One Couple's Stumblings Through Parenthood and Marriage
One of our favorite features of our kitchen is our gas oven. It cooks our food wonderfully. The problem is that when you turn the knob to light a burner, if you only turn it part way, gas starts flowing into the air but the flame does not light. This hasn't been a real problem, though. Until last night.
Annie left the house in the morning, and we didn't get back until twelve hours later. While I was still unloading the twins from the van, Annie went ahead inside with Julia. She came rushing back outside with that awful 'something is very wrong' look on her face. "Justin, the house is full of gas."
I hurried inside - which now seems like an unwise thing to do. Oh well. It turns out that for the last twelve hours, our stove had been filling our house with natural gas - and all of our windows had been shut. The house absolutely wreaked - every room, every closet, the upstairs. Everything. Upon further examination, it turned out that one of the burners had been turned on by one of the twins (given my last post, you can guess who I might suspect).
I called PG&E and we ended up having to open all the doors and windows and let the house air out for over an hour (well past 10 pm) - and the air coming in was under 50 degrees.
Let this be a warning, a cautionary tale, to all parents of youngins. I think children should come with a warning label. They might kill you.
When the twins were a few months old, we took a quiz offered by Tracy Hogg (The Baby Whisperer). This quiz is aimed at helping parents identify what type of child they are raising. She identifies five different types. Kate came up as a cross between Textbook and Angel, and Genna came up as Spirited. As you might guess, 'spirited' implies a child who likes to explore and challenge - a child who can be difficult at times. I believe these photos prove the point.
This photo was taken during Halloween. See my daughter? Climbing on the table when no one is looking? That seems to be a theme. If she goes quiet for too long, she is either standing in front of a mirror, playing with strings, or getting into trouble. Look at her mischievous grin.
Lookee here. I left her unattended on the potty for a few minutes because my mom called. I went in to check on her, and she had unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper. "Mom, I gotta go."
Genna has taken up the practice of stripping off her clothes during nap time. This photo is from just a couple days ago. I came in to get her up from her nap, and what do you know? She has taken off every stitch of clothing and her diaper. I don't know how she does it. Needless to say, this practice has got to stop by the time she enters womanhood.
This photo was taken during a family vacation to R "Wild Horse" Ranch. Genna, don't you see the sign? DON'T FEED THE HORSES! You can't ask for a better example of blatant disrespect for authority and order. But, the horse was happy.
Yes, you can say that Genna is something of a challenge. Last night I was getting her into her pajamas after her bath. She was laying on the changing table playing with the band on the towel when I heard her say, "Mommy daddies get marry, and a family, and a house. Amen." First she pushes me to the edge of my parenting skills and then goes and says something like this, and TOTALLY REDEEMS HERSELF! It's good to know that she is at least paying attention during family prayers.
I only gained two pounds over the Thanksgiving weekend. Not bad considering the obscene amounts I ate. I considered wearing my wife's maternity clothing, but thought better of it. I don't know how stretch capris would look on me ... though there is only one way to find out ...
We had Thanksgiving dinner with my family, including Grandpa, Auntie Barbara, uncle-to-be Jon, uncle William, Shannon's Derek and, of course, the whole Lindsay clan. We feasted upon freshly butchered and organic Brannigan turkey, from my hometown of Woodland. The food was good, the company was good, and when we left I only had mild indigestion - I think I ate ten deviled eggs.
We spent the last half of the day with my inlaws, which included the Walker, Lindsay, Swisher and Thomas clans. In all, it was eleven adults and nine children, six of which are two years or younger. It made for bedlam, but fun bedlam. I got to have my pumpkin and pecan pies. Thanks, Christine.
We avoided leaving the house all of Black Friday, despite being close to many of the outrageous sales. We didn't want to get trampled. Instead, we popped some popcorn and showed the twins Beauty and the Beast for the first time. I must say, this film is much more man-friendly than The Little Mermaid - there's more fighting (wolves, Gaston, the beast), less singing and a womanizing candlestick. Still, I can't help but feel that Disney should start paying us for all of the advertising we do for them.
Saturday was a blast - we heralded in the Christmas season by taking down anything hinting of Autumn and going to the local Christmas tree farm, Silvieville. We enjoyed the sleigh rides, free popcorn and fresh air, but ended up getting our tree from the Boy Scout lot. I have great pictures - more to follow.
