The Next Step...

I remember January 1993, almost 17 years ago…was it really THAT long ago??? Being on a plane headed towards Amsterdam, I was in the last row of that plane…not such a big deal these days but 17 years ago an international flight still allocated the back of the plane for smokers…I was not a smoker, but I was one of the last people to buy a seat on that flight…hence my plight. That was the picture…me on the last row, asphyxiated, and wondering, “What in the heck have I gotten myself into? I have no idea where I am going, what it will be like, maybe I will hate it? What am I doing?...cough, cough. Did I really just rearrange my whole life because God said to? Oh Boy. :0”

Well, if you know me you know that this leap of faith turned into a long stint in Amsterdam. Those 10 years changed me, defined me, stretched me and made me, in big part, who I am today. So when I left Amsterdam and YWAM, 5 years ago, I settled down into a calmer life…ok, not so calm, I got married, we trusted God for a baby he said we’d have…got two….life was good. I’d left those crazy YWAM days behind and though I missed it at times, life was crazy in a different sort of way.

But sometimes I did yearn. I remember my second summer back, wanting so bad to live a more daring life…how could I do it? All my journal entries were about getting the adventure back…all my prayers…not wanting to settle for an ordinary life. And then I forgot about it. Went on with my routine…but God did not forget. At least, that’s the only thing I can figure out about why this happened…

It all started with a simple little thing. Our family doubled, we were cramped in our little house…Scott walked in one day, looked at all the baby junk in the living room and said…”This house is too small we need a new house.” Now I had thought this thought too…but that’s just the difference between my husband and I. I would just live in that world because its too difficult to think about getting out of it…the house is too small, make it work. Scott sees things as easily changeable…I guess that a visionary for you. So a small cramped space turned into a call to Scott’s mom, a realtor, and there it was, a sign in our front yard…our house was for sale. But it was just a little test…we didn't actually think it would sell in this market. We’d be gone for the summer, and we’d let her show our house while we were in Montana. Test the market…No harm, no foul. Easy peasy, right?

Well...that house sold in two weeks and suddenly we moved from rooted people to uprooted people with decisions to make….Here we are...Lets just make this easy decision…and ok, we’ll put a dash of adventure into it by considering some different options…but we both knew we’d probably land right back where we started in Savannah.

So we packed up the house, put our stuff in storage, packed up the U-Haul and started the 12 day drive to Montana stopping along the way to visit people and also, stopping to check out Ashland, North Carolina as a possible place to move to. Long story short. Ashland, this wonderful little town we both KNEW we’d love…ummm, well it just didn't click... and we both knew it. And somewhere between Ashland and Montna it hit me. This wasn’t really our decision…there was a place for us and God was going to show us where it was….even if our path led us right back to Savannah. And that was that. I carried on with trying to get two 6 month olds across country, sleepless nights, stress…We hopped across the country stopping to visit my sister in West Virginia and friends in Kansas City along the way. Plans of the future on the back burner… we were in survival mode.

So here’s the bottom line, what Ashland wasn’t ….Kansas City was. Visiting friends at the International House of Prayer something seemed to click…I didn’t say anything to Scott…Scott didn’t say anything to me…but we were both thinking the same thing. Then I overheard Scott and Tim talking about our moving to Kansas City and what life would be like for us being a part of that community…and I knew…this might be something. We didn't sell our house with an intention to go on an adventure...We didn’t go to Kansas City looking to find a place to live…it was just a house, Kansas City was just a pit stop. That’s all. And as we drove away we both knew we had a lot to pray about. And I knew...if God could get my warm- climate- loving husband to consider Kansas City..then...well, it was God.

A month of so later we’d made the decision that we were moving to Kansas City. And there you have it. Adventure is not dead…and of course I remembered what I knew already, it did not live with YWAM. It lives in the heart of God. And here I am again, the excitement of the decision behind me…and I’m sitting in the back of that plane, barely able to breathe… and wondering, “What in the heck have we gotten ourselves into? I have no idea where we are going, what it will be like, maybe we will hate it? What am I doing?...cough, cough. Did I really just rearrange my whole life because God said to? Oh Boy. :0” And once again, I’m just trusting …that He won’t steer us wrong. Its like Mr. Beaver said to Peter, Susan, Edmond and Lucy… "Who said anything about safe? Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. Hes the King. I tell you.”

