All Dressed Up...

Being Jack's mom is never boring. Sometimes, I'll walk into the living room and encounter this:



As Tim Gunn would say, "That's a lot of look."

You've got the shiny white space suit, so why not accent that with a great big pirate belt? And if that doesn't make enough of a statement, you'll want to throw in the skull necklace. And headband with attached Johnny Depp dreads. Plus, no need to worry about other kids making fun of you, 'cause you've got your trusty sword and a map to get out of there.

Last week, he went through a phase that lasted two days in which he wore an orange fishing vest over his regular clothes and insisted that he was Diego. I met him and Steve out for dinner and we had this conversation.

Jack: MOMMY!
Me: Hi, Cub. Hi, Roary.
Jack (in Roary voice): No, Dora. I'm still Baby Jaguar.
Me: Oh, of course you are.

Jack also told me on Friday that one of his friends at school insisted that he was Diego. The nerve! I asked Jack if maybe they could both be Diego. Jack gave me a look that was so weary, that so clearly conveyed, "Lady, if you think that, then I don't even know where to start with you." It was a look, in short, that I didn't expect to see for at least 9 years. Jack told me that he told his friend, basically, "Dude, I have the vest, so obviously you have no argument." He told the other kid that he could be Tico (since I was already Dora and Roary was already Baby Jaguar). He's nothing if not reasonable.

Tonight, I came home to this:


Jack is wearing the Batman shirt that my mom made for my brother when he was about four years old. She couldn't find the cape and hood that went with it, so she made him a new one - and then upped the ante of coolness by throwing in a cape for Roary so he can be Battiger.



Bad guys beware!

Jack is Awesome

This morning, Jack threw a gigantic, crying tantrum because he could not wear his sunglasses. So, what better time than now for me to remind myself of why Jack is awesome.

• Jack continues to prove that he is Steve's and my son with his Star Wars obsession. Yesterday, he looked in a stack of DVDs and handed me Return of the Jedi, saying, "Want watch this one, Mommy. Has Rancor in it." I absolutely love that he knows that, even though the Rancor isn't even on the box. I just got him some new Star Wars action figures, and it is a stitch to hear him playing with them. Vader will tell Luke, "Yuke, my your father," and Luke will yell "Nooo!" and jump off the coffee table. I also get a real kick out of hearing Jack say "bounty hunter."



• He is doing a really amazing job with the potty training. Last week was 98% accident free, which is pretty darned good for his first week of underwear. He no longer argues about whether or not he should try. He even once suggested it himself, without prompting. Last night, he came over and told me he'd had an accident. You might not think this is something to cheer about, but the silver lining is that he at least understood what happened, instead of complaining that his chair was wet. Yeah, your chair is wet; you peed on it. Duh.



• Steve and I used to say when Jack was a baby that his job was to spread joy everywhere he went. He was, after all, the smiliest baby you ever saw. Well, he continues to spread joy. You would not believe how he charmed every single person in the doughnut shop we went in on Saturday. He was all smiles, in a face completely covered in chocolate and sprinkles, happily chatting away about how we were going to swimming class and how he was going to throw his duck in the water.

I love the way he distinguishes Hank McCoy Beast from Beauty and the Beast Beast as "Blue Beast" and "Brown Beast."

The way he asks me, "Mommy, you going to runinng?" when he sees me in my running clothes. And that I can count on him for a high five and a kiss on the cheek when I get back.

The way he rubs Roary's tail when he's tired.

The fact that, thank Yoda, he seems to be over the seperation anxiety, at least for now. It's almost like a switch flipped and he realized, "Wait a minute! I have fun at GrandmaGrandpa house. Why would I cry?" and "School is great! My friends are here!"

Bravery

So, it turns out that in addition to a general iron deficiency, my B12 levels are also pretty low. I swear to Yoda, once all of this is worked out, I am going to be such a superhero.

In the meantime, I am taking iron supplements, but for the B12, I have to get shots! It's once a week for a month, then once a month, probably for the rest of my life. It's a good thing the zillions of blood tests I had to take when I was pregnant have gotten rid of my fear of needles.

Instead of being scared of the frequent shots, my first reaction was to wonder about the logistics of it all. The easiest thing to do would be for me to go Monday or Tuesday morning before work, since Steve takes Jack to my mom's house those days. But no luck - that doesn't work for the doctor's office. No problem, I reasoned - I'll just get their first morning appointment, bring Jack with me, and take him to school afterwards.

