Snow Fun!

I’m one of those strange people who actually likes snow. If it’s cold, we should have snow…and a decent amount. It drives me nuts when we get just enough to turn into slush which seems to Velcro to our cars and the kids’ shoes.

I didn’t believe the weathermen at all when they said we might get 1-3 inches Tuesday night. I was right not to believe them. We got somewhere in the neighborhood of 10-12”. The actual amount is a source of great debate in our house. It was enough to cancel school and enough to go sledding!

I was really thankful Brandon was home to shovel. Normally, when we get a measurable snowfall I do one of two things. 1.) I just bust through the snow when driving out of or pulling into our driveway. OR 2.) I flag down a guy with a plow and write a check. It’s not that I’m too lazy to shovel, it’s that we have a really, really long driveway. It doesn’t seem that long until I try scooping off a foot of snow.

We played outside in the morning for a bit while Brandon shoveled. Alex was eager to help and gave it his all. Meredith literally scooped one scoop, threw it on the pile, and said, “Whew! That’s enough of that!” That girl is a workhorse. Meredith made one march around the house and decided she needed hot chocolate. In her defense, she’s still nursing a cold and the cold air made her nose extra runny.

After lunch, I put Meredith down for a nap and Alex and I went to the sledding with several neighborhood kids. It just so happens the best sledding hill in our neighborhood is next to the house of some good friends of ours. (Hi Marla!) The kids had a great time sledding and while one mom surrendered her cell phone to the “mountain,” no one left with anything bandaged or in a sling.

I hoped a miracle would happen and we’d walk into dinner on the stove. It didn’t. I had all the ingredients for tacos, except meat and some kind of tomato. I decided I wanted to top the tacos with pico de gallo. Fast, easy, delicious, and widely available in the grocery two minutes from our house. Brandon volunteered to go. He came home with beef, (check), a gallon of milk (I was impressed with his foresight.), and… a can of spicy tomatoes. What on earth? Brandon said the fresh bar was closed and apparently it didn’t occur to him that refrigerated salsa (or even jarred for that matter) might be a good alternative. So he went with CANNED tomatoes. There is a reason I do the cooking.

Three is still a baby, but four is a big girl.

Four years ago yesterday, I started a bow collection. Seriously. I ordered bows on-line from my hospital bed. It was seven months before Meredith had enough hair to use them, but I was ready.

Meredith started her day with our traditional birthday pancake breakfast. She always requests blueberry and sprinkles. Lucky for Meredith, blueberries must be in season in Chile in January because they’re almost always on sale the week of her birthday. I don’t buy anything that isn’t on sale. Except toilet paper.

On your birthday, you also get a commemorative number-shaped pancake. My final thought before falling asleep Monday night was, “Surely a “4” will be easier to make than a “3” was. I hope the batter doesn’t run.” I took a break from drifting off to sleep worried about the economy.

As you can see, my "3" was much better. I don't know what my problem was. Maybe the fact that we were 15 minutes behind schedule. Being late always stressed me out completely.

Before leaving for preschool, I stamped out circular-shaped Rice Krispie-Fruity Pebbles treats. I had an indentation on my palm from the biscuit cutter that lasted until noon.

Meredith is excited about her outfits on any given day, but this one thrilled her particullarly. She thought it was "the perfect birthday sweater!"

After preschool, Meredith and I headed to our favorite tea room for lunch, only to find it is closed until March. There’s a new tea room in town, but it looked a little high brow for a four year old and I was wearing jeans. I decided I wasn’t going to disappoint her, and the ladies from the Historical Society might like my jeans paired with patent loafers and pearls. I’m so glad we went. The hostesses were incredibly nice and the owner brought Meredith the teacup from which she drank as a child at her grandmother’s. I thought I was going to have to order a cocktail to get over the anxiety of watching a four-year-old who constantly talks with her hands drink Sprite out of the teacup. It was a precarious situation.

When we finished lunch, we went to get a pedicure. Meredith’s first request was a trip to the spa. We compromised on a pedicure at a Vietnamese place. I only mention this because it makes me crazy that they all speak English one minute and then speak to each other in Vietnamese. For all I know they’re discussing the market or Britney Spears, but I can’t help but feel as thought they’re discussing my complexion.