To be continued...

You're Gonna Miss This...

Most of this summer has evolved around two boys; David & Jonathan. They are almost 9 months old and lots of fun and excitement. I have a song that I sing to them that I made up…I can’t remember when I “wrote” it but as long as I can remember having them at home we have sung our song. It goes like this: Boys, Boys, Boys, Boys, boys in the house. Boys, Boys, Boys, Boys, Quiet as a mouse. Boys, Boys, Boys, Boys, Boys in the house, What am I gonna do with the boys in the house? David, Jonathan, Scott…and Harry too! Always running around and saying “Boo!” Boys, Boys, Boys, Boys, Boys in the house….what am I gonna do with the boys in the house? 

I am around a lot of boys.

As joyful as it is to be a mom and wife it is nice sometimes to have some girl time. So I am blessed to have Jessica, my little sister through the Big Brothers/Big Sisters program. We have known each other for two years, she is 13 and a breath of fresh air. Fresh girl air. ☺ We meet once a week and do silly girl stuff. Jessica likes country music and since we spend some time in the car together going here and there I get to hear quite a lot of country music. I can’t say that I am a big country music fan but I can say that I’m softening a bit to the idea that country music has its gems. I’m coming around to the idea that a warm and fuzzy song just may be alright in life….every now and then.

The last time we went out a song came on the radio and Jessica said, “Oh I like this one.” So I listened to “You’re Gonna Miss This.” By Trace Adkins. I downloaded this song and played it for Scott today and cried the whole way through. “Why?” Scott asked. “I don’t really know” I answered.

There is a good question that counselor’s use and I learned it when I took a coaching class two years ago. When someone answers a question with an “I don’t know” you say, “Well If you did know… what would the answer be?” It’s a good approach, because most people know deep down inside why they do what they do… and I know why I cried.

When we first brought the babies home from the hospital, I found myself in our bedroom, laying in bed, looking out at a tree most of the day. An old dead-looking tree. The excitement of pregnancy was gone, the support of hospital staff left behind… with two little ones who only knew sleeping & eating, pooping & peeing. I loved them so much but it was hard, there was no where to run to when I needed a break…no time even for a break, or sleep or showers…struggles to nurse, several rounds of painful infections from nursing, hormones going at a fast clip…it was hard. And I looked at that tree and thought…This season is the Winter of our Discontent. It was such a foreign thing to think and I was pretty sure it was a God thought and not a Nancy one. We loved those boys (still do) but in an instant life changed and seemed to be dragging us along. And while that thought made me sad…The Winter of our Discontent, (I didn’t want to be discontent) I finally figured out that Winter was just a season…it need not, and does not, last forever. My hope came from looking at that tree and remembering that it was not dead, only dormant and my day would come to see it green again.

I’m not sure when the Winter of our discontent ended. Somewhere between Savannah and Montana we left it behind and sailed into the Spring of our Joy...I’m so happy enjoying life with these little personalities, they eat a lot less now, they sleep through the night, they interact with us…they smile…they can do a whole bunch of things beside eat, sleep, poop and pee. But you know what…I miss those early days. As good as it is now, I do have moments of missing the first challenging months. I miss providing everything for them, miss waking up at 3am to feed them… miss how they used to fit perfectly in the crook of my arm.

I know why I cried…I cried for what I’ve lost and I cried for what I have and what I will have and every moment in between. I cried because we only get so much life…and all that it is…is precious. 

You’re gonna miss this
You’re gonna want this back
You’re gonna wish these days hadn’t gone by so fast
These are some good times
So take a good look around
You may not know it now
But you’re gonna miss this.

Fiddler's

 

I have 3 favorite Montana summer events; Small Town Rodeos, Summerfest and the Fiddler's Picnic. Fiddler's Picnic is a strange and wonderful spontaneous gathering that happens in a field just outside Livingston. It is billed as a gathering of some of the top, and not so top Fiddler’s from all around the area but it is actually a gathering of many different types of musicians who come together for this one weekend. Very little is planned but you can be sure that Saturday night is the highlight. There is no fee, you just park and follow your ears. There is no schedule of who plays together or who plays where or even who plays…it is just a big spontaneous explosion of music. At any given time you can find many different groups playing, some large, some small, some traditional, some alternative, country, western, gospel…you name it but don’t bet on it because it is just whatever the moment dictates.