It's a real sign of how much easier life is at Stately Wasser Manor that I'd even consider taking Jack to a doctor's appointment with me. He is growing up and is a lot easier to corral than he used to be. I also know that he is old enough to understand that Mommy needs to get a shot to stay healthy, just like Elmo did in that book we read. And that it will hurt, but just for a second, and that this time, only Mommy needs to get a shot, not Jack. I don't have to worry that he will freak out, cry, try to escape, or have a tantrum in the middle of the waiting room. Yeah, it might happen, but it's unlikely, and I can probably talk him down from the ledge.

This morning was our first trip to the doctor's office. Jack and I talked all about it, and he seemed awfully proud of his role of helping Mommy be brave. When we arrived, I snuck Linda, the nurse, a Buzz Lightyear sticker to give Jack when it was all over. It was pretty obvious that they don't have any pediatric patients in the practice, since she needed a second to figure out what I was asking.

The whole thing took about two minutes and just could not have gone more smoothly. Jack was not one bit bothered or worried by my getting a shot - and neither was I. He was pleased to see that Linda gave me a Band-Aid, but thrilled with his sticker.

All the way to school, he chattered happily about how the doctor gave him a sticker for being brave. He then immediately showed his bounty to his friend Emma.

My little guy is growing up, and in so many ways, it's a good thing. I can feel confident that taking him with me somewhere unusual is not a total act of bravery, I know just how to take care of him, and I know that he can be brave, too.

Under Pressure

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I freaking love this commercial. And last night, I pretty much lived it.

It was a busy day at work. Not bad, just busy. But before I left, we had another incredibly painful and tearful goodbye from Jack. It is pretty much the worst possible way to start your day.

When I got home, he continued to cling to me like a barnacle. Steve was going to take him to the grocery store, but no way would he leave me for that long. So, whatever. I made dinner while holding him, which isn't exactly easy now that he's 30 pounds and wiggly.

He was super annoying at dinner. Jack ate, like, two bites of mashed potatoes and announced that he was full and ready for dessert. Ahem. He also didn't want me to eat my dinner and responded to my attempts to do so by pulling on my hand as hard as he could, saying, "Come on" over and over again.

Steve took out one of his plates and put two bites of chicken and a small mound of mashed potatoes on it, informing Jack that he needed to eat all of that food, or no snacks or dessert. Steve then had to go make a phone call, leaving me to deal with Jack.

Like an idiot, I went against my new policy regarding food, which is Eat it or don't eat it; I'm not going to beg you. I cajoled, I wheedled, I tried to inspire him to eat by having Spidey eat bites of chicken. Jack whined, spit chicken on the carpet, and generally annoyed the crap out of me.

The whole situation had me pulled in a million directions. On one hand,I feel horrible about the fact that he is having such seperation anxiety. I know that my little guy is going through a lot right now, and I just wish that I could shoulder all burdens for him so that life is nothing but easy for him. On the other hand, for the love of Yoda, kid, if you want to be around me so badly, how about not being a complete dick when you are? Then I feel guilty again, because I know that he's only being a dick because he needs me extra right now, and what the hell kind of mother am I if I'm calling my toddler a dick?

Steve got off the phone, detached a crying barnacle from my leg, and ordered me to go running. I picked a route with a really steep hill, reasoning that I'll need some extra hill training to prepare for the Bix. I also think that, subconsciously, I wanted a workout that would be really hard.

So I set off. At first, I was all distracted, thinking about how hard this whole situation is and wondering how badly I was handling it. But as I kept on running, all of it just melted away, just like in the commercial. By the time I was two miles in, all I was thinking about was the physical act of running. I felt a million times better.

And, as luck would have it, when I got home, I discovered a happy Jack, stripped down to his diaper, eating a giant cookie at the kitchen table, having made a valliant effort at eating the food we gave him. He was sweet, funny, and not even remotely unpleasant for the rest of the night.

Hey, and thanks to everybody who commented on my last post. It's nice to feel your support, it really is.

Too Many Teardrops

There is far too much crying going on in my house these days.

