100 Things About Me

(Or, an irresistible exercise in blogging narcissism)

1. I have brown hair and blue green eyes.
2. I am 5 ft. 4 inches tall.
3. I once had hair so long that it brushed the back of my knees.
4. I cut it extremely short before I went backpacking in Europe so that it would be easy to care for.
5. I spent nearly five months on that backpacking trip with my husband.
6. We visited Greece, Italy, the Czech Republic, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, France, Belgium, Ireland, and the U.K. (Northern Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and England).
7. I can't wait to travel again.
8. When I came back from Europe, I immediately started law school.
9. I had wanted to be an English professor, but law seemed like it offered more job opportunities.
10. I made the choice between an English graduate program and law school from a pay phone in Greece in the pouring rain, when I reluctantly turned down a fellowship to get my PhD in English.
11. Frequently, I wonder if I made the right choice.
12. I hated law school, but I met a great friend there.
13. We were delighted to discover that both of us called ourselves feminists in a time when so many women reject that word.
14. I don't tell her often enough how much her friendship means to me.
15. I've worked as a waitress, proofreader, and lawyer.
16. All of my sisters have worked or are working as waitresses, but none are proofreaders or lawyers.
17. I have 4 sisters and 2 brothers.
18. All of them except one are younger than I am.
19. Some of them read my blog, but they never comment!!
20. I always wanted to have a big family, but it didn't really fit with my other goals in life.
21. Plus, I had to talk my husband into having any children at all.
22. He's still skeptical about the wisdom of that decision, though he loves the squeaker.
23. I have one child and hope to have one more.
24. I had wanted a girl so much that I cried when I found out I was going to have a boy.
25. Now I think the squeaker is the best little thing ever, even though he is a boy.
26. But I think I can only handle one more, since I was sick for nearly 4 months when I was pregnant with the squeaker.
27. While I was pregnant, I really hoped to give birth naturally and then breastfeed for at least a year.
28. I found natural childbirth surprisingly easy.
29. In fact, I almost ended up having the squeaker at home because I just didn't think labor was that far along.
30. But breastfeeding was the hardest thing I've ever done.
31. It was even harder than the bar exam!
32. (Which I miraculously passed on the first try.)
33. It took me so long to master breastfeeding that now I'm reluctant to give it up.
34. And though the squeaker is almost two, he isn't ready to give it up, either.
35. I did not have the squeaker baptized.
36. I have not been baptized either (same with my husband).
37. I am an atheist and don't understand religion.
38. My parents are also atheist/agnostic, so I wasn't raised to value religious faith.
39. My grandmother is very worried that none of us will be in heaven with her.
40. It's hard for me to understand her concern when the whole idea seems so absurd to me.
41. I can be very irreverent, and it rubs some people the wrong way.
42. I love Monty Python and Douglas Adams for their irreverence.
43. My first car was a burgundy Honda Civic hatchback.
44. Whenever my dreams involve driving anywhere, that's always the car I'm driving.
45. I am not prone to nightmares or insomnia.
46. Sometimes I think that if I were an insomniac, I'd be able to get a lot more things done.
47. But luckily, I'm not the kind of person who feels compelled to be getting things done all the time.
48. My first crush was on Luke Skywalker.
49. I wrote Luke lots of letters that my mother promised to send, but didn't.
50. I am relieved that she didn't send them.
51. I married my "high school sweetheart."
52. Some people say he looks a lot like Luke Skywalker.
53. We got married at the courthouse.
54. We had to stand under an ugly plastic arbor when we exchanged our wedding vows.
55. We had a backyard party and played volleyball and bocce with our families to celebrate.
56. I couldn't stand the idea of spending a lot of money on a wedding.
57. All my life, I've lived in one of three neighboring counties.
58. I now work in the county where I was born.
59. I'm not sure I want to live in this area here forever, but it's hard for me to imagine having any other place feel like home.
60. I am politically liberal.
61. I have voted in every election held since I was eligible to vote.
62. I love both movies and books.
63. One of the things I miss most about my pre-parenthood days is going to see movies at the theatre.
64. I never watch TV. I don't think I've watched a TV show or news program in at least 10 years.
65. I hate commercials.
66. But we have a large DVD collection and love to watch movies at home, when we can get the squeaker to bed by himself.
67. Generally, the squeaker sleeps with us. He's never spent a night sleeping alone.
68. I hadn't planned to co-sleep, but we found that it was the arrangement most conducive to sleep for all of us.
69. Now I can't imagine having him sleep alone. It seems so lonely.
70. I am afraid of spiders.
71. I am such a private person that it is hard for me to connect with people at times.
72. But I think of myself as reserved, kind, honest, loyal, open-minded, stubborn, and ethical.
73. I'm also highly opinionated, but I don't share my opinions unless I know someone well.
74. I really enjoy the company (and writings of) people who are funny and witty, but I myself am a serious person who isn't very witty.
75. I like the ocean and love the beach!
76. I'd much rather wear sandals and summer dresses than a winter coat, hat, and boots.
77. I hate skiing.
78. (Unless it's water skiing, which I'm not very good at but have enjoyed the few times I've tried.)
79. I never wear makeup.
80. I don't even own any.
81. I was never into girlie things.
82. I collect sheepy stuff.
83. But I'm not really into knick knacks, so my sheepy things are typically practical -- sheep sheets, sheep slippers, sheep socks, sheep cookie jar.
84. My favorite color is green.
85. I wanted a green stuffed sheep so much that my mother finally dyed one of my white stuffed sheep green.
86. I love chocolate, especially brownies.
87. I don't drink much, though I like Woodpecker cider.
88. I'd much rather have a brownie than an alcoholic drink.
89. I've never tried any illegal drug, or even cigarettes.
90. I'm a very analytical, particular, practical person.
91. I see these same traits in my little son.
92. I miss my Shetland sheepdog, Lorna Doone.
93. I am much more of a dog person than a cat person.
94. But I don't like big, jumping, slobbery dogs, either.
95. I play the piano (10 years of lessons!), but I am not an accomplished or advanced player.
96. I like to sing, but I am truly terrible.
97. I believe that flexibility is the key to happiness.
98. I think that people who try to live their lives according to all kinds of absolutist principles (even if those principles are idealistic) seem destined for unhappiness.
99. I imagine that this probably makes me look unprincipled to some people, but I think it's a matter of pragmatism.
100. Generally, I'm pretty self-confident and don't care much about what other people think about me, as long as they are relatively nice to me and let me be.