When we got there, I asked how much it would be for both of us to get a pedicure. A man told me it would be $50 for both of us. I told him while I didn’t expect him to make any special concessions, if I spent that much on pedicures, it would be bad for my marriage. He wouldn’t let us leave and ended up giving us two pedicures for $35. Welcome to the new economy. We had a great time and both came home with bubblegum pink sparkly toes. Meredith’s choice.

After a three hour nap, Meredith was ready for dinner out. She changed restaurant choices four times, and finally settled on Bub’s Burgers. I had the best bowl of soup ever. Tomato-artichoke. It may have had a hint of cream, but I didn’t care. It was sooooo worth it.

I baked Meredith a cake so she would have candles to blow out after dinner. Her actual birthday party isn’t until next week. I just couldn’t get it together this year. So, Meredith’s real cake will be for her party. She has her heart set on a one of those Barbie cakes where Barbie’s torso sticks out the top and you slice and eat her skirt. Kind of traumatic if you ask me, but Merdi has her heart set on one.

After cake and presents, we all got to bed later than normal. It turned out to be fine when we woke up to 8 or 9 inches of snow. We don’t have school today. Hooray! AND for the first time ever, Brandon is home during a significant snowfall and I don’t have to shovel or call the plow service. We played out in the snow until I couldn’t feel my face. I’ll post those pictures tomorrow.

I can’t believe how fast the last four years have flown by. What scares me is I realize the next four will probably go by even faster and the four after that will seem like a blink. While we were getting pedicures, Meredith made me promise we’d always get pedicures on her birthday. “Even when I’m 15.” I hope she keeps her promise.

*Allow me to add a disclaimer regarding today's photographs. In fear of not missing a single moment, I didn't pay much attention to my camera settings. I assure you Meredith is not jaundice, her mother just didn't adjust the white balance. If I had extra time to edit, I would, but here they are straight out of the camera....

Alex's homework.

I admit it. I tend to skew toward Meredith when writing posts. I really can’t help it. The girl is a wealth of material. That isn’t to say she is in anyway my favorite child, I truly love them both equally with fervor. With Alex away at school all day coupled with the fact that Alex is pretty even keeled---except when he’s throwing temper tantrums that would show any two –year-old a thing or two. Who wants to hear about those? I know don’t want to relive them. I knew I’d probably write more about Merdi this week, because like our friend Annie, she likes to s-t-r-e-t-c-h the celebration out as long as possible. However, Alex unintentionally wrote a post for me, by himself.

In this week’s, “New from the Pad,” first grade newsletter, Alex’s teacher mentioned they were given a progress test and asked to take it independently. Normally, she reads the questions and answers to them and they select their response. We’re inching closer to second grade and we all want them to be prepared, so she cut the cord. Good for her! I wondered how bad the results must be to merit a warning they were coming home today and the teacher stressed several times that the tests were administered independently.

Brandon and I were proud when we pulled Alex’s test out of his holder folder. He answered 12/15 correctly and was in the expected range of 11/15. Hooray! Not perfect, but we’ll take it. We may even buy ice cream. When we read through Alex’s answers we were glad we read them without him in earshot. We were laughing. Inappropriately. Here’s a sampling:

I pulled the pre-test out of his backpack next and began to sense a pattern. Alex is a decent reader. He is a whiz at math, but reading is not his favorite thing. He can read, and quite well when he wants to, he just doesn’t like to take the time to slow down and sound out words. He will employ any context clue available or he will opt for one of his very honest test answers. We also roared when we read his answer to “In this story, what is a bank?” Alex is Mr. Wall Street, and to him, “bank” means one, glorious thing. Oops. We better take him fishing.

I had no idea just how funny the contents of his backpack were until I pulled out his “100 Days Book.” There were sentences to complete and Alex did so, with legible hand writing, which is something to celebrate. His responses were classic Alex.

I wish I had 100 dogs. (The thought alone puts me over the edge.)
I would not like 100 aliens. (Yikes! Me either.)
I could eat 100 sushi. (Yes he could, and he’d put it on my tab.)

And my personal favorite:

Having 100 kids could really be a problem.

Bonus Post!

I’ll warn you right now, this week is going to be very Meredith-centric. Our baby is turning four on Tuesday and in an attempt to keep her little, I’ve done everything with her except plan a party.