In the last week or so, Jack has entered into a gigantic crybaby phase. The tiniest little bump sends him into a tizzy, crying and wailing, "Got it boo-boo!" If he were actually hurt, it'd be one thing, but if you stub your toe just a little bit, then suck it up. The last thing I want is the kind of kid who knows he'll get attention for all of these fake injuries. So, I pretty much ignore him, tell him to shake it off, or suggest that he tell Roary about it. I know he'll get over it, and I know that he is, in fact, looking for attention. In the meantime, it's just annoying.

Worse, Jack is currently the president of the Mommy Fan Club and is undergoing some serious seperation anxiety. Last Thursday, I picked him up from his new daycare center, and let me tell you, he was having a blast. He was having so much fun dancing to The Wiggles and following Miss Rita in a march around the room that he didn't even realize I was there until the song ended.

In sharp contrast, the very next day, he started freaking out about a block away from school. He cried and wailed and begged me not to leave him. I've had him cling to me before, but this was the worst it's ever been. I know that he'll stop crying soon after I leave, and I know that he's a social kid and loves school, but it absolutely broke my heart to see him cry like that.

When I left the classroom, I was pretty upset. Carol, the director, peeked in and said that he was already starting to calm down. She ordered me to call her as soon as I got to the office to check in, which was really nice of her. Still, I broke down in tears as soon as I got to the car, then started crying again when Steve called and I told him about it.

Sure enough, the little punk was fine about five minutes after I left and was playing and having fun. But every single time I've had to leave him since then, it's been similarly tough. I am usually pretty stoic about the seperation anxiety, but I am having a lot of trouble with it right now. It's just a horrible way to start the day.

Taking Names

It seems to me as though in the past week, we at Temporary Wasser Manor have gone beyond just kicking ass. We are, in fact, now taking names.

Everything is good to go on the new Stately Wasser Manor. Our home inspection went really well, and the few changes that I requested, the homeowners cheerfully did. Better still, our bank processed the mortgage in record time, which means that we are all set to close on Thursday, as planned.

Steve found a good moving company, and they'll get all of our stuff out of storage and into the new house on Monday. At the same time, our electric, phone, and internet will get hooked up. The next day, we'll have our new washer and dryer installed, and the fine folks at DirecTV will hook up a new dish for us for free.

On Sunday, we went furniture shopping. We got such tremendous bargains that we were able to furnish and make improvements to far more rooms than we'd anticipated. Steve and I have needed a bedroom set for about 12 years now, to improve upon the plain metal bedframe for our mattress and the dresser from his boyhood bedroom. We also finally found an entertainment center to hold the Ridiculously Large TV, along with matching end tables and a coffee table. I scored a gorgeous new dining room set with eight chairs and a china cabinet. I absolutely love the slate-top kitchen table, which is going to look freaking amazing in the kitchen. And Steve is turning cartwheels over the new desk for the office, with lots and lots of storage.

We picked out paint colors for the few rooms that we're going to repaint. They're going to look fabulous.

Steve got a really great job offer for a company that is known for being one of the best employers in the area. Among his benefits is discounted daycare.

And that daycare center? Wonderful. I checked it out today, and I absolutely loved it. It was bright and cheerful, and all of the kids were having a blast. I was especially impressed with Miss Toya, who is the lead teacher in the pre-K class, where Jack will be after he turns three. She showed me her detailed lesson plans, her records on all of her kids, and appears to be some kind of magical Mary Poppins person. I would not be remotely surprised if she took Jack into a chalk painting to dance with penguins.

Jack's got cool stuff going on, too. My mom and Doug got him a bed for when he's at their house, his first Big Boy Bed. Actually, since it's a toddler bed, I like to think of it as a Medium Boy Bed, but I won't tell Jack that. Anyway, the important thing is that it's shaped like a fire truck. Jack is beyond excited about it. Mom and Doug set it up for him this morning, so he'll have the option of either there or his crib. Jack immediately put his Elmo pillow in it and turned on his sound machine so he could take a practice nap.

Marriage Tests

Things are really crazy and hectic at Temporary Wasser Manor at the moment. Shall we recap?

