Congratulations! ---- I'm Sorry

A friend of mine (mom of 7) and I (mom of 6) were talking this morning about babies and pregnancies and those emotional phone call we have made to each other as we waited for pregnancy test results and the mixed emotions either way.

As moms of big families, we feel a pressure from our social circle to always be thrilled with each pregnancy test the moment that it is positive.  We're pro-life and somehow that should translate into pro-baby-right-now, but it doesn't always.  I don't know how to explain the sinking feeling of a positive pregnancy test on a tired an overwhelmed mother.  The joy of expectation follows within moments, but that first gulping breath of fatigue.....

My friend and I have been each other's support as those tests were first looked at.  We've listened over the phone to the slow exhale.  We've said "I'm so sorry" as the tears welled in each other's eyes.  It's never the baby we're sorry for, but the crush of responsibility on an already burdened life.  What else can you say when what seemed like not a bad possibility 2 weeks ago seems insurmountable now?

As the tears dry and reality sets in, a bubble of joy rises up from within the middle of us, and moments after we said "I'm sorry" we begin to laugh as we say "Woo-hoo!  Congratulations!"  But it would be wrong to pretend that the sorrow was not there too, or that a negative test would not have brought a measure of relief.

Our way of life is so often condemned by the world, that we put up a united front and pretend that no child is ever a burden, but we are human and sometimes they are...even if it is only for a moment...even if it longer than that.

Mothers of large families are not super-human. We don't have more patience.  We don't have more of anything than anyone else.  We simply have allowed God to be in charge of our lives....the whole of our lives...No matter how scary that can sometimes be, and the rest of the world needs to know that it sometimes is. 

The Payoff

There is finally a glimmer of hope in our educational battles for #3.  I have said all along that the craziness, the tears, the agony of it all would be worth it if we could just get him to the special ed teacher.  We truly believe that she can, will, and wants to help him.

Monday he got there.  She finally had the approvals needed to pull him from his regular classroom and focus her attention on him.  She started by calling me and asking for a list of his eye therapy exercises so that she could do them with him in her classroom.  She reasoned that if once a day will help him improve, then twice a day will help him improve more quickly. 

I cried with relief and gratitude. (I've never been a big crier before this, but now I can boo-hoo with the best of them.)  We are so grateful to at last find a professional in the public school system who is genuinely interested in helping our boy.

It should not have been this hard to get to her.  Traditional schooling is not designed to immediately help children who are anywhere except in the very middle of normal.  Parents of children with special needs have to work incredibly hard to get to the one gem of a teacher hidden somewhere in the school.  It should not be this way.

We will continue to pray for the school system to place helping children at a higher place of priority than that which is occupied by forms, rules, and bureaucracy.  Children deserve to be in a place where their best interests are first on the list.  They need to be where we now are.

Can Someone Explain It to Me?

This week we went to my grandmother-in-law's funeral.  It was beautiful and moving, and I have so much I want to say about it....but I just have to know something first.

Why do people take pictures of bodies in caskets?

My family doesn't do this, but the Computer Guy's family does.  It's a bit disconcerting to be looking through family photo albums and reminisce about Christmas, birthday parties, weddings, and then flip the page to see Uncle George laid out in his coffin. 

I'll admit to thinking this was one of those weird things which was unique to my husband's family....until Wednesday.  Wednesday we were having the pre-funeral meal in the church hall (they're Protestant...they eat before the funeral....weird).  I was looking at pictures of the congregation on the walls and saw not one but THREE corpses immortalized in photographs.  Am I alone in finding this icky?

Can anyone explain this to me?  Would you want someone to take pictures of you in your casket?  If so, can you tell me why?   Oh, and y'all are my witnesses....I want a closed casket....it's the only way I can be sure to keep the cameras away.

Double Standard

I hate it when people touch the baby without asking.  Not people I know usually, but strangers in the store....wild-eyed craziness.  They can't seem to keep their hands off of him.  He's cute.  He's friendly.  What's not to like?  I have a strict "look but don't touch" policy with my babies and I ruthlessly enforce it.  (I don't know where people have been or if they washed their hands while they were there.)

Today I took #1 to the grocery store.  It was a mistake as it was the end of a long day for him and he was starting to cry and try to climb out of the shopping cart while we were in the check-out line.