Having said that Saturday night is the best night, I must now confess that I didn’t go Saturday night…Scott was out of town so I stayed home with my musical beans and chose to go Sunday morning with Jessica. (My little sister with Big Brothers – Big Sisters) Sunday morning is a lot more subdued but still fun. The weather wasn’t great and most people had gone home….or were sleeping off Fiddler’s hangovers from the night before… so there were only two options that we could find, the old-timers doing gospel music and then the other…not really young…but younger…group doing some more contemporary stuff.  I took Jonathan and danced around with him to the music…an elderly couple smiled at us and the woman asked, “This Grandma would sure like to hold one?” So she got David and shortly after her husband got Jonathan and Jessica and I enjoyed the music, and the boys enjoying the music, and the Grandma and Grandpa enjoying the boys enjoying the music…and we laughed and giggled and smiled at the Fiddler’s Picnic.

 

Rodeoooo!

A couple of weekends ago Scott and I went to our first rodeo of the summer.  If you’re not a rodeo fan then you probably don’t know that there are options in Rodeo-Land.  Where we live there are Rodeos popping up all over the place. You can pretty much go to a Rodeo every weekend if you like.  We’ve found that the best rodeo is the small rodeo…as opposed to the larger, more commercial rodeo. The small rodeo happens in a small town and it is their event of the year. In my opinion, it is small town America at its best.  Its kids perched on the fence, burgers and dogs from the local church ladies group and cans of PBR…its home made, and you can see touches of it everywhere.

 

We went to the Big Timber Rodeo this year and we were about an hour late, but fortunately we did not miss the Mutton Busting.  We arrived just in time to watch 4-5 year olds being strapped to farm sheep to see how long they could survive the ride! Like I said, small town America at its best. The announcer informed us newbies that this was a favorite pass time of Montanians, to come out on a beautiful Saturday night and strap their young children to wild farm animals and watch them be thrown off. To all of you gasping child safety fanatics…don’t worry they were wearing helmets. Perhaps this can be something for David and Jonathan in a few years?

After the Mutton busting came the barrel racing,  bull riding and finally the Wild Cow race. My personal favorite….just when you think that Mutton busting cannot be outdone. Here comes the wild cow race…Grown men putting saddles on cows and attempting to ride them to the finish line, which is really just a barrel that they have to go around without knocking it down…which of course thy do knock down because….Cows weren’t meant to be ridden! And some of the cows just lay down in disgust and then grown cowboy men try to push, pull, kick them up again. Basically its just funny to watch competitive people do anything that really cannot and should not be done. The funniest part was the fact that the contestants weren’t really sure what they were doing so in the end the announcer was yelling, “Hey, pink shirt guy, you just won…” Hmmm, now the whole place knows you wore a pink shirt cowboy…best just to slink on home.

 

After the wild cow race the Rodeo itself is over but the days events are not. There will always be a dance after the rodeo, men in cowboy hats gallantly leading women in western type dancing.  But the best is when the kids are swooped up to  be the dance partners. It is one of my favorite sights seeing the big strong men with the little ones…who are so proud to be chosen.  Scott and I chuckled as we walked the streets of Big Timber, we pass a sign for the annual Cowboy Poetry Gathering next month…they are looking for new, young, cowboy talent…what is that? We make a mental note to try that one out next month. We go into one of the local pubs where the party continues and see a home made sign for a missing cat on the bar door…smile… people stop to read about Sparky, pondering over the misspelled words and mannerisms of a 12 year old looking for their pet….and you know what, they will look….because, after all, this is small town America…at its best. 

The Worst Day - Part Two: Absolution

If you read my last post, The Worst Day, there were probably several things that were evident to you, the reader, that I did not have the clarity of mind or the energy to see on that day…

• The hospital had our sons best interests at heart and the fact that they kept them there was the best thing that could have happened to us. (Truly, if we had gone home and had things go wrong after we left the hospital then we would have had to re-admit our boys into the hospital into the pediatric ward…not a good scenario)
  
• The people that were there to help us…were there to help us. No one meant any harm and they were all trying to do their jobs as best they could, as quickly as they could, to help our boys.
  
• Our boys were not in danger, they just needed a little boost…there are a lot of other babies who are born much earlier and have much bigger battles to fight…we were blessed to have babies who had gone 37+ weeks…and blessed to have people to help them make it the rest of the way.
  