Meredith woke up Saturday with a rotten cold. At first she was just hoarse, which I accredited to her crazy parents letting her stay up while our family and the 5 Pages played Rock Band until 10:30 p.m. The kids were having a ball and I threw caution to the wind; knowing full well they wouldn’t sleep past their normal times. We were already running low on sleep and then the irresponsible parents took our children over to the Ehnes’s for pizza and lots of play time. By the time we got home Saturday night, Meredith barely had a voice. I slept with her because she sounded like Darth Vadar and I worried about her breathing.

On the way home, Merdi sounded congested and I told her we would put the vaporizer in her room. And it started:

M: “What is a vaporizer?!”
L: “It emits moisture into the air and it will make it easier for you to breathe.”
M: “Oh no! It’s going to squirt water on me?! I’m going to be all wet in my bed!!! I don’t want the vaporizer!!!”
Alex: “Relax Meredith. It’s like a mister at Disney. You’ll be fine.”

The poor girl was terrified of the vaporizer and it’s eerie green night light until I was able to convince her it was little more than steam and I’d sleep right next to her. Suffice it to say, we didn’t get much sleep, but she conquered her fear of the vaporizer.

I’m glad I bunked with Meredith last night because I learned something alarming.

From infancy, Merdi fell asleep to the same lullaby CD. Recently, she learned how to change CD’s and she found a stash I kept in her dresser drawer. She informed me about a week ago she was sick of the lullaby’s and wanted to listen to the “stories.” It is a CD of different Fairy Tales. She likes it so much, she sometimes sits in her room listening to it while she sorts through Kit Kittredge’s clothes or takes inventory of her dress up shoes. Fine, I thought. Good for her imagination.

Last night, as I was lying in her bed, the familiar story of Little Red Riding Hood came on. I started to drift off to sleep when I awoke startled to three gun shots! What on earth?! It was the CD! The hunter in the story shoots the Big Bad Wolf, three times and then proceeds to slice open its stomach and out pops “Grandmamma,” (which Merdi has taken to calling her own Grandma lately,) totally unharmed. It was a bit much, and I don’t think I want Meredith falling asleep to gunfire. If I did, we'd move closer to downtown.

In between nursing Meredith’s cold, I finished editing pictures of a session I did for our good friends, the Staperts. They welcomed their new son, Geoffery on the 9th and I was finally able to shoot him last Wednesday. He’s a cutie and a total spitfire. We wanted a few of him on his belly, but he did not, and that was that. For the record, that's his small, but might hand at the top of this post.

I also did a shoot a few weeks ago for our friends, the Colburns. Their little guy is their first and they are enjoying him so much!

It’s fun to see them as parents and it’s amazing to me that it seems like last week that it was Brandon and I in their shoes. I wish I could freeze time sometimes. Just not at 7:15 p.m. when everyone around here is cranky and ready for bed.

I'm too fat for my pajamas.

I’ve been putting something on the back burner for a year. Funny that I would choose a food-related analogy to explain my total and complete ignorance of my weight.

Years ago…before Alex was even a twinkle in my eye, I ballooned up to ridiculous proportions. I was traveling for work, had a $45/day food allowance and evidently thought I needed to spend every dime. I lost of few pounds, but then we decided to have a family and I decided to eat cheeseburgers throughout my pregnancy.

After Alex was born, I had a new responsibility to be healthy. I joined Weight Watchers, started running, and lost 32 pounds in three months. I kept it off until we decided we needed to expand our family and my waistline. After Meredith was born…TWO YEARS after, I got on the scale and realized I once again had weight to loose. Only this time it was 40 pounds.

I did, only to gain 45 back after a year. I have no excuse this time. No pink or blue bundle to hold. No new tiny footprints stamped in a book. I was just pure lazy and I simply love to eat. Waaaaay more than I should. This is probably the only time I’ll say this, but Oprah and I have something in common.

I’ve known for awhile I had to stop avoiding the scale, living in elastic-waist pants and doing weird stretches to make my jeans fit. The last few weeks showed me it’s more than fitting into my clothes. I did a photo shoot with Robyn and her family in the NICU. I was nervous…really nervous. After the session, I went into the lobby and proceeded to have a giant, gushing nose bleed. (I’ve talked about this so much, I feel as though I may have mentioned it on the blog. If so, forgive me for telling the gory story twice.) It was my first clue that I was really, really fat and my blood pressure was out of control. I’ve also noticed how heavy my legs feel and that my feet and ankles hurt way more than a 32 year old’s ankles should. It’s ridiculous. Especially when I’ve been blessed with really great health otherwise and I have several friend’s fighting serious health battles.