"Okay #6, " I said in my trying to calm the baby mommy voice. " It will just be a minute more."

I turned to pay the cashier when I heard a voice behind me say, "It's okay, #6, come and see me while your mommy pays."

I whiled around ready to draw blood in defense of my baby. Somebody was about to lose a hand.

 My anger melted instantly away when I saw that the kindly voice belonged to a middle-aged nun in full habit who was kissing my baby's little fat cheeks.

"Hi, Sister, thanks." I said as she bounced him in her arms and the novice who was with her held his little hand in her own. 




My rule on babies has been revised.  "Look but don't touch....unless you're a nun and then you can smoosh their little cheeks and kiss their sweet faces to your heart's content."  She's the bride of Christ...I'm pretty sure she washes her hands.

With Ruben and Jesus

We lost our family matriarch this past Saturday.  She was my husband's grandmother, but even more than that, she was our champion.  When we announced our engagement, and were met with the disapproval of parts of his family, it was her quiet voice saying "Let them" which brought everyone to the church that day in June.  As our family grew and others' opinions about the number of children grew also, it was her firm approval which calmed our detractors and ensured that each baby was met with joy instead of raised eyebrows.

It was her wrinkled hands that tugged socks off of baby feet because she loved to see the little toes.

She taught me about making pies, making dinner and how to live a quiet faith in a loud world.  It was her frugal example which taught me to bargain hunt, clip coupons, and never pay full price for anything.  She was our cheerleader, our sage, and the anchor holding my husband's family together.

The world is a poorer place today because she is no longer with us.  Our loss is Heaven's gain.  She has finally gone home as she was so anxious to do.  Today, she is walking arm in arm with her sweet husband, Ruben, and at last in the presence of her sweet Jesus... just as she wanted to be.

We will miss you, Grammy, but I am so thrilled that you are finally there.

I'm Sleeping With One Eye Open

This afternoon I was listening to the sound of my children playing in the next room when I heard my 6 year old daughter say, "And then we laughed like circus clowns as they squealed for mercy...."

Almost too afraid to know the answer, I queried, "Baby, what are you doing?"

"Nothing, Mommy.  I'm just playing with my dolls."

Dude, I'm totally sleeping with one eye open around here.

Small Moments of Grace 11-19-2010

1. Vanilla Chai tea first thing in the morning.  It's soooo good. 

2. Yesterday, I dropped off dinner for an acquaintance who is in the midst of a difficult life moment.  I worried they wouldn't like it.  I mean, I almost couldn't sleep because what if they didn't like it.  She emailed me this morning to say it was so good that they practically licked the bowl clean.  Aaaaahhhhhh.....the relief. ( I made up the recipe.  You know how those things can go.)

3. I'm up before everyone else in the house.  I could hear them all breathing softly as I walked down the hall.  Hooray for all my sleeping babies!

4. My Nook reader.  I'm kind of in love with it.  I don't have the real one, just the free download one, but gosh is it cool.   What me to loan you a book?

5. a 3 year old who just greeted me with  " Gee morning Mommy.  I have a good sleep." Oh my, but I love this boy.

Small Mments of Grace

It's been a while since I counted my blessings, and today seems as if I may need a reminder of how good life really is even when it makes me crazy.

1. Warm fresh honey oat bread right out of the oven with a melting pat of real butter.  The making of it is almost meditative when life is stressful, and the reward at the end is predictably good.

2. Listening to #4 read an entire book out loud.  It still takes a long time to get through it all the way, but she can do this and I taught her how!

3. Listening to #1 sing.  She's been asked to sing at her grandmother's funeral (she's not dead yet, but it's looking imminent.) It's been a long time since she has sung publicly.  Her voice is lovely.  She hates it.  She'd only do it for love.  Knowing that she loves her great-grandmother that much is.....wow.

4. Good friends who ask you to do things you're absolutely not interested in doing.  Then they explain them and I think ....maybe I'm interested after all.  We all need people who ask us those things.  I have them!  yay!