Baby, You Can Drive My Car

How silly is this? Now you can connect with the people that you flirt with in traffic. Does anyone over 25 actually flirt in traffic? Are car flirters really interested in relationships? Isn't it to be presumed that part of the appeal of flirting with fellow drivers is the unlikelihood of anything actually happening?

Speaking of driving, the squeaker is desperate to drive. He'll be happily sitting in his seat while we're on the highway, and then he'll suddenly say, "[Squeaker*] drive?"

"No, it's papa's turn to drive right now," we tell him.

Long pause while he thinks about this. Then: "[Squeaker's] turn drive, please?"

Maybe being strapped in his car seat is interfering with his ability to flirt with toddlers in neighboring cars.

* No, he doesn't call himself the squeaker. But I don't want to blow his cover, of course.

Squeaker in the Bubbles

The Pigeon Wins

The squeaker has this book called Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus. At the beginning of the book, the bus driver addresses the reader, saying he's going to be gone for a bit and asking the reader to watch over his bus. He asks the reader not to let the pigeon drive the bus.

Then the pigeon shows up, and he proceeds to beg and plead, and then to pout, and finally to get irritated that he isn't allowed to drive the bus. After each page of the imploring pigeon, I turn to the squeaker and say, "What do you tell the pigeon? Are you going to let him drive the bus?" And he looks a little stressed and dismayed, but says "No, pigeon, no!" As we page through the book, I explain that the pigeon is sad and then mad that he isn't allowed to drive the bus.

So last night, as we're returning home from Target (where we've acquired a new hippo and horse), I ask, "So, are you going to let the pigeon drive the bus?!?"

And he says firmly, "Yes!"

I'm surprised, so I reply, "You are?"

"Yes," he says. "Sad. Pigeon drive bus."

Apparently, the squeaker is a push over. Either that, or the pigeon is extremely persuasive.