I made up my mind last week, that Thursday would be the day I dragged myself back to the fat farm. The only meeting that works with my schedule is a Thursday 9:00 a.m. weigh in. It is also the only meeting that works for women in their 70’s who stop by on their way to water aerobics at the Y. The woman that weighed in front of me had gained weight. Two ounces to be exact. She had bulked up to 102.8. Seriously. That’s who I had to weigh in after.

Sweating, because the heat was blaring to accommodate the bridge club set, I stepped on the scale and nearly had a stroke on the spot. I weighed what I did when I delivered my children. I was ashamed and mad at myself. After failing to make the weigh-in lady laugh with my self-deprecating comment, I looked at her hoping she would say something encouraging. Instead, she looked at my Lifetime Member goal weight and said, “Yep. You gotta good ways to go.” Tough love from Weight Watchers.

I trekked back out to the car knowing I’m in for a good year of counting points and drinking seven gallons of water a day. I know I’m going to have to get back on the treadmill. I also know I’ll feel 100 times better when I do.

I'm baaaaack!

I thought I was over my writing slump a week ago. At the time, I didn’t know I’d be making a whirlwind trip. I also forgot Brandon would be working from home the next three weeks. He pretty much takes over our office, so my screen time is limited. You would think my floors would be immaculate as a result, but interestingly enough they still make my socks grey.

Most of you reading this know about my dear friend Robyn. You know she and her family are in the middle of a roller coaster NICU experience. For those of you whom do not, if you’ve been reading awhile you’ll remember her as my friend who lost twin daughters a few weeks apart a little over a year ago. Several of you even donated to her March of Dimes walk team knowing her only through my writing. Without going into too much detail, Robyn and her husband Keith, welcomed a new daughter, Rowyn, earlier this month. Rowyn had a very rough journey into the world and is now fighting serious health issues.

Isn't she a doll?! Oh jeeze, is this little sweetie LOVED!!!

I’ve thought of little else for the last few weeks, so I didn’t feel like writing about the day my beloved recycling tote blew over and sent milk jugs and newspapers flying through my neighborhood in sub-zero temperatures.

Then, rather unexpectedly, The O Town girls made a last minute trip to meet Rowyn all the way in Atlanta, Georgia. While the van ride down provided me with enough material to write 100 blog posts, our silliness seemed, well…silly in comparison to what Robyn was going through.

I just took a little break. However several people---alright three, but none are relatives---asked if something was wrong and told me they missed reading my take on life in a house where you’re guaranteed to pull rubber mulch out of the washer at least once a week. So, I’m back…and this post is super duper long, so if you’ve missed me, settle in. Grab your coffee Mary K.!

Because my brain is pickled, I can only remember events that have happened since this Tuesday, so let’s start there…at 3:45 a.m. That’s when my alarm went off. That’s when the coffee maker started brewing and the dog started barking as I backed out of the garage. It was preschool registration day and I had to get in line.

I know, I know. It’s crazy. Some of you will roll your eyes and shrug your shoulders in bewilderment. Those are the people who: 1.) Aren’t yet mothers. 2.) Are moms, but their kids are grown and when their children were small they registered them for preschool at Jack and Jill the week before classes started. OR: 3.) Live in a small town.

We’ve been at the same preschool since Alex was a toddler. If you don’t start in Mom’s Day Out, you’ll never get a spot in a preschool class…at least not the one you hope for. You would think I’d be a shoe in and have some sort of seniority. Nope. Yes, there are three different class options for someone Meredith’s age next fall, but to our family, there is only one option. Mrs. Judith and Mrs. Arleta’s Senior Preschool class.

These women would make Roy Disney cry. Not only are they exceptional teachers, but once a month or so they turn their classroom into a wonderland of learning. They call the days Imagination Destination Days, and they truly transport the kids into space, a pilgrim plantation, a post office, the Arctic…and on and on and on. These women are incredible and they’re also in their 60’s, with grandchildren. I lived in fear the last three years they would retire before Merdi got a crack at them, but joy of joys I got word today, they will be there next year!