5. Little stumpy baby legs that look too short for his body.  He just makes me laugh when he walks or runs.  What a goof, my little love.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(gasp..sputter..breathe) Please excuse the mess as I melt down and scream and maybe spit a little.  It's not pretty around here today, but it's real.  If you're not into that.......I don't really blame you.  I'm officially losing it here.  I cried on the phone a little bit hysterically today.  Okay, more than a bit.

It's about the ice again.  You didn't really think we were done discussing ice did you? hahhahahhahhahahahahahahahahahahha you crack me up!  You're even funnier than I thought you were, and you know how I love you.

It's been 3 weeks since I dropped the papers off at the doctor's office.  I just need him to write "The kid eats non-food stuff.  Give him ice."  It's not hard.  I'll even write it for him.

#3 has a history of eating hard non-digestible objects when he gets nervous and should be allowed to always have ice on hand to chew as needed.

 Then the doctor could sign it.  I could give it to the school.  The temporary ice arrangement would be made permanent and we could all go home happy.  But it doesn't work that way in real life.

In real life I dropped the form off at the doctor's office with a friendly little note explaining what I needed and thanked him for his help and paid the $15 paperwork fee.  Could they fax it to me?  They could?  That would be aces!

The nurse called me back.  After hours.  I missed the call.  She didn't leave a number so when I called back IMMEDIATELY I got the answering service.  I left a message.  Can I just take a moment to say that I like the nurse, but she has a made up name I don't know how to say and she doesn't have a name tag that I've ever seen so I just call and say "I need to speak with Dr B's nurse Anf(mumble)nette."  Somehow they always know who I mean, but she's never there.  I get her answering machine.  Beep. 7 times in 3 weeks.  Beep.

Today I got hold of her.  They can't just write the order.  He hasn't been to the doctor since May. ( I thought this was progress.  It seems to be a problem.  Silly me.)  Can I have the psychologist he's been regularly seeing fax her paperwork through to the doctor and he'll write the letter.........for ice............I just want to point that out again.............for ice...........

He hasn't seen the shrink since May either when she declared that he would be fine until school started as he had made such progress. We agreed.  Apparently that was dumb, because now she doesn't feel comfortable calling the doctor to tell him to write the letter to tell the school to give my boy ice.

The doctor has to see him first.  We have to go in on Monday to see the doctor so that he can say "yes he still chews stuff" (which the school already knows!!!!!!!!!!!) so that we can get him ice.

it's just ice.

So I sat on the phone in the car, in front of my children, talking to the nurse and sobbed incoherently

heatelegosdoyourememberthatheatelegosandhewasinthehospitalandtheywantedtocuthimopenandtheythreatenedtocuthimopenbuttheydecidednotto  (deep breath) andalllhereallyneedaisjustacupoficebecauseit'sjustacupoficeit'sfrozenwaterandIdon'tunderstandtheproblemwithsayingheneedsice (and the spit started flying here...dang I'm hot)  please can you just write on a piece of paper that he needs ice?  please? he just needs the ice? I'm not asking for brain surgery or a new limb? it's just a cup of ice?

"Ma'am.  I understand all of that, but Dr B just can't take the responsibility of prescribing a treatment for a patient he hasn't seen since May.  The legal liability of that would just be horrendous."

what? legal what? are you freaking kidding me?  I NEED THIS DUMB PAPER IN MY HAND BY LUNCHTIME ON TUESDAY AND YOU'RE CALLING ME TODAY AFTER YOU'VE HAD THREE WEEKS?!?! AND YOU'RE WORRIED I'M GOING TO SUE YOU IF HE HAS SOME KIND OF ICE ACCIDENT?  WHAT EXACTLY DOES THAT LOOK LIKE?


We have an appointment Monday.  Two actually.  One to realize that my kid needs ice and one to decide what kind of valium cocktail to serve to his mother.

I'm pretty sure at this point that it would be easier to score drugs for my kid than to get him a legal cup of ice.

Answers At Last

After all of the worry, the work, the research and the specialists; we at last have a diagnosis for what is "wrong" with #3.  We spent the morning with the vision specialist.  It took two hours of testing for the doctor to tell his father and me that our son's world is a confusing and bewildering place. He has an eye issue called Convergence Insufficiency.  In plain English, his eyes do not work together.  He sees the world with double vision, without depth perception, and with an inability to figure out where he is in relation to other objects.  His world tilts and moves and the places where he sees things may not really be where they are.  We have found the source of his anxiety.