More Bye Byes Please

We took a road trip this weekend to a small town in western Pennsylvania to visit with extended family. We were a little worried about how the squeaker would handle the 4-hour drive. We have not traveled much with him. But he was great. On the way there, he read his books, munched on cookies, and looked for horses and cows in the surrounding countryside. He seemed to think we had some control over what he could see out the window; if he spotted some cows, he would quickly say, "Mama, more cows, please."

By the time we reached our hotel, he was wiggling in his seat and saying, "Out! Out!" But we were impressed that he did so well for the bulk of the trip. He loved the hotel, particularly since the kitchenette had mini-appliances that were in his reach. He spent the evening stocking the fridge with his plastic animals and trying to microwave the TV remote.

Bedtime was easy (thank goodness for the co-sleeping; all he needs is mama or papa, and he can settle down anywhere). And the next morning, he enjoyed the day's activities immensely, from throwing cookies to the deer in the cemetary to eating handfuls of M & Ms at a party Saturday evening. From the party, we headed home, and he was quite good again. He had one meltdown about an hour into the trip, but we realized he probably needed to eat, and food seemed to make him happy. We thought he'd sleep in the car, but he didn't want to. About a half hour from home, we were talking about where we were heading, and he got quite distressed. "No," he said. "More bye byes, please!" I guess we should plan on some more road trips since the squeaker apparently likes to travel. But next time, I think we'll hide the TV remote when we get to the hotel.

A Very Nervous Hamster

OK, one more story:

Apparently, this snake wanted a companion more than it wanted a meal. It appears to want its hamster lunch to stick around and be companionable instead. One wonders what the hamster thinks of this arrangement, though I suppose it is better than being eaten.

Just Desserts

I promised to find five interesting stories to combat my own boredom. Luckily, the task was interesting enough to hold my attention. Here is the 5th and final story: men are satisfied when the bad guy gets his comeupance, and women feel sorry for the jerk.

A healthy dose of skepticism is always good when reading these scientific findings about gender differences, especially when they confirm stereotypes, but this one would explain a lot of things, wouldn't it?

Luck of the Irish

Two percent of male New Yorkers can count 5th-century Irish warlord Niall of the Nine Hostages as their ancestor. In fact, as many as 3 million men can include Niall in their family tree. Not quite Genghis Kahn, who apparently has 16 million descendants, but still quite impressive.

A Million Pixels

This story really belongs in the "maddening" column, rather than in the "interesting" column. But since I haven't been able to stop thinking about Alex Tew since I first read this article, I'm sharing it here.

Alex is a 21-year old Brit who became a millionaire by selling pixels on "The Million Dollar Homepage." Once the page was being talked about in the news, it became a hot buy. After all, advertising is all about being seen, and having your logo and a link on a popular web page is what it's all about.

So clever. So maddening.

Happy News Site

The second interesting story for today is really a collection of stories on a site that not only counters boredom, but also that sense that the world is a pretty unpleasant place with lots of people doing terrible things to one another against a backdrop of natural disasters and disease. (Can you tell that I'm feeling cheerful today?)

Anyway, the site is full of happy news. I recommend a daily dose, immediately after reading CNN's web site.

The PhD Prostitute

The first interesting story for today is Brandy M. Britton, a woman with a doctorate in sociology and an interest in women's studies who is charged with making a living by selling her sexual services. She uses an explicit web site to advertise her business, which she conducts from her own home in Howard County, Maryland (not too smart). Granted, she says on the site that she is NOT a prostitute, but an undercover officer found that this wasn't quite the case. Apparently, her site is loaded with code words for specific sex acts, such as her offer to "speak Greek" with clients for an extra charge ($100), while intercourse in Russian is free. (I'm almost embarrassed about the pun I just committed, but I couldn't help myself.)

There's something very sad about running a prostitution business and an Institute for Women and Girls Health Research Inc. from the same home location. Yikes.

Boring

I had this teacher in high school who had this reply to student complaints about boring work, or the eye-rolling and sighs that adolescents so often use to convey their feeling that a new assignment is dull: "If you think this is boring, you're boring yourself." Unless, of course, she meant "you [yourself] are boring." I always wondered what she meant -- that only inherently boring people get bored, or that one is responsible for addressing one's own boredom -- i.e., one needs to actively stop boring oneself and find a way to become engaged with whatever is going on.

But anyway, today I am bored, bored, bored.