For some reason we thought it would be fun to decorate our tree with our two-year-old twins still awake. It turned out to be quite stressful. They couldn't quite grasp that the Dora the Explorer ornaments were for hanging not playing. Also, they just tossed ornaments onto the tree - absolutely no artistic sensibilities. We had to undo their work once we got them to bed.
We now have a house that is fully loaded with white lights, holly berry vines, snowmen in a variety of forms, santa snowglobes, candles and a large, fully-decorated tree. Yee-haw!
Last week Julia came down with a bad cough and all of our girls had colds. It was wonderful. Snotty noses, lots of waking up at night. Good times. Our pediatrician strongly recommended that each of us receive the flu shot to help keep the virus out of our home, and therefore out of Julia's system. So, as a sign of solidarity, the Lindsay family dutifully showed up at our local Kaiser clinic to receive our doses of influenza. Now, I have always been very dubious of the efficacy of these flu shots. But, hey, if it benefits my daughters even a little bit, then I'll go ahead and do it.
To mitigate the horror of receiving shots, Annie and I have the tradition with the girls that we always go get some ice cream immediately following any such event. So, on Monday we told the girls that they would get a band-aid on their arms, but then we would have ICE CREAM! Yay!
We show up at Kaiser. The nurse calls us in and the twins go running into the exam room looking around for ice cream. "Yes, girls, we're going to have ICE CREAM! ... in just a minute," Annie and I say. After Julia's follow up appointment (she is pretty much all better by this point), the nurse then leads us to the next room. The girls once again charge into the room asking for ice cream. "Yes, girls, we're going to have ICE CREAM! ... almost," we say. My twins are bright cookies, so by this time they were beginning to doubt us.
Annie and I receive our doses first. Ours turns out to be the nasal spray. Man, that went against all of my instincts. Sucking up a living virus (yes, living) into my nose so I could be vaccinated against last year's influenza model?
Thankfully, the girls' shots went well (they are too young for the nasal spray). There was a bit of crying, but since we made such a big deal about how cool the band-aids were and how fun the ice cream was going to be, they began laughing.
We eventually made it to Rite-Aid where we partook of tasty Thrifty brand ice cream. More importantly, we restored their belief in our promises. It turned out to be a long lunch break for me. But when all was said and done, we all had a good time. We have learned that one of the keys to parenting is making a fun adventure of otherwise onerous tasks.
This is the latest installment in my never ending quest to convince others to cease their alcohol consumption. Last week President Bush spent time in the Orient - China and Mongolia. Disturbing events happened there, as reported in this article from Reuters UK:
"ULAN BATOR (Reuters) - U.S. President George W. Bush heard multi-toned Mongolian "throat singing" and drank [fermented] mare's milk on Monday as he ended an Asian tour inside a nomadic hut that is a symbol of the country that produced Genghis Khan."
See people? See what happens when you partake of the fire water ... or, I guess, the fire milk in this case? You end up in a mud hut in Mongolia, listening to throat singing! When will you listen?
My buddy Ian forwarded this to me. It is a test comprised of about 20 questions that have to do with determining what religion you are, or are most likely to be. I took it (it's pretty quick) and low-and-behold, it was surprisingly accurate. I recommend you take it. Could be quite edifying, or a complete waste of time. Whatever the case, feel free to leave a comment with your results.
Click here to take the test.
In light of Annie and I's five year anniversary, I thought it would be fun to dig through some of our old photos and take a look at how much our family has changed through the course of our marriage.
You can see in this photo that Annie and I were so close right from the start. We have always been loving and very attentive to one another. If memory serves, this picture was taken as I tried to convince Annie that we should go ahead and try to have kids. She was reluctant at first, but once I explained the tax incentives, she was sold.
And I am so glad that she listened! Only two and a half years later we had our twin daughters. This photo is of me holding them. Kate is on the left, looking at the camera and being a good girl. Genna is on the right, not looking at the camera. It is amazing, right from the start we could see our little girls' personalities coming out.
The next biggest change came with the arrival of Julia, only five months ago. Here I am in our new home as she plays at my feet. She has been such a wonderful addition to our growing family. If you look closely, you can see a remarkable resemblance among the siblings.