- Temporary Wasser Manor is only temporary, and therefore not ideal. There are times, for example, when I'd kill for a little more closet space.
- We're closing on the new Stately Wasser Manor in record time.
- We have eighty-three gazillion things to do.
- We need to spend a ton of money in a very short period of time. When we left SWM1, lots of little sundries got left behind. So now, for the first time since about 1995, I don't have any flour. Or laundry detergent. Or coffee, for Yoda's sake, to call my own. We are going to need to do some serious work to get New SWM fully operational.
- Steve is starting a new job soon.
- My own job is pretty darned new, too.
- Jack is two. 'Nuff said.
- We're in a new area, with no real friends yet.
- We need furniture.
- We need to find a good school for Jack to go to when Steve starts work.


The list goes on and on. Considering that when I'm stressed, I compulsively make lists, I have to stop myself from continuing. Suffice to say, we're swamped.

Well in the midst of all of this, the sellers of New Stately Wasser Manor offered to sell us their entertainment center. I really like what they've got, and it would be awesome not to have to spend more money buying something new, plus it's already where we'd want it to be. The issue is, would our monster TV fit in it? This TV is ridiculously big, so big that we have yet to find a non-ugly piece of furniture to house it, so big that if I tried to shove it across the floor, I'd probably hurt myself.

The TV, of course, is buried deep in our storage unit. Picture the storage area at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark, only with stuff packed from floor to ceiling, with only the tiniest bit of air between items.

Still, we've got to know if this thing will work. After all, we'd be wasting our money if we bought this unit (hee, hee, unit) and it didn't work.

So, Steve and I took a break from our usual stress and took on some more stress. On a swelteringly hot day, we went to the storage space, armed with a tape measure and a flash light. I scaled boxes and rickety towers of chairs. I couldn't get to the TV itself, but I could get to the armoire that we know is just a little bit too short for the TV. We could measure that. (We did, and we found out that the new piece would be too small).

I am really proud of the fact that, despite the all encompassing stress that surrounds us at the moment, despite the incredibly hot weather, despite the scary risky box climbing, and despite the weirdness of the whole situation, Steve and I got along perfectly. No one got irritated with anybody, we didn't have a fight. It was actually kind of fun.

I know plenty of people who have had to take a class before getting married. Steve and I had to fill out some worksheets to see if our values were compatible. But I don't think that's nearly as telling as some basic real-life tests that couples encounter.

I think that before you get married, you should have to put up a Christmas tree together. A real tree, so you have to get the damned thing straight in the tree stand and get the lights on it. Then, you should have to assemble a piece of furniture from IKEA. If you still want to get married after that, then you can.

It seems appropriate that this most recent Marriage Test, one that we passed with flying colors, happened on Father's Day. I am incredibly lucky to be parenting Jack with such a great teammate. Happy Father's Day, Steve.

Still Here

This has been a busy -- but great -- week. Steve and I are officially done working as of last Friday. I've got a great lead on a job, so everybody cross your fingers. The morons at Verizon, after a stunning display of incompetence and poor customer service, finally got our internet up again (the best part was when they asked me if I'd be using service with Verizon at our new address; I almost laughed). And Operation Relocation is well underway.

Steve and I wake up, have breakfast, and make waffles for Jack. Whichever of us draws the short straw takes him to school, where he is horribly clingy. This morning, not even a table full of Play-Doh would loosen his grasp on my leg. Then we spend the morning packing like crazy. We've given ourselves enough time that if we follow our packing schedule, we have the afternoon off. So far, we've gone out for good lunches, wandered through a small town shopping, watched a movie, and generally just relaxed. Even though I'm packing and there are a lot of loose ends to tie up, I am more relaxed and free of stress than I've been in weeks. Hopefully this is a sign of things to come.

Pregnancy Brain

My friend Karen and I once had a discussion about "pregnancy brain" and if it really exists. She and I agreed that pregnant women sometimes find themselves being absent-minded and forgetting things because their brains are simply overwhelmed with everything they've got going on. When you're pregnant, the fact that you are growing another human being is always in the back of your head, so stuff like where you parked the car just gets pushed out.

Karen and I felt pretty triumphant about the fact that neither of us experienced this phenomenon. She and I, at the time, had the same job, one that required us to keep track of a tremendous amount of projects, all full of tiny details, and all in different stages of production. Being pregnant, for us, was just one more project, certainly not one to be preoccupied with. And by the way, the fact that Karen could be 40, pregnant, and about to be a single mom and not be preoccupied with all of that is a testament to her ass-kickery.