Politics is boring. Do politicians all have a script or what? They all say the most predictable and tiresome things, and then the subsequent outrage is equally predictable and tedious. A chocolate New Orleans. Spying on Americans is OK because we're at war -- don't mind the legal scholars, who know the law and dare to disagree. Talking heads blathering on endlessly about Supreme Court nominee Alito, after attention-loving Senators predictably fired the usual questions at him and got the usual evasive manuevers, sometimes necessary because of judicial ethics and sometimes not. Then the politicians get to be disgruntled about the answers they presumably knew they'd get, and we all know the likely outcome is confirmation because of the makeup of the Senate, so why pretend that the whole charade is remotely interesting? I'm a little alarmed at my own apathy about something that matters, but we all know how this is going to end.

At least my apathy isn't complete -- I do think it's important and effective to work for justice and liberty, but I think that when we're talking a Supreme Court nomination, it's generally too little too late. A fundamental shift is needed in the electorate that would choose a president that likes Sam Alito, and contributing to that shift is important for everyone who cares about the issues that are at stake. But in the meantime, politics is all so boring.

Work is boring. I'm supervised and bureaucratized into virtual non-existence by the administration's Chosen Ones, which is just how they'd like things to be.

And now today's post is boring. But dear reader, if you think this post is boring, I am sure that it must be that you're boring yourself. Now, I'm going to go find 5 interesting stories to highlight today. My high school teacher would be proud.

Judge Alito

I like to think of my blog as a place to express different aspects of myself -- my mama self, my lawyer self, my philosophical self, my political self. But it's easy for my mama self to dominate the rest. For such a tiny person, the squeaker is a very large presence in my life. Before I hop in the shower, I have to remove the foam letters and the plastic boat from the bathtub. The kitchen cabinets are full of sippy cups and bowls with suction cups on the bottom. I climb over a gate to get downstairs to the foyer each morning. The car is littered with Froot Loops and cardboard books.

But I feel like I ought to shake off the Froot Loops and crayons to say something about Sam Alito, because I'm a liberal and a lawyer, and thus I should presumably have some insightful and enlightening observations to make. And I've read numerous critiques, on blogs and in the mainstream media, that remind me of how much is at stake and how effective a good piece can be in highlighting the important issues surrounding his likely confirmation to a seat on the Supreme Court.

The problem is that I just don't care about Sam Alito. It's not that I don't appreciate the repercussions his confirmation will have. It seems quite likely that he will shift the Court towards rulings that will allow government sponsorship of religious messages under the guise of freedom of religion and tighter restrictions on reproductive rights. He's also likely to be hostile to the kind of government regulations and programs that are important to me personally and professionally.

But it seems that Judge Alito is what people think they want, so why not let them have him? The people of this country chose George W. Bush, with all of his reckless foolishness and his sinister and corrupt friends, to lead them, presumably with the dire warnings from public interest groups about the fate of the Supreme Court ringing in their ears. It's the states that carried Bush into office that are most likely to be affected by shifts in the legal landscape; my state isn't likely to outlaw abortion even if the Supreme Court overturns Roe. Why should I worry about the red staters who are most likely to feel the affects of a conservative Court, when that's what they effectively voted for? What choice does the minority have but to take refuge in states most likely to respect reproductive rights, the separation of church and state, environmental protections, and equality and non-discrimination? Why stand up and fight for a constitutional vision so much of the country doesn't share? And yet, is it morally wrong to give up the fight, to allow resignation and frustration to determine a course of action that effectively surrenders this country to social and legal conservatives?

In short, I don't have anything insightful or enlightening to say about Alito because I have more questions than answers. I admire the moral certainty of organizations that oppose Alito's confirmation, but I cannot find a basis for opposing it myself. It kind of makes me miss Harriet. She was obviously such a poor fit for the Court that even I didn't feel ambivalent.

Nighttime Mama

Sometimes co-sleeping with the squeaker makes me feel so restless. I go to bed at 8:30 with him, and though some nights he nurses and then we snuggle for a few minutes before he drifts off to sleep, other nights involve an hour or more of his wriggling, incessant nursing, and forceful kicks to struggle free of the blankets ("Don't want it, mama").

On those long and tedious evenings, I think enviously about parents who tuck their little one in bed at 8:00 and then spend a relaxing evening with one another, maybe watching a movie or having a late dinner and cozy conversation -- alone. I begin to anxiously wonder if the choices we've made have involved giving up too much -- too much of ourselves, and of our own relationship. Maybe, I think, co-sleeping is too child-centric, too hard on me and on my marriage.