These are just some of the wonderful things that have come our way in the past five years. I hope each of you is similary blessed.
This is a cut from the show 'Family Guy.' I know this show is very controversal, and I have only seen one or two episodes from the first season. I cannot claim to be a viewer and neither can I claim to endorse any of their material. But this clip is hilarious. It makes a mockery of Osama Bin Laden. It's edgy, but keep in mind - taunting the enemy is as old as war itself.
Click here to watch the video.
I have been having to endure ... I mean, attend harassment prevention training at work. It has been a real joy. My thinking is that since it has now become clear to me that no one will tolerate my rampant bigotry, then I am going to lay down some rules of my own. My new harassment prevention guide identifies 9 'protected backgrounds.' It is unlawful to harass individuals based upon these backgrounds. Therefore, I am now demanding the following:
1) Race or Color: Race: I am Caucasian. Though I have never been to the Caucasus - the mountainous region between the Black and Caspian seas (think Russia, Chechniya, Georgia, Armenia and Azerbeidzjan) - I am fiercely proud that some of my ancestors supposedly came from there. Color: I am 'white' - actually I am pasty white where the sun doesn't shine and more of a tanny/beigey/pinkish (formerly known as 'flesh' in the Crayola crayon spectrum) everywhere else. All of this means that I will no longer tolerate being called 'honkey' 'whitey' 'yahoo' 'cracker' 'whitebread', etc. Previously I have encouraged the use of such terms - but no longer.
2) Religious Creed: I am Mormon. Come on, the jokes here are too easy and old. Come up with something new. But even then, I won't tolerate it.
3) National Origin or Ancestry: Nationality: I am from the U.S.A. You may no longer call me Yankee or Gorby or harass me for being an 'American dog.' Ancestry: If I were a dog I would be a mutt. If I were meal, I would be a buffet: some English fish & chips, a large spoonful of German sauerkraut, a hefty lump of Scottish haggis, some Irish potato, a very small side of French crepe and some leftover Cherokee corn. Please refer to background # 1 for what I won't tolerate.
4) Physical Disability, Mental Disability, Medical Condition: Aside from being healthy as a bull and physically stunning, I have a torn meniscus in my right knee. So, no more calling me 'Ol' Torn Meniscus' or 'Wounded Knee' - also, stop picking me last for the softball team because I 'don't run so good.'
5) Marital or Pregnancy Status: I am married (five years now, thank you). So, ladies, stop hitting on me. Men, no more comments about the old ball-and-chain. Also, last time I checked, I am not pregnant. So, I guess you can exclude me from your pregnancy support meetings.
6) Sex or Gender: Which one do you mean? Are these meant to be synonyms? I cannot help that I was born with a y chromosome. I now demand entry into the Women's PGA and the WNBA.
7) Age: Alas, I am under 40, so I am not protected. You are permitted to harass me for being a youngin'.
8) Sexual Orientation: I was born with certain parts, so at least physically I have an unequivocal sexual orientation. I also like the female-types, so that makes me heterosexual. You can no longer refer to me as 'that straight guy' or say things like "Gee, he sure is not gay."
9) Opposition to Unlawful Harassment: Let it be known that I officially will not tolerate unlawful harassment. Therefore, I will not tolerate you being intolerant of my intolerance.
I have recently acquired the additional, and lofty, title of 'contracts coordinator.' Please, withhold your applause. This largely consists of me comparing incoming contracts and agreements with our master agreements. I need to keep an eye out for any changes. Even the slightest modification can have huge consequences when it comes to liability and indemnification.
You see, most of our clients employ lawyers. These in turn, try to make themselves useful (and therefore worthy of their fees) by continually modifying the wording in the contracts. I stand in the frontline of defense, striving to keep my company clear of the wranglings and hassles our client's attorneys would put us through.
I have come across several examples of what these lawyers have come up with that make me laugh - and make me cry. For instance, look at this sentence:
"NOW, THEREFORE, in consideration of the foregoing, the mutual promises and covenants contained herein and other good and valuable consideration, the receipt and sufficiency of which are hereby acknowledged, the parties agree to the following."