• They would eventually be “take home babies”
  
• Last, but not least,  This was not my fault.
  

Here are also a few things that you probably didn’t know:

• I had a wonderful lactation consultant who was in my room every day helping me and encouraging me…she just happened to have a day off when all of this happened. That next morning she sought us out at the special care nursery to encourage and support us once again.
  
• The nurses at the special care nursery were just what we needed, they came alongside Scott and I and helped us to be better parents…they taught us so many things in the 5 days that our boys were there AND they treated our boys as if they were their own.
  
• Several nurses took the time to explain to me that our boys just needed  little help to feed…because they were born early…and because they were boys…NOT because I did anything wrong. Sigh. It took a few times to hear this…and see it in action as each day went by and the boys developed…but it did sink in…this was not my fault.
  

The day Scott and I went to pick up David and Jonathan we took just a moment in the parking lot. I don’t know why. It was like, we had been through so much in those past 10 days and it was about to be over…and it was about to begin…and we just sat there for a minute in the car. We’d waited so long…and here it was…we were about to go upstairs and take our boys home. Finally. Take home babies. As we sat there a song came on the radio…Give Thanks…Give thanks with a grateful heart, Give thanks to the Holy one…Give thanks for He’s given Jesus Christ His Son. And now let the weak say “I am strong” Let the poor say “I am rich” because of what the Lord has done for us, Give thanks.

And we sat there, and we wept…because we were so thankful for the privilege of having those boys…and we rejoiced to take our take home babies…home.

The Worst Day

 I remember my first visit to the doctor once I was pregnant. He laid it all out for me plain and simple; "You make it to 32 weeks I’ll have a sigh of relief, You make it to 34 weeks and I’ll be happy…You make it to 36 weeks…well I’ll be incredibly happy and you’ll get a take home baby." A take home baby. Well I’m  a pretty black and while thinker and this seemed pretty simple to me. Make it to 36 weeks and I’m home free. A take home baby. That was my goal…36+ weeks and my take home babies.

I stayed in the hospital 4 days after the babies arrived and towards the end of that time the boys seemed to be having trouble nursing…both of them would work themselves up into a frenzy while trying to feed and then they would become so tired that they really weren’t eating. Everyone kept talking about my milk coming in like it was some special thing that would fix all the feeding problems…and I waited and waited…but the milk never seemed to come. So that last night I began to express breast milk (even tho it hadn’t come in yet) and feed the babies with bottles and that seemed to work and they ate and that gave me some peace.

But the very next day (the day we were to go home) the pediatrician came into my room. He did not have good news: the babies had lost more than 10% of their body weight and this was very serious. We had to supplement with formula immediately and if the boys didn’t gain weight by 4pm they would have to be admitted into the special care nursery.  The minute he left I began trying to nurse again….I was in the midst of this endeavor when one of the lactation consultants came in…probably summoned by the pediatrician or the nurse on call. She walked right up to my bed, grabbed the baby from my arms and said, “You can’t nurse a fussy baby”  And there she was…a woman I’d never met before…trying to calm my baby.  And so the day continued to decline as this woman went on to tell me all the things I’d done wrong, and to hover over me with unwanted instructions. And then and there a little seed was planted: “This is all my fault”

The day went from bad to worse as I frantically tried to feed the boys, breast, bottle, breast milk, formula….please, oh please just eat.  In the middle of this chaos the nurse came in to take their temperatures and discovered that their body temps had dropped drastically. They were having trouble maintaining their body temperatures. Everything was so interrelated, they were using their energy to try to eat and yet they weren’t getting enough calories to compensate for the calories they were using to eat and they were losing weight and as they lost weight their little bodies were unable to keep up. The nurse told me that she would have to take the babies to the nursery immediately  and she left with the boys…and I was alone. I began to focus on going home…this was our day to go home with our 37 week, take home babies. It had never occurred to me that we might not be able to leave the hospital the same way we came…together.

Everything was packed and ready to go and I walked down to the boutique at the end of the hallway…and then, there was the nurse and I knew by the look on her face that the day was going to get even worse. It was 4pm. David and Jonathan had not gained weight…my sister asked me if I was ok. I said yes, I was fine. But I was not fine. The babies were headed for the special care nursery and it was all my fault and I was not ok.