There are only 24 available spots and I was bound and determined to get one. The spots are awarded on a first come first serve basis, so my friend Sally and I made a pact to do whatever it took. We got there at 4:!5 a.m. and we were first and second in line! Woo Hoo! I know. I’m insane. But, by 5:00 a.m. the parking lot was packed.

By the way, the doors don’t even open until 7:30 a.m. Wondering if it’s a free for all when they open the doors? Nope. There’s a system. The first mom there starts a numbered clipboard and everyone takes it to the next mom when her wheels touch the asphalt of the parking lot. Once the doors open, you sit in numbered chairs. A few dads wandered in and just stood at the front of the line looking dazed. They had no idea what they were in for and looked defeated when they found out their number was 68 and they were at the end of the hall.

I turned in my envelope with the big #2 on it and headed home. I had a feeling of euphoria! I felt like an adequate mother for the first time in months. The sunrise was beautiful! It was so pretty, I didn’t even pull out my camera as I knew there was no way to truly capture how stunning it was. I thought, “Oh look! That must be a pat on the back from God! He’s impressed with my dedication to my child’s education.” To bring me back down to earth, the man in the van in front of me suddenly opened his driver side door, vomited and kept driving.

Aren’t you glad I’m back?!

A week of trials

I realize I haven’t written much at all lately. I also realize there are likely only a handful of people who come here often enough to realize. No delusions of grandeur here!

I haven’t had a week that made it very easy to write about the light-hearted things I normally write about. Well, I shouldn’t say I have had a terrible week; it’s more so that several of my dear friends are shouldering heavy burdens. I hurt when they hurt, but I doubt my sorrow equals their pain.

So, somehow a weekend update just doesn’t cut it. I won’t share all the details of the struggles my friends are all dealing with, and I would imagine all but a handful of you already know them anyway. But to give you a synopsis: We have friends saying good-bye to their mother, we have friends clinging to every precious moment with their newborn daughter, and we have friends facing some scary health issues. At times this week, I froze every time the phone rang. It was a week when I started to wonder how much people could handle before their shells cracked.

Then God sent two reasons to believe that life will go on. Two of our friends welcomed sons into the world this week. I did a newborn session with one of them Saturday and will do a session with the other later this week. It was bittersweet cuddling a brand new life knowing my friend would give anything to have the same experience. I also knew her pain equaled this family’s joy and didn’t want to damper their homecoming a bit. It was a reminder of how precious life is and what a gift God gives us in our children.

It was a week of lessons. It was a week of praying for miracles and realizing my life is full of them. It was a week where I was once again reminded how important friendship is. I feel very, very blessed that I have deep-rooted friendships with women I’ve known since elementary school. I feel equally blessed to have found a tightly-knit group of friends within the place we’ve called home for ten years. I’m overcome that God continues to drop new people into my life when I kind of decide I have too many relationships to manage and she becomes one of my closest confidantes.

There is no question women can be catty, but the same lot will rally around each other with fervor when one of us is wounded. I’ve seen it many times, but especially this week. Between phone calls, text messages, Facebook messages, and e-mails; I was tired of talking. That’s saying a lot. But, that’s what we do. We go to each others’ sides, even if it is virtually and we prop each other up until we can walk on our own again. All of what we’ve experienced this week will add to the history we share; which bounds us together even tighter.

My friend Annie sent this video to me and it couldn’t have been timelier. (Grammar check suggests I use “timelier,” so I’m going for it.) I forwarded it to my O-Town girls who were all huddled in their own pain wishing so desperately we could all be together to get one of our own through another tragedy. It’s definitely worth the five minutes it takes to watch and it does a much better job at conveying the point of this entire post. Maybe I'll work on brevity in 2009!

First Dinner of 2009!

Before Kelly e-mails me to tell me she’s sick of reading about John Daly, I’ll try to assemble a few thoughts that might be interesting. Our lives have been happily dull and slow paced, so I don’t have much to share.

Wait. I guess I haven’t even told you our children are back home safe and sound. I’m back to vacuuming up Barbie shoes and stepping on Legos. Truthfully, I didn’t pick up any of Alex’s Legos while he was gone, so technically, I’m just still stepping on Legos. And while I’m being honest, I also haven’t vacuumed since they’ve been home.