The trouble is that now, even though I am not pregnant, I seem to have a case of pregnancy brain. Between my last week of work, trying to find another job, taking care of the barnacle like clinger monkey that is Jack, packing, moving, trying to find mirror boxes that I don't have to pay $100 to have shipped, and a gazillion other things, my brain is full.

This morning, I got dressed, cajoled Jack to get dressed and get in the car with a combination of gummy vitamins and the Dora "We Did It!" song, only to discover that I could not find my keys. They weren't in my pocket. They weren't in my purse. Great. Now what? Well, I did have my spare key in my wallet, one that the fine folks at Saturn give you for emergencies just like this. I could use that key to drive Jack to school, go to my eye appointment, then to and from work. I wouldn't be the first to arrive in the office, so not having that key was fine, and Steve gets home before me, so no house key necessary. I would, as the sexsay gay visionary Tim Gunn would say, make it work.

Then I realized that I must have had my keys at some point, since I used them to unlock the car. I vowed to search for them, maybe in the front yard, after taking Jack to school. But there was no need. My keys? I was sitting on them.

Non-Evil Gift Bag

I have had issues in the past with Jack getting gift bags from school. But last week, Jack received a rare non-evil gift bag.

School was closed for Valentine's Day, so the kids had their celebration the next day. As soon as I picked Jack up at school, he said, "Hi, Mommy," but then more urgently said, "Bag!" Sure enough, Jack had a bag of Valentines that he knew he was going to get as soon as, but not before, his mommy arrived to pick him up. I got the bag off the shelf, and Jack and I were immediately swarmed by other little kids who were yearning for their own bags. I told the other kids that they'd get bags when their mommies or daddies came to get them, but you could tell they didn't quite believe it. Jack basked in the glow of finally having his beloved bag.

As we walked to the car, Jack, clutching the bag, started happily chattering about how he was going to go home and show his bag to Daddy and to Chew Chew Bacca. At home, he was so engrossed by his bag that I was actually able to cook dinner without him hanging, barnacle-like, from my leg.

I also discovered that Jack has now developed the skill to unwrap candy on his own. We adults have a very different approach to eating a sucker than Jack does. I pretty much figure once I put it in my mouth, I am committed to finishing it right away. Jack would beg to differ. He'll enjoy his sucker for a few minutes, but then there is absolutely no reason not to just go ahead and put it back in his bag for a while. The resulting sticky mess does not phase him in the least.

But even more than the candy, Jack was interested in the cards. We looked at each one, and I told him -- just once, mind you -- which of his friends they were from. Then, he'd go through the cards and hold each one up, telling me who gave it to him. Blew my little mind that he was actually able to tell me, for example, that the Cars card with Sally on it was from Brandon and the one with Doc Hudson on it was from Donovan. My boy is a genius. A genius covered in sticky sap, but a genius nevertheless.

Saving Face

Since the Great Food Crackdown of 2007, Jack's snack of choice has been cereal bars. They're reasonably healthy, plus it's convenient to just hand him one to eat before school. For whatever reason, Jack prefers to have the cereal bar partially in the wrapper. The one time I unwrapped it completely and handed it to him, he completely wigged out. There's typically no logic to be found in the world of a two-year old.

Yesterday, he asked for his morning cereal bar, and let me tell you, I could not get that thing to him fast enough. As I reached into the pantry for it, Jack got impatient and had a semi-fake tantrum about it. His new technique is to get face down on the floor, but it's like he read in a book that that's how you have a tantrum, because he totally phones it in. He doesn't throw himself to the floor screaming. He more gently and carefully arranges himself on the floor. It's like when we play "Ring Around the Rosy." When I fall down, I don't really fall so much as carefully move to the floor.

He got up off of the floor when I handed him the cereal bar, but when I offered to open it for him, he said, "No, Mommy. Mommy no eat. Mommy no bite. Roary no eat." Then he took it and ran into a corner, shrieking, "Noooo!"

Fine. I could wait that out, because no way could he open the thing himself and would soon come crawling back to me.

In the corner, Jack struggled with the wrapper. I could hear him getting more and more frustrated, but every time I offered to help, I was met with a resounding, "Nooo!"

Eventually, I guess he gave up, because he came over to me, holding the still wrapped cereal bar. Jack surely didn't want to ask me for help, especially after he'd refused me, and perhaps because he was convinced that treacherous Mommy would steal his precious bar and eat it all for herself. He needed to save face, and he also needed someone loyal, someone he could trust.