What is that? Why couldn't they just say "The parties agree to the following." I know, I know, there was some precedent set somewhere and blah, blah, blah, and some legal principle that blah, blah, blah. Still, that annoys. And get this, one of the contracts I reviewed last week had a 327 word sentence. One single, obnoxiously long sentence. I can see that I have much to learn when it comes to becoming fluent in legalese.
There are plenty of good lawyers. Some of them are friends and family. Nevertheless, I believe that in the world to come there will be a special place for lawyers - at least some types.
My boy's, A & G, were talking this morning on the radio about chopsticks. Get this: according to an article by Thomas Friedman, China consumes 45 billion pairs of wooden chopsticks each year. This equals 1.66 million meters of timber, or 25 million full grown trees annually! And that doesn't include the many tons (in weight) of additional chopsticks that are exported to other countries. In total, 300 factories, employing 60,000 people, make disposable wooden chopsticks in China. Shnikeys!
I never would have imagined that such an innocuous item like a pair of splintery chopsticks could pose such an environmental threat. The next time I am eating a tasty bowl of Mongolian BBQ I will opt to use my traditional, reusable fork instead of the chopsticks.
One of my coworkers has an Aussie friend. When she inquired about wombats, the Aussie responded in an email (and I quote):
"anyhoo, my wombat story goes like this..... when i was bout 15 i was out snow-skiing, when i happened to take a bit of a tumble while going down this particular run. when i regained myself i found i'd nearly hit a wombat which was in the snow only a metre or 2 from where i was lying. i'd never seen one this close before and it was making a wierd noise which is what got my attention. later i realised it was actually hissing/growling at me! when i tried to get up and move it charged at me and bit me!! it bit me once on the knee, only made a small cut but managed to rip a fairly decent hole in my ski-pants!! so there you go, they may look all cute n cuddly, but those fat little buggers can get quite aggressive if they want too!! ha ha."
See, I told you. Beware the Wombat!
I love the build-up to Thanksgiving. Fall has arrived, the trees are turning color, the air is cold with the promise of winter. A huge feast is planned, to be attended by wonderful friends and family. Ah, the food, the company, the bulging waistline and heartburn. Ah, the turkey.
But, of course, this season is about more than just food. It's about giving thanks. So, I think about the holiday, with the pilgrims and Squanto and the turkey and all that. Then I think, turkey? 
Why the turkey? What is this bird? Why does it share a name with an eastern Mediterranean country?
Then I am cast back to my history class where we learned about this. The turkey is native to the Americas, but became a big hit in Europe hundreds of years ago and was exported overseas for food. When the English first laid eyes on it, they mistook it for another bird that they called turkey. This original turkey was from Africa, but was shipped by way of Turkey, ergo the name. Even after figuring out the mistake the name stuck. So we have a bird named after a country to which it isn't even indigenous, and it was all a case of mistaken identity!
So then how did the nation of Turkey get its name? From the Turks of course.
They were a people native to Central Asia who for several hundred years waged a war of conquest against the Byzantine Greeks of Anatolia. Finally, in 1454, they captured Constantinople and renamed it Istanbul. Now we have a land of Turks, aptly named Turkey.
This holiday season, when we are stuffing our faces with turkey, let's also give a little thanks for the Turks, alright?
Of course, this begs the question - how did the Turks get their name?
I have determined that one of the most difficult times in an infant's life, for both parent and child, is between 4 and 6 months. This is when they are beginning to really become aware of the outside world, yet don't quite have the tools to properly respond and interact with it. Julia is smack in the middle of this stage at 5 months. She now wants to be entertained a lot, but lacks the motor skills to keep a toy in her mouth for very long. She is no longer satisfied with a bouncer because she just sits there, but she isn't strong enough to endure more than 5 - 10 minutes in the exer-saucer. This leads to frustration.
Now she has learned how to roll over onto her belly. This is a good thing - it's one of those checklist items that your pediatrician asks about. But she hasn't yet developed the roll-back-over skill, so she gets stuck on her stomach, which she doesn't like.
I used to have a box turtle named Styles. During Styles' wandering about her terrarium and backyard she would occassionally roll over onto her back and flail about, much like my daughter. 
Both present pretty pitiful images. The turtle, however, didn't mean to flip over. Julia feels compelled to. Styles would go to great efforts to flip back over. Julia just lays on her belly and squirms and cries, loudly. Should I be disturbed that my turtle possessed greater problem solving skills than my own child?