Despite their protests, Brandon and I went to Nashville on Friday to pick up Alex and Meredith. While they claimed they wanted to stay longer, I haven’t had that many hugs from them in awhile. As I put Meredith to bed at home she said, “Oh, clean sheets! I glad I’m home again. Mom, did you know we were separated while I was away?!” I guess it took her awhile to notice. I thought she was bright.

While we were in Nasvhille we had lunch with my friend Stephanie and her husband Jason. We hadn’t seen each other since their April wedding, so it was fun to catch up over fried pickles.

Sunday, we finally had Christmas with my in-laws. So, just when I thought I’d put away every new toy and rid our house of the smell of cardboard, in came another crop. I should be putting away the cupcake machine and washing the new pajamas instead of updating this blog. Brandon is always quick to point out the correlation between the number of blog posts to the order of our home. I don’t really understand math, so I just ignore him.

Brandon flew back to Minneapolis Monday morning on his usual early morning flight. The kids and I started our day and went to my friend Annie’s to photograph some of her latest works. Every time we go to their house, my children act as though we arrived from Ethiopia. “I’m hungry.” “Can I have a granola bar?” “Do you have any turkey?” Whether it was a coincidence or not, Annie suggested we pack up all five of our kids and grab some lunch. We went out for burgers and Annie and I sat at our own table. Granted it was attached to the table with all the kids, but still.

Today the kids both went back to school. I’ve really enjoyed having them both home with me, but we are a family who functions well on a schedule. We love routine. Aside from poorly made beds, we’d probably do alright in the military. I was pleasantly surprised that Alex was ready in time to catch the bus and Meredith and I left for preschool on time.

I was also surprised to find out we missed ballet yesterday. (We ran into another ballet mom at school.) I wasn’t aware there was a class to miss. The mom informed me an e-mail was sent, but I deleted it along with the studio’s invitations to buy leftover Christmas sweatshirts and something about a Barbie Fairatopia-themed movie night. (There are two people reading this who will find that funny.)

I’m about to make dinner. It’s the first real meal I’ve cooked since Christmas. Sadly, I’m not kidding. First we ate Christmas leftovers. Then when the kids left, Brandon and I ate everywhere we’re normally afraid to eat with the kids. We ordered pizza on Sunday and had the leftovers last night. I made a giant trip to the grocery today, so the fridge is my oyster. I just need to figure our which gourmet creation that calls for ground sirloin (there was a sale) I’m going to make first!

Happy New Year, John Daly

I have a lot of uncertainty about the upcoming year. The economy makes me nervous. I worry about the decline in housing values. I worry about our leaders making important decisions. I worry that businesses will collapse and everyone will be unemployed. It’s the great unknown that freaks me out completely! If you ever feel the need to worry but don’t have time, rest assured I’m probably worrying about whatever it is that’s troubling you.

Following a directive from Brandon and others who listen to be stew, I’m worrying less and realizing my worry won’t do anything but give me an ulcer. 2008, while not a great year, wasn’t a bad year for our family at all. In fact, after I read this morning’s paper, I felt SO MUCH better about myself.

I am copying this verbatim (Shout out to Mr. Cartmill!) and I’m worried that someone from The Indianapolis Star will stumble upon my blog and sue me for copyright infringement or something similar. It’s a risk I’m willing to take to make everyone feel better about their year…

“John Daily said Wednesday he is serving a six-month PGA Tour suspension. Daly doesn’t know when it began or when it will end, but he said it was for conduct that brought unwelcome publicity to the tour. He cited four possible 2008 incidents as the reason for the penalty:

• After a rain delay in March at Palm Harbor, Fla., Daly emerged from a Hooters hospitality tent with Tampa Bay Buccaneers coach Jon Gruden as his caddie for the final seven holes of the round.
  


• Promoting a course in April in Missouri, Daly did a regional TV interview wearing only blue jeans—no shirt, no shoes—while showing how to play one of the holes.
  


• At the Buick Open in June, during a pro-am that featured Kid Rock in overalls, Daly revved up the fans by hitting one drive off the top of a beer can.
  


• Daly had too much to drink in October at a North Carolina Hooters. He was not charged but spent the night in jail under a state law called “Assistance to Intoxicated Persons.” “

Here's wishing John and the rest of us a great 2009! By the way, that banner at the top came directly from John Daly's official site. You can't make this stuff up.