We are stunned.  We knew that he had eye issues, but had no concept of how bad his vision truly was.Without correction....I can't think about without correction....with correction he can lead a normal life.  It has been a morning of breathing deeply and trying to understand the life our boy has been living and wonder that he has managed it so well.  Then the tears start falling because there is something wrong with the boy we love, and out of relief because there is a name and a solution for it.

St Lucy, Pray For Us.

Our Men

**I wrote this last year, and was asked to post it again. I'm happy to do so.  Happy Veteran's Day!**

There has become a tendency in American culture to assign the label "hero" to anyone who does the difficult, the frightening, or the unpleasant. Our society has become so hungry for heroes that we give the label to anyone and render it almost a useless word.

Lest we forget what a true hero looks like:

He marched for months in the snow with nothing but rags covering his frostbitten feet, leaving bloody footprints behind him, to cross a frozen river and finally win the right to govern himself.

He fought the British in New Orleans, in the oppressive Southern humidity, to ultimately defeat the army of thousands with only a small band of men because "By the Eternal they shall not sleep on our soil."

He put on his uniform of blue and battled the heat, the humidity and Johnny Reb to keep this nation together so that he could leave it, intact, to his children and grandchildren who were yet to be born.

He put on his uniform of gray and fought dysentery and damn Yankees because he believed people had the right to govern themselves as they saw fit.

He rode across the plains risking capture, torture, death and an unmarked grave to protect his fellow Americans as they sought to win for themselves their future and freedom in the West.

He charged up San Juan Hill with the Rough Riders and helped to drive the Spanish out of Cuba because he knew from his history books that the oppressed heart yearns to be free.

He marched across Europe with its horrors of barbed wire and mustard gas to protect our brethren across the sea; because, people should have the right to live in peace with their neighbors. He willingly offered his life and twenty years later would send his own son to do the same.

He crossed Europe in a tank fighting harder and longer and bloodier than he ever could have imagined he would be asked to do, to liberate a people hunted and gathered into concentration camps by their fellow countrymen. He braved the horrors of war for years knowing that his loved ones waited at home but he had to finish the job before he returned to them; because, he knew that there is no "master race", truly all people are beloved in the sight of God.

He fought in the Pacific and raised that flag over Iwo Jima then dropped to his knees as Fr Suver said Mass, because freedom is a gift from the Almighty and even as it is defended in battle it must also be defended in prayer, and the American soldier has always looked to his God for the strength to do what is good and right in His eyes.

He fought in the sticky heat of Korea, a place he had never even heard of in school, fighting for the right of freedom and self-determination for people he didn't know; because, no one should have to live under Communism.

He fought in Vietnam for people who spoke a language he didn't know, who weren't sure they trusted a man who looked so different from themselves. Because liberty is worth dying for and should be protected at all costs. Only to return and be spat upon by his fellow Americans. He wore their insults with pride because he knew that only in a country protected by men like him would people be free to spit at soldiers.

He went to the Middle East, twice, once to help an ally and once to liberate a people. He lived with sand fleas and enormous spiders and carried heavy gear in 130 degree heat because he knew that all people really want is to be able to get up every day and raise their children in peace without worrying about religious fanatics or crazy men shattering their lives.

He has walked and fought for freedom, liberty, and self-determination and the dignity of human beings everywhere he has gone. These battle hardened men who willingly offer up their own lives and futures so that nameless strangers can speak and think and live exactly as they wish. He does all of this without thanks, without recognition, without fanfare, but with honor...always with honor.

We should have a word bigger than "hero" for men like this, a word that swells the heart with pride that they are ours. Thank goodness we do...we call them Veterans.

His Athlete

My husband is like most fathers of sons.  He dreams, not so secretly, of watching his children excel at sports.  He imagines the pride he will feel as they run down the field and win the game and then turn and point to their old man up in the stands.  He was an athlete and wishes for the same thing for our children.

Yesterday I watched that common dream become a reality for the man I love.  We were on the sideline at the final soccer game of the season.  Our child took the field with only 5 minutes left in the game and the score tied.  The other team kicked off right toward our baby.  My husband whooped as his kid stole the ball and kicked the winning goal.  In less than 3 minutes, he was screaming "Go! Go!" as she scored again.