Jack held out the cereal bar and said, "Ro open. Ro help."

"You want Roary to open the cereal bar?"

"Yep."

Roary eagerly ripped open the wrapper and handed it to Jack. "Thank you, Ro," Jack said, and happily ate the cereal bar.

In other news, remember the blue cupcakes from Wednesday? Well, yesterday, ever single kid in Jack's class had technicolor poop as a result of those things. Jack's hiney is now stained blue. Lovely.

Gift Bags

Steve and I went to pick Jack up from school this evening, and quickly got hints that it was going to be a wild ride. For starters, Renee, one of the directors told us, "Your son is a Smurf." Why? Because today was Nicholas's birthday, and he brought cupcakes with royal blue, Smurf-hued icing. And Jack proceeded to spread said icing all over his face and hands. That icing tinted his skin.


"He had fun," Renee continued, "And he has a gift bag that he can't wait to get his hands on."

Gift bag? Oh, no.


Every once in a while, a kid in Jack's class has a birthday. They bring cupcakes, which is cool, but they also bring these crappy little plastic gift bags. In the gift bags are crappy little items that Jack becomes hideously obsessed with. It's about 75 cents worth of junk that makes me want to drink about $20 worth of wine. As soon as he gets his hands on one, I am plotting when I can divert his attention and throw the damned thing away.

This particular gift bag contained a lollypop, a small notepad (which apparently Jack needs to jot down ideas for the story he's writing for the school paper?), a Thomas the Tank Engine noisemaker, and a superball.

Jack ate the lollypop on the way home, making his hands sticky, in addition to being blue. He then spent a tremendous amount of time taking the stuff in and out of his gift bag. If only his success matched his determination, because he repeatedly couldn't get it to work, prompting him to whine and cry. He then likes to rip the plastic bag into little shreds, getting pissed when static electricity makes them stick to his hands. Usually the noisemaker gets all slobbery, rendering it a useless pile of cardboard pulp.


Today's superball rendered the gift bag even more of a problem than usual. I hate to be the kind of person who complains about this stuff, but a superball is a freaking choking hazard. Jack popped it into his mouth, and I confiscated it, causing a huge screaming tantrum fit. I was about ready to join him, though as Jack wailed, "Baaaalll!" I was going to wail, "Damn you, Nicholas's mommy!"

The good news is that I got the bag away and threw it in the trash before Jack became best friends forever with it. Roary also enjoyed the icing.

And Jack's dinner of tomato soup combined with his blue flesh to make a very interesting hue.

Mess? Yes!

Mary P. recently wrote about "Mrs. Immaculate," who threw a fit any time her son completed a day of daycare looking anything less than picture perfect. I think that's absolutely ridiculous. If you want your kid to have a chance to explore, to be curious, to LEARN, not to mention to have fun, they're going to get messy in the process.

Last night, Steve looked at Jack's sneakers, and they painted a picture of exactly what he'd been up to that day. The bottoms were coated in a sticky mix of Play-Doh and rice. We laughed about it and agreed that it looked like Jack had a great day. This morning, I shared that story with Ms. Marzia, one of Jack's new teachers. She said that they have the kids help make Play-Doh, and that they get even messier on that day. I think that's so cool.

Jack doesn't own a single article of clothing that can't be thrown in the washing machine, and that includes even his dressiest outfits. I remember back before I had the Cublet, I was shopping with my mom. She held up a tiny white dress, embroidered with blue flowers. It was beautiful, but, I said, any child of mine would immediately get chocolate ice cream right on that pretty little dress.

In other news, now that I've been at this Mommying gig for two years, I feel a lot more confident and competent than I did before. Sure, Jack will throw me for a loop every now and then, but my 2006 New Year's Resolution that I am in charge and know what I'm doing is proving true. This morning, I woke Jack up and found his face and sheets smeared in blood. He'd had a bloody nose in the night.

I think in the first year or so, this would have really worried me. I'd have called his doctor, looked up nosebleeds in at least two books, done a Google search, and posted a missive to the Mommy group. But this time, I shrugged, figured it was because he's got a cold and the air is dry, and washed his face. If he keeps getting nosebleeds, then I'll worry about it, but I don't think this is any big deal. It's nice to feel competent.