogged, faced groups of people with never ending questions DAY AFTER DAY AFTER DAY. And the whole time she loved my brother more and more. And I loved her more-r and more-r. I was just super grateful for Stacy being Stacy.

In my life, I was blessed with one sister and then I inherited another sister when I married Tyler. Since Lexi was always around and part of my life she felt like a little sister automatically. Being married and my brothers marrying has also provided me with 5 more "sisters" and I am so blessed to have these women in my life. I could seriously write a whole post about Erin, Lexi, Amy, Mindie, Stacy, Emily, or Melinda, but tonight I want Stacy to know she holds a big fat place in my heart. She can pretty much not do much wrong in my book. Her farts even smell good ;)

Stacy,

Thanks for all you do and for loving our family. I know sometimes you love us just because we're lovable, sometimes it's for Nate, and sometimes it's because you have to and in any way it comes, I appreciate you accepting us. We joke that your impression of the Garrards was us up on some pedestal when, in reality, it is you who is far above us. Thanks for being such a good mom to your kids and letting them be friends with my kids. Thanks for loving my kids and my husband and for being interested in them (including *interviewing* Tyler so you could get to know him better.) You forged a hard road being the first daughter-in-law and I'm so grateful for the friendship I share with you and for the ones you have with Erin and Emily, too. It really is nice having a sisterhood. Another thing I love about you is your testimony and example of faith. In such a good, loving, un-forceful way you set a wonderful example to our family and those around you of what is right and true. We are blessed to have you and I love your guts!

Love ya always and forever,

Sarah

To quote the great Jerolyn, "They're living the dream."

Schofield Middle School Cheerleaders 2012

Have I ever told you the story about when I tried out to be a cheerleader? It's heartbreaking and devastating and completely hilarious [in hindsight.] I am not kidding nor exaggerating when I say my failure to make the 9th grade cheer team at Chaparral High School in 1991 shaped the well-adapted, completely-over-the-cheer-thing, not-interested-in-something-so-silly woman you all know today. Well, sorta. (You can pick and choose what part of this paragraph are, indeed, true and which ones are blatantly a cover-up for some deep, high-school-trauma issues.)

Picture a gaggle of girls in the spring of 1991. (And no. I don't remember how much a gaggle is.) We worked hard and furiously in the Cowboy gym learning a new routine from the legendary Varsity cheerleaders. I remember there being a TON of girls, most of which I didn't know because I hailed from the just-barely-on-the-school-boundary border. That meant I was shipped daily to K.O. Knudson Jr. High as opposed to the much more trendy, popular, cheerleader-breading Woodbury Jr. High. The day of tryouts, we were brought into the auxiliary gym in groups of 3 where we performed for some non-partial (cough, cough) judges. My white t-shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, and my slouched socks had never looked so perfect. My bangs were as arc-ed as I could get them and my permed hair was pony-tailed with a scrunchie. And I tried out so hard. I knew I wasn't the best, but I had figured my odds, and I knew there was a chance. Slim, but a chance nonetheless. And let's face it. I had God on my side. I prayed A LOT that day. I rode the bus from K.O. then walked the 1/2 mile up Viking Rd. to make that tryout on time and I danced that fight song like nobody else's business. I felt pretty ok about everything and kept reminding myself, "at least you tried out. God will bless you in your pursuit of happiness."

See, in my mind, I had calculated that coming to high school without the backing of a social network (especially since most of my Jr. High peeps were staying at K.O. for their 9th grade year), it would be necessary to work myself into the socially structured cheer squad for popularity's sake. Cuz I knew nothing much about high school other than I wanted to be well-liked and popular. I know. I was deep at 13 1/2.

After tryouts the way they handled announcements of the future team was SOOOO sensitive and sweet and kind and pre-that-cheerleader-mom-in-Texas-who-killed-the-competition (remember that?!). Which, if you missed my sarcasm, means it was SOOOO tense and terrifying and mortifying. The varsity cheerleaders lined up in front of the 40+ girls trying out who were sitting on the floor all criss-cross-apple-sauced. And then they did a little diddy/cheer/thing. Stomp-Clap-Clap, Stomp-Clap-Clap, , Stomp-Clap-Clap, Stomp-Clap-Clap, Applause and screams and cheers as the incoming freshman stood up to join the older cheersisters from the V and JV squads. So, the first Stomp-Clap-Clap was followed by a SARAH and an immediate urge by me to just jump up. In the 2.4 seconds it takes a varsity squad to call out the next couple Stomp-Clap-Claps, I had a quick vision of me decked in my fashionly orange and black high fiving all my new friends the following year. Alas, BLEEKER was called and I sighed a little. "Too much to hope," I thought," being called first. And curses for having such a popular name." A couple other names [I can tell you them if you really wanna know] were called before there was another Stomp-Clap-Clap, Stomp-Clap-Clap, . . . and you all KNOW I was dying a little bit, because SURELY this was my moment. Before I could make a complete fool out of myself, they Stomp-Clap-Clapped Sarah Tempkow onto the freshman squad and they rounded the team out with a fifth and an alternate. No third Sarah. Statistically, it was silly for me to have hoped. . .