The whistle blew and our rock-star athlete bounded off the field and grinned at her delighted father.  Here was the hoped for progeny, the daydream made real, standing right before him.  As she stood there in her hot pink jersey and polka-dot shin-guards, I just grinned.  What a fortunate man he is to get to see his dream come true.  What a wise man he is to see it when the killer instinct wears pink and sports a pony tail.

The Lie That Teachers Tell

"We love #3 and want him to learn and succeed just as much as you do."

I've lost count of how many times I've been told this during this school year.  It is the stock answer to any complaint I make, on the rare occasion that someone actually replies.  I didn't believe it at the beginning of the year, and now it's just starting to p*** me off.

Here's the reality:

I have a child with an anxiety disorder.  The disorder manifests itself in his chewing of hard substances.  It doesn't matter to him whether these items are food or not.  He has been hospitalized for this.  It is a well-documented fact of his life, a fact of which the school district was made aware 3 1/2 months prior to his starting school.  We offered an easy remedy, ice.  His preferred thing to crunch and chew is ice.  We spoke with his teachers the day before school began and were promised that he would have it at all times.  We breathed a sigh of relief and believed them.  We were wrong to do so.

At the end of October, I got a frantic call from the school nurse.  My son had eaten the erasers and metal deals off of seven pencils.   He was never given the promised ice.  We should have checked up on him.  We were naive.  The Computer Guy and I live in a world where people give their word and mean it.  His teacher promised ice.  We had no reason to doubt her.  Except for the fact that she lied.

Once his health had already been put in jeopardy, I was told all of the "reasons" why she never followed through...they boil down to she didn't want to mess with it.  Without an IEP in place, she wasn't legally required to provide this basic safeguard for our son, so she chose to risk his life in the name of convenience.  It took a threat of legal action, numerous phone calls, and emails to the state superintendent of schools to get him temporary permission for a cup of ice.  In order to make it permanent, we have to have 2 meetings, a letter from his psychologist, letters from both of his MD's, and be able to prove that not having it would be an impediment to learning.  Who knew that ICE was a controlled substance?

Everyone I speak to on the phone gives me the same lie, "You need to remember, Mrs Frech, that we care about his health and safety just as much as you do."  

He is struggling in school.  He has significant learning disabilities including dyslexia and double vision.  Colored overlays help.  Printing worksheets on colored paper help.  Printing things large with space around them to compensate for the overlap caused by double vision help.  The schools know.  The teachers know.  The director of Special Services knows.  He gets none of this.  There is no IEP in place yet, so they are not legally required to hand him a piece of blue plastic to help him read, so they don't.  Even though I've brought them one.  Even though I've provided enough blue paper for the whole class.  Even though he's failing every subject.  They're not legally required and so they don't.  Helping him learn is a bother and an inconvenience.

When I can actually get hold of someone on the phone or in person they lie to me and say, "You need to remember, Mrs Frech, that we want him to succeed in school and to learn just as much as you do."

I'm offended by the lie.  They do not care for his safety and his education as much as I do.  If they did, his teacher would , come in an hour early, stay 2 hours late, talk him through every math problem, coach him through his handwriting, and just help him every step of the way.  They don't, which is okay.  I don't ask them to do this for him.  It's my job because I'm his mom, but if they're not willing to do it, then they do not want it just as much as I do.  

The truth (and I'm not sure why they don't just state it out loud, because I have no problem with the truth) is that this is a job for them.  Teaching my son is their job.  His teacher went to college and majored in education for whatever her reason was.  She might like children, think she's good at teaching, want the summers off....I don't really care what the motivation was.  She goes to the school every day and attempts to teach 28 third graders because it is what she gets paid to do.  She doesn't want to jump through extra hoops because they are a pain in her a** and she'd rather not unless she has to.  That's fine with me, just be up front about it.  I would have kept him home until this semester was over and the IEP was in place.  We would not have begun this adventure without it.