This was our story last night. Julia rolled on to her stomach and proceeded to wail and flail at least 10 times. Annie and I took turns flipping her over like a pancake and soothing her. During Annie's turn I would lay awake because of the crying, thinking: "Where are my bungie cords? I could just strap her down," or "are there any arts and crafts stores open this late that would sell me a sheet of velcro to sew onto Julia's sleeper and the crib sheet?" This, compounded by the twins also waking up and crying multiple times, has resulted in the exhaustion of both parents.
Julia may have just earned her first nickname. No, not 'Styles', but maybe 'turtle' or 'flipper.'
This is from an article I read today:
"STOCKHOLM -- Residents of an old people's home in southern Sweden had to deal with a couple of rowdy drunks when a pair of intoxicated moose invaded the premises. The moose -- a cow and her calf -- had become drunk by eating fermented apples they found outside the home in Sibbhult, said Anna Karlsson, who works there. Police managed to scare them off once, but the tipsy mammals returned to get more of the fruits. This time the moose were drunk and aggressive, forcing police to send for a hunter with a dog to make them leave. "
See people? This is one more reason I don't drink alcohol. When will you learn?
Yesterday I called The Home Depot to get some prices on six-foot ladders. Now, many of you know how much I abominate this warehouse store. I had to go there many many times during our remodel. With the exception of John in the kitchen department and Richard in hardware, my encounters with their inept staff, when I can locate them, have ranged from dismal to infuriating. The company seems to make a habit of hiring teenagers who would rather flirt with one another than help their customers. And this holds true for the four different stores I have visited. I absolutely dread walking into those cavernous, unmanned aisles.
So, I thought I would be clever and call them instead to get a price and some information. How wrong I was. I spent 15 minutes on hold trying to get pricing. 15 MINUTES! But get this: Annie and I were watching TV while I waited for the answer. A commercial came on that showed a woman walking through the hardware aisles of a mocked-up Home Depot store. She had a question mark perched on her shoulder that grew with every new frame. Finally, she walks into an Orchard Supply Hardware (OSH) and the employee plucks the question mark from her shoulder and tosses it into a pile of other question marks. Annie and I looked at one another in disbelief.
I hung up the phone - I had been on hold for 15:03 and never got the answer from the 'associate' at The Home Depot who was supposedly helping me. I then called OSH. I got a hold of someone to get me the ladder models and prices. He was very nice and informative. When I hung up I looked at my call timer. I had been on the phone for 1 minute and 1 second. That may have been the most timely and appropriate commercial in the history of advertising.
OSH is my new hardware store. I have had other great experiences with them, but I am now converted. The Home Depot says, "You can do it. We can help." Uh, no you can't. But OSH can.
In light of today's Special Election in California, I thought I might share a parable that I came across on www.libertypost.org. Enjoy.
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Once upon a time there was a little red hen who scratched about the barnyard until she uncovered quite a few grains of wheat. She called all of her neighbors together and said, "If we plant this wheat, we shall have bread to eat. Who will help me plant it?"
"Not I," said the cow.
"Not I," said the duck.
"Not I," said the pig.
"Not I," said the goose.
"Then I will do it by myself," said the little red hen. And so she did. The wheat grew very tall and ripened into golden grain. "Who will help me reap my wheat?" asked the little red hen.
"Not I," said the duck.
"Out of my classification," said the pig.
"I'd lose my seniority," said the cow.
"I'd lose my unemployment compensation," said the goose.
"Then I will do it by myself," said the little red hen, and so she did. At last it came time to bake the bread. "Who will help me bake the bread! ?" asked the little red hen.
"That would be overtime for me," said the cow.
"I'd lose my welfare benefits," said the duck.
"I'm a dropout and never learned how," said the pig.
"If I'm to be the only helper, that's discrimination," said the goose.
"Then I will do it by myself," said the little red hen. She baked five loaves and held them up for all of her neighbors to see. They wanted some and, in fact, demanded a share. But the little red hen said, "No, I shall eat all five loaves."
"Excess profits!" cried the cow.
"Capitalist leech!" screamed the duck.
"I demand equal rights!" yelled the goose.
The pig just grunted in disdain.
And they all painted "Unfair!" picket signs and marched around and around the little red hen, shouting obscenities.