We walked back down the hall and a lady from the hospital with a big clip board walked up to us. There were several women waiting on rooms and I needed to leave the hospital room immediately. She followed us down the hall just to make sure that we were leaving asap. Scott, my sister and I walked into the room, gathered up our stuff and my diner tray and walked out of the room…our arms were full, I was so tired and emotionally drained…I started to cry…the nurse is following us down the hall asking what’s going on…I haven’t signed the discharge papers yet…shes upset we’ve been kicked out…I’m upset I can’t take my babies home…the day keeps on getting worse.

We’re led through a labyrinth of hallways to the special care nursery. I’m exhausted from the frenzy of the day and trying to feed the boys. I feel like I’m in a dream…a bad dream and I don’t know whats going on. Something is wrong, our boys are in trouble.  Once we get to the nursery Scott goes to bottle feed the boys while I go to express more breast milk for them…its all I can do for them right now. When I’m done I go to Scott…he asks me to go get the nurse to get help…the babies aren’t taking any of their bottles.

As I approach the nurse she looks concerned, she has David under the warming apparatus trying to bring up his temperature. I tell her that my husband is having difficulty feeding Jonathan and I ask if she can help us. She looks at me and says something that cuts like a knife…”Why is he feeding them, why aren’t you?…don’t you want to? “ And in my head I know, this is all my fault.

And so it went, down and down and down. The pediatrician comes to talk to us…the boys must be tube fed and we stand by feeling helpless as tubes are put down their noses…David pulls his out…they put it back in…and we hate it but at least we know they will be fed.

 We were going to spend the night in the nursery with them but Scott looks at me and tells me I need to go home and get some rest. I can only imagine what I looked like at this point. We call my sister to come back and pick us up and Scott and I wait in the lobby of the hospital. I went to a spot just inside the automatic doors and sit on a little bench. It suddenly hit me how bad I was feeling, physically I mean. I’ve just had major surgery and I hurt. I can barely move.  I notice people keep coming up to the door but they can’t get in…it won’t open from the outside.  I move my foot in front of me and tap the “magic spot” that opens the door from the inside. Later Scott comes to check on me and mentions that its after hours and that’s why the door isn’t opening. I shouldn’t really be letting people in the hospital that way. But more people come….and I keep reaching my foot out and tapping the floor to let them in. Its like a small bit of retaliation to the establishment that has taken my boys and won’t let them go. Stickin’ it to the man with a tap of my foot. Tap... Tap... Tap... The… worst… Day.  

The Best Day

When I am having trouble sleeping I lay in bed and go to my Happy Place. My Happy Place consists of thinking about a time that was special to me. It can be a very specific event, like my wedding day or it can just be something random like riding my bike through the streets of Amsterdam…it calms me to think of that time, or event, and just run a little movie through my head. Its like I am savoring it again…and again, and again. It is my Happy Place and going there is a nice way to calm down and sleep. One of my favorite happy places is November 28^th 2008. That is the day our twin boys David and Jonathan came out of my tummy to live with us…it was the best day ever. 

I went into labor on Thanksgiving day, it wasn’t a very productive day though…in the baby department that is…because the people at the big hospital told me to go home and take a sleeping pill. Or, to be correct…. the doctor on the phone…who didn’t want to come into the hospital on Thanksgiving day, told the people at the big hospital to give me a sleeping pill and send me home to sleep it off. But the boys could not be “slept off.”  On Friday (aka: the day AFTER Thanksgiving) we went back to the big hospital for another round. The good news was there was a different on call doctor and he actually came and looked at me, did an examination and decided it was time for the Beans to come out. They were called the Beans because at one time they were the size of lentil beans, and then kidney beans…etc. etc. At this point they were no longer the size of any bean…not any bean that I know of.

Scott and I were sitting in the big room with many beds, there are curtains pulled around each bed for privacy, and in each bed was a pregnant woman…waiting and hoping that they would be able to move on to the next stage and NOT be sent home with a sleeping pill.  I was quite sure that we would be sent home again, mainly because the nurse had told me that I was just in distress. I’m not sure what the difference between distress and labor is but I looked up the definition of distress and I can say it described me perfectly. I was very much in distress . (distress=extreme anxiety, sorrow or pain)  I was preparing myself to waddle back to the car and head home when Dr. Scarbourough came in. It only took him a couple of minutes to examine me and determine that it was time.  And there it was, I’d made it…I was going to leave the room of many pregnant women and become…no longer pregnant? A mom?  I was moving on.