Parents need to be told the truth and not pretty-sounding lies.  If they had just said to us "We will teach him if we can.  We will do the minimum (in our opinion) required to keep him safe. We will help him all we can as long as it's not an imposition on our time and we feel like it that day.  We will do nothing more unless you come with a lawyer, a court order, and copious amounts of medical records."  His father and I would have given them whatever they asked.  Because to us he's not a bother or an imposition.  There is nothing too great for me to provide it for him.  There are no obstacles I won't master in pursuit of his best interests.  I would give everything that I am and have to help him thrive, learn and succeed.  If they can't, won't or unwilling to meet that high bar...then they should stop lying to me.  Until they are honest with me, we're not on the same team.  We're adversaries, just as they seem to want us to be. 

An Auspicious Beginning

I am a big believer in birthdays.  I know it's a bit superstitious, but a little part of me always believed that the way my birthday went was a harbinger for the year to come.  If that's really true then this year it might be better if I just never came out of my  bedroom.  Yesterday was rough, y'all.

My morning started out late, and you know how I hate late.   The Computer Guy was nice enough to let me sleep in a bit and get #3 up and started getting ready for school.  I love that man.  I just didn't stop to think about the fact that he doesn't know our morning routine.  I also naively assumed that he would be taking the boy to school.   When my husband got into the shower at 8:00, I figured our son was in school.  HE WASN'T!!!!  He was sitting downstairs watching cartoons and reading a book.  By the time I realized this, I flew out of my toasty bed and started yelling like a maniac.  #3 had no shoes on, his teeth weren't brushed, his hair was all awry...he was a mess.  I rushed him through a routine which normally takes 15  minutes in about 2 and then drove like a lunatic to the school.  The tardy bell tings at 8:10.  We missed it by 1 minute.  I had to take him into the office and sign him in tardy IN  MY PAJAMAS AND bra-less.  I was not pretty.  OF course that's the morning that I run into the teacher and the spec ed teachers standing there with my hair.....ugh.

Can I make a quick admission here?  I'm unobservant under the best circumstances.  I miss everything.  I know my husband meant well when he set up a mini-scavenger hunt for me to find my birthday gifts, I love that he made the effort and really thought it out.  I failed miserably.  By bedtime he had to show me where the last two were hidden IN PLAIN SIGHT. 

We took the 4 children who were home to the Natural History museum.  The 3 year old wanted to show his dad the dinosaurs.  The 1 year old wanted to run screaming through the near-silence of the museum.  The Computer Guy looked and listened to everything the children wanted to show/tell him.  I chased the baby who didn't want me.  He had tasted freedom and just knew that there was more of it on the other side of the barriers...probably close to the dinosaurs. 

We went to Mass.  My one moment of calm in my crazy day.  I love Mass.

Then there was our birthday dinner.  We went to one of our favorite restaurants.  It was too loud to talk, the children filled up on bread before the food came and then they wouldn't stay seated or quiet.  The 3 and 1 year olds were just tired and wanted their beds.  We had pushed them too far.  They were done.  We were done.  #1 took them to the car when she had finished eating and my husband and I smiled across the table at each other.  Next year, we're going out alone.

This is just a brief synopsis and doesn't include lost shoes, forgotten tuition payments, the realization that we were out of diapers once the baby was already leaking, mad dashes across town, and an exhausted flop into bed at night.


My prediction for the year?  Complete chaos and I need to go to Mass more often.

This morning?  Forgotten homework and a dash into the office without makeup on where I met the vice-principal I've spent the last 3 weeks emailing and trying to convince I am a sane but concerned mother.  I'm not sure the toilet paper on my shoe made quite the impression I had in mind.

Overheard At The Polls

As I stood in line this morning to vote, I overheard the following conversation between my children:

#4 (age 6) : Why do we have to vote? 

#2 ( age 10 ) : To tell the government what to do and how to behave.

#4 : Why can't we just let them do what they want?

#2 : Because that would be despotism and tyranny.

You Say It's Your Birthday...

It's my birthday too, yeah!

Happy Birthday to my Computer Guy from your Birthday Girl!  I love sharing a birthday with you, my love.

A Baby Shower For Nod

LarryD from Acts of the Apostasy and I are organizing a Catholic bloggers baby shower for Nod of Wynken, Blynken and Nod.  No money is required, just a moment of your time.  Send me an email at shovedtothem@yahoo.com for details.  Oh, and don't tell Nod.  It's a surprise!