And then we have a night like last night, and my doubts dissipate. The squeaker snuggled with his papa on the couch until 9 pm, watching a bit of Fantasia (he found the centaurs particularly puzzling). Then he snuggled into bed with me, nursing and pressing his cold little toes against me to warm them up. He nursed a bit and then sank into sleep with a little sigh of contentment, scooting close to me so that his soft wispy hair tickled my nose. One of his recent concerns has been having me accompany him everywhere, so if he and his papa are preparing to go out, he'll ask "Mama coming?" At 3 am, he must have been dreaming about such an outing, because his little voice suddenly echoed in the quiet darkness -- "Mama coming?" I patted him, and he slipped back into sleep.

It was such a peaceful, cozy night, made more precious by the knowledge that we were on the brink of another work week and the long daily separations that can make being a working mother so hard. Many of my colleagues spend only an hour or so a day with their little ones -- they pick them up from day care, take them home, feed them, bathe them, and put them to bed at 6:30 or 7:00. Nighttime mothering undoubtedly has its drawbacks, but in the middle of the night, with that little cheek pressed against mine, I am glad to know that the squeaker is able to spend so much time snuggled close to his mama.

E I E I O

We play this game where we sing "Old MacDonald," but leave out the name of the animal so that the squeaker can fill that part in, and then we pause again when it's time to make the animal sound, which he obligingly does.

When you leave it up to an almost-two-year old, there are all kinds of animals on Old MacDonald's farm -- dolphins, turtles, lions, you name it. For a while, though, he was stuck on cows, so we were happy when he branched out a bit, even if none of us is exactly sure what sound a whale makes.

Anyway, in one lively session of singing, he filled in the song this way:

Us: Old MacDonald has a farm, EIEIO. And on that farm he has some....?

Squeaker: MAMAS!

Us: EIEIO. With a .... ? (And now we paused meaningfully, wondering what on earth he could say for mamas)

Squeaker: Nurse, nurse here...

Ah, yes. See what kind of humor nursing past 12 months yields?

Fill These Shoes

Think the squeaker could ski in these?

Unpregnant

It's really weird to not be pregnant anymore, but have no baby. I suddenly feel like my old self again. I have enough energy to vacuum the house. I can eat and eat and eat. (And I have, with gusto -- Froot Loops, pizza, ice cream.) I have to admit that it feels good to leave the nausea and fatigue behind, though obviously I would have preferred to have achieved that through another outcome.

I had dreaded the D & C procedure, which I had yesterday. It was actually not a big deal. There were a lot of firsts for me -- first IV, first surgery, first time to be drugged to sleep. Obviously, I've been lucky in life to make it to 31 years old without any of these experiences. But everyone was very kind. I didn't like the way the IV made my hand and arm feel cold, and then the anesthesia was hot and prickly. And the moment that I fell asleep was really bizarre. I felt completely awake and aware, and then I didn't remember anything else until I woke up in the recovery room. I always thought that you'd have the sensation of gradually slipping into sleep. They had warned me that I might feel ill when I awoke, but I didn't. I felt great -- so relieved to have the procedure behind me so that I can move on. I've experienced virtually no pain or discomfort.

Thank you all for the kind comments, the good thoughts, and the prayers. Your comments mean a lot to me.

Capricious Nature

Well, though I said I'd surrender to the lima bean, it seems that it surrendered first.

We had an ultrasound yesterday. I could feel that something was wrong before they said anything about it. The technician became very tight-lipped. She then left the room for a long, long time. When she came back, she said they'd called our doctor, and we were to head straight there. I asked if something was wrong, though I know they are not supposed to say much. She said yes, she had detected no heartbeat. I asked if she should have been able to, and she said most likely.

At the doctor's office, they ushered us in quickly. They'd been waiting for us. No fetal movement, the doctor said. No heartbeat. Pretty definitive results.

I feel sad and yet relieved. Sad for the lima bean that will never grow, and relieved that nature knows to end the pregnancy when things have gone wrong (and in that sense, nature actually isn't capricious at all). 15 to 18% of women have this experience (or so said the doctor who gave us the bad news), and the percentage is much higher if you count the miscarriages that women never know about because they happen so early.