My only experience with C-Sections was watching A Baby Story on the learning channel. Those women always had to wait…often for hours and hours. I just assumed that I would have the same. But before I knew it there was a flurry of activity, people coming into my little curtain world and giving me things to drink, giving me an IV, doing other unmentionable things. We were moving forward and we were moving forward fast.  Before I knew it it was time to go to the operating room, which by the way I had to walk to. This is where my happy place movie begins…

The doors to the OR opened and there they were. All the people.  The whole picture was bigger than I thought it would be and at the same time it was smaller than I though it would be. It was just a little room with a little bed for me and two smaller beds for the beans across the room…and it was filled with people who were there for us…and our lives would never be the same. The doors closed behind me and I started to cry. I’ve thought about that first moment a lot and wondered why it was so emotional for me. I think it was a combination of being on the brink of something so significant and, at the same time, of losing the beans…the excitement and the fear of what was to come….and then again maybe I was just scared that people were going to slice me open while I was lying there awake.

I managed to compose myself and waddle over to the table. Once again a flurry of activity, needles and tubes and it was all about me and getting everything ready. The anesthesiologist was behind me…but I didn’t call him that…he was my new best friend ready to pump into my blood stream  whatever I needed.  My new best friend was asking me if I could feel things below my waist…and I thought I couldn’t feel him pinch me…but what if I could feel him pinch me…I kind of could…and what if they were going to cut me open and I would feel it !!!???? But my new best buddy walked me through it and we decided I couldn’t feel anything…And then I heard someone say, “Does he know we are ready?” and then someone said, “Yes, there he is.” And there he was…the Doctor. And the curtain was up …and I think it was then that I started to shake…the beans were coming…and it was all happening so very fast. And then we were waiting for Scott and I was saying…”Don’t start until my husband gets here!!!”  or was it more like: DON’T START UNTIL MY HUSBAND GETS HERE!!! And someone went to go get Scott…of course he was late. J And then Scott was sitting next to me and it was time.  How did we get here, in an operating room, with my husband wearing surgical scrubs and me laying so vulnerable and someone  holding a knife to my tummy? (That’s another blog)

Then I heard the doctor say “There he is…he’s breech” and then he just kept saying, “That’s why we’re here…that’s why we’re here”  and I felt a tug and, strangely enough, I felt like someone  had reached in and grabbed my right collar bone and was trying to remove it…no problem, my new best buddy gave me something to fix that…and then there it was…there was a cry…it was David and he was here…and we were crying I think and what happened in those 2 minutes I don’t know for sure but then there was another cry and it was Jonathan and then I was without them. And as sad as it was to lose them…so it was happy to receive them. And someone brought David over and handed him to Scott and he held him up for me to see and…and then there was Jonathan too and it was all so wonderful and sweet. And then they left.  Scott accompanied  David and Jonathan to the nursery…my boys, they all went away. It was like the party moved to another location but I had to stay behind. But in a way, I didn’t mind…after all, I did need someone to put every thing  back together and sew up my tummy. 

And then I was in recovery with my own private nurse and I just had this feeling of accomplishment. I did it. I ran the race…I made it 37 weeks and I brought the beans home and they were beautiful, whole, and our family was complete.

And that’s the end of my happy place story. And yes there was more to that day, seeing them again, friends and family gathered ‘round, meeting David and Jonathan for the first time…I mean really meeting them, holding them, looking into their eyes, examining those little feet and hands that had kicked and grabbed me so many times…being able to eat a big meal without heart burn…there were many more moments that day but for some reason, that one moment of the boys entering this world…was the best day for me.

Why I started a blog...

I've realized lately how much I like to write. I've also realized how much I miss writing and that, when I don't write, there are all these random thoughts that run around in my head and never get out...its starting to get pretty crowded in there...so I decided to let them out.

So here it is, the beginning. I named it "three dots" because I am always inserting 3 dots (periods, full stops etc) into my writing. They are "I am thinking" dots...connectors of random thoughts. I know they are not proper...I know they drive some people crazy...sorry, if you're going to read my blog (or my emails) you're going to have to learn to love the dots.