Fast forward 19 years. My dancing queen of a daughter declares her intentions of being a middle school cheerleader and, not lying here, I was immediately washed in the emotion of not making the squad. I was very pragmatic about the whole failure thing as I walked the long walk down from the gym, past the waiting moms, to the parking lot where I waited for my mom. I battled to keep my composure as I reminded myself of what a long-stretch it would have been for me, a bonefide dork, to make the automatic upper echelons of the social strata. All those years later and I found myself immediately prepping Kenzie for the odds that she wouldn't make the team. I had many a practice convo in my head so I could help cushion Kenz's cheer fail fall easily when the bad news came [much as my mom did after she picked me up in the blue mini-van when she got off work that afternoon 1991.] LUCKILY (and purely for my sake of missing out on that moment in parenthood - which I am sure will come in other ways - do I consider it LUCKY) Kenz made the team and is living the life of a SMS flying tiger cheerleader. Rah Rah.

Since I know what the other side of being rejected from the cheer squad feels like, I am so thrilled that I, in a way, know what it's like to make the team. I'm sure it's similar to ANYTHING that someone tries out for and wants badly. However, I've come to the conclusion that I am not really living my life through my daughter and her whole cheer experience. God knew what he was doing and making the cheer squad in 1991 really wasn't for me [in many ways, I am sure.] Frankly, the whole cheer culture kinda baffles me and I have a hard time keeping up with all the people that move in and out of the popular circles. I've seen other moms who were cheerleaders themselves and are literally coaching their daughters through each nuance of the team. And that's sweet, I'm sure, for them. I can really only remind Kenz that she's supposed to actually watching the game instead of people watching . . . I don't know where she'd get that tendency from . . . I am happy for my daughter. I am happy she has found what makes her happy.

So tonight we hosted a little holiday party for the squad and they came and ate and gift-exchanged and Just-dance-3-ed. It was fun. And they were cute. My cousin, Jerolyn, whose daughter is also on the squad came to help me with set up and take down. Towards the end of the party, these cute girls were laughing and dancing and living a good life when Jer grabbed my arm and said, "They're living the dream." We both laughed since she, too, hadn't made the cheer squad she tried out for (eat your heart out 7th grade Burley Jr. High squad...) and it made me a little misty. Honestly, I want all my kids to be able to live out all their dreams, whatever they my be: cheerleader, spa-coordinator, Tony Romo replacement, ninja, or a video game junkie who gets to stay in his pajamas all day. That's a role of a mom, I think. One of the roles, at least; to be that person who celebrates all those dreams our kids may get to live. Even if the dream is cheer leading and it was our own dream unrealised.

*Post-script. I have known a lot of wonderful people in my life who are cheerleaders (because, let's face it, once a cheerleader, ALWAYS a cheerleader.) I have profound respect for them and I love them dearly. The cheerleaders from 1991 (through 1995) were my friends and I've since had other women in my life who have used their mad cheer talents to rah-rah me through some of my most difficult times in life. And I love them.

A year has come and gone. . .

A BIG part of my 2011? Being part of miracles.

What is it about the new year that makes me wanna blog? As I have thought A LOT about 2012, I have come to MANY conclusions about 2011. One of them is that since I have a hard time remembering much of anything, it's a bummer I didn't blog more last year. My poor kids. 2011 will be the year we don't remember... and maybe that's good in some ways.







I have been seeing a lot of people giving the bird to 2011 (literally, have you seen the picture with the numbers, 2 - 0 - and two middle fingers making the 1 - and 1- ?) and yes, in some respects I can really understand why it's a year best moved past. 2011 has been hard for me (and I don't have anything to really complain about in comparison to some of my most nearest and dearest who have really been dealt a dose of trials), but despite the challenges, I have left 2011 feeling extremely grateful.







Now, on to 2012. If this really is the year the world comes to a screeching halt (thank you Mayan peeps), I have decided I will make the mental choice to make it a good one. And even if it comes and goes super fast (which I believe may be a little more believable than that stone Mayan calendar) I want 2012 to be a good year. So, of course, that means eliminating things that bummed me out, stressed me out, saddened me, or weighed heavily on me in 2011. At a lovely lunch a couple days ago, my insomniac friend, ElRae, was explaining her 4am musings about identifying her word for 2012. It got me thinking. I need a word. So, like every other big decision in my life, I went to facebook. I really liked my friend, Jen's, suggestion of "Manhandle" (old joke), cousin Jer's apropos "Honeybadger" suggestion, and my sister's wise idea of "Cray-cray." I thought last night I had decided on SIMPLIFY, which has A LOT of relevance in my life, but I think I have decided on CONSTRUCT.







I know, weird word, huh? CONSTRUCT. I wanna build myself this year. I wanna build a stronger family, testimony, career, future, and friendships. It's going to be big. Huge. And one of the things I decided I need to CONSTRUCT is the time for myself to be expressive and creative. Nine times out of ten, that doesn't work out for me. Either I make someone mad, or I mess something up, but I found that it feeds my soul. And my soul likes to be fat and chubby. Lately, I think it's been too skinny for my own good. We'll be crafting and writing that soul into a soft and squishy place again. Thus this blog post and maybe some others before 2012 ends. I am hoping with some STRUCTURE (part of my CONSTRUCT concept) I will carve some "me" time that will allow me to record the glorious moments in my life and those that are helping me CONSTRUCT a more refined existence, i.e. those challenges I face. [Really, most of the time I will be sharing nauseating experiences about my life and family, so I am thinking it's probably a good thing nobody is reading this blog anymore.]







And off we go. Tomorrow, the 3rd of January, starts the official back-to-reality grind which happens at the end of Winter Break. If I don't remember to write about my morning tomorrow, just know I will be thinking something like, "5am is in NO WAY constructive," but then I will get moving and be glad that I'm able to build something great this year. CHEERS Y'ALL~