I know numbers aren't solace to everyone, but to me, they are a reminder that this is a common event, and that most women go on to try again with success. Trying again sounds a little intimidating to me. That sensation that something is wrong is truly awful, and that is always a risk. And I was excited about how close in age this baby would have been to the squeaker.

But c'est la vie. There is nothing else for it. In a bit of cruel irony, I still feel quite queasy. It's as if my body doesn't know yet, which makes sense because it appeared that the embyro stopped growing just before the ultrasound was done -- maybe just a day or so beforehand.

They gave me a sonogram picture. You can see the facial features and the little hands. And yet I don't really feel sentimental about it. Something just prevented it from continuing to grow, and typically, nature knows best.

Ugh

Today has been a rough day. I've been struggling with very severe nausea all day, but only lost my breakfast. I've been terrified to leave my office. What if I get sick in the hallway?!?

Plus, I am feeling extremely unmotivated. I'd really like to be somewhere else. Somewhere warm and sunny.

It makes me think of this priest we met when we were travelling in Greece. He was a British man in his 60s who had moved to Greece a few years before we met him. He said he lived in a cave and bathed via a bucket of fresh water from the sea each day. (I have no idea how credible he was, but he didn't seem to be telling tall tales.)

I think I'd feel better if I could stretch out on a warm sandy beach in Greece, though I'll pass on the cave accommodations and the primitive shower. But still, sometimes I wonder what it would be like to sell our house (which has benefitted from this area's crazy appreciation in housing values) and downscale to a simpler life in a beautiful, inexpensive place. I think about leaving all our "stuff" behind and taking only the really important items. And I wonder how the squeaker's life would be different if his working, two-car suburban parents suddenly experienced a radical shift in priorities.

And even though a part of me thinks it's just silly naive dreaming, another part of me whispers, "But you'll never know unless you try it...."

Doctor Squeaker

My husband took the squeaker out on Monday morning so that I could get some rest. They went to Best Buy to wander around.

"Mama's not feeling well," said my husband to the squeaker. "Maybe we should get something to help her feel better. What should we get? A CD? A DVD? What do you think?"

The squeaker looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he replied, "Medicine?"

Sharp as a tack, that kiddo.

I Am My Car and My Car is Me

The most exciting consumer event of our vacation was the acquisition of a new car -- a Honda Odyssey!! With two car seats in our relatively near future, our sedan was beginning to look awfully cramped.

I've been surprised to discover how strong people's feelings about minivans are. We've been (playfully) taunted by family members and friends about becoming minivan parents, and one sister teased that I will be a "soccer mom." My sister-in-law, who drives a very expensive Buick, told me that despite having two kids, she and her husband just couldn't do the "minivan thing."

I think maybe there's something wrong with me, because to me, a car (or a minivan) is just a tool. I don't perceive it as some extension or reflection of my personality. It's just something to get me and my family from Point A to Point B as reliably, comfortably, and safely as possible. Being able to use the minivan for other purposes (such as getting furniture home) is an added bonus. Maybe I don't share the bias that other people have against minivans because I grew up with vans and other roomy "family" cars. They just seemed practical, especially when you want to be sure that you aren't sitting too close to a noisy, wriggly toddler on a three-hour trip to the beach.

Now, I can understand choosing a car based on an assessment of what is environmentally or socially responsible. But that's quite different from using a car to develop or express personal identity. It seems to me to be a dangerous thing to define yourself through the objects around you, or through the consumer choices that you make.

Endings and Beginnings

Today is the last day of a very pleasant vacation. Sigh. How does time off move so fast, while a week of working inches along?

But at least I'll be able to post again. It's a bit hard to find time away from the squeaker when I'm at home. He's always wanting me to make him lunch or draw a guinea pig for him or rescue Chicken Little. And if he sees the laptop open, he wants to watch the March of the Penguins trailer, or -- even worse -- the Curious George movie trailer. Ugh.

On the downside, it looks like the nausea with baby #2 will be just as bad as it was with the squeaker. Last time, I lost 11 pounds in the first trimester. Already, my weight is the lowest it has been since then. I just can't eat. Very bizarre. I'm pretty sure I'm never, ever doing this again.

Anyway, happy new year to my faithful readers. May good things await all of us in 2006.