Then a government agent came... he said to the little red hen, "You must not be so greedy," while dividing the little red hen's freshly baked bread equaly between the cow, the duck, the goose and the pig.
"But I earned the bread," said the little red hen.
"Exactly," said the agent. "That is what makes our free enterprise system so wonderful. Anyone in the barnyard can earn as much as he wants. But under our modern government regulations, the productive workers must divide the fruits of their labor with those who are lazy and idle,"
And they all lived happily ever after, including the little red hen, who smiled and clucked, "I am grateful, for now I truly understand," But her neighbors became quite disappointed in her. She never again baked bread because she joined the "party" and got her bread free.
Be forewarned: this subject necessarily includes scatological content and humor. Prepare for some potty-talk.
For the past couple of weeks Annie and I (OK, mainly her) have been trying to potty train the twins. It has been a joyous time, complete with poopy panties, pee on the floor, and extremely inconvenient "I need to go potty"s. But, on the whole, we have been very impressed by our girls' ability to adapt to a diaper-less life. It is amazing how much two M&Ms and the privilege of flushing to toilet can motivate a child. I guess our thunderous applause and high-fives also provide good encouragement.
Genna has been the best at alerting us of her impending toilet activities. Kate, however, lets us know by going still for several seconds, getting a glassed-over look in her eye, and then proceeding with playing with Tinkerbell. Needless to say, the window to take action is short for her and we have had to be proactive in our approach. She has gotten much better, though. Very few mishaps of late from either of them.
Yesterday during church Genna began to chant "I need to go potty" in her low voice, which stood in stark contrast to the words our bishop was offering from the pulpit. I took her to the men's room and sat her on the toilet. It's a big seat, so I had to kneel next to her with my arms around her back to keep her from falling in. After several moments of silent anticipation Genna leaned over to me and whispered, "Shhh. Listen. Watch. Can you hear it?" - indicating that at anytime I could expect to hear the tinkle or plop of a successful toilet trip. Is that cute or what? I began to laugh and she did, too. Who would have thought that I could have such a fun bonding moment with my daughter while kneeling on the men's room floor? Ah, the wonders of potty parenthood.
As a follow up to my PartyLite post, I must admit to the further emasculating of Justin. Kate and Genna have been wearing Disney Princess pull-up diapers for their training. Their favorite diaper depicts Ariel, of The Little Mermaid fame, on the front. They have not yet seen the movie. So, tonight as a treat during Family Home Evening we are going to watch it with them for the first time. And, I am looking forward to it. Not simply because I get to hang out with my ladies around a bowl of popcorn, but because I am actually looking forward to the movie itself. Help me, please.
On Tuesday Annie hosted a PartyLite show, in which the women of the Lindsay & Walker clans, (and several others) were most liberal in their purchases of candles and candlesticks. Thank you all very much, for it gave Annie a lot of free credit and turned out to be the consultant's best show to date.
Last night Annie and I spent a good hour going over the catalogues to see how we could best spend her $200 in credit. Yes, I spent over an hour looking at candles. Don't get me wrong, I loved spending the time with my wife. What disturbed me, though, was that I enjoyed looking at candles! What's wrong with me?!?
Something changes when a man gets married. I still remember the horror I felt when I first walked into someone else's house and noticed and critiqued how they decorated. I never cared how anyone decorated before! But ever since moving into a place of our own, I always notice. Also, since the brith of our twin girls I have become disturbingly comfortable with the color pink. PINK! I actually look at our girls' double-pink bedroom with pride. I have diagnosed this condition as 'pink-out.' Other symptoms include: using words like 'cute' and adorable', noticing the girls' clothing sections at department stores, and enjoying look for bargains amidst the Disney Princess doll section.
I am reaching a crisis point. I am now outnumbered by females four to one. My testosterone levels, though incredibly high, are insufficient. I need help. Please, if anyone has any advice on how to restore some gender balance to my household let me know. Annie won't let me get a rottweiler or a big truck or an assault rifle. I am desperate. Help please.
We went this year to our favorite pumpkin patch in Woodland. Here is a picture of my ladies as they posed by the corn rows. Beautiful, aren't they? A bit goofy, too, on my daughters' part.
I hurried inside - which now seems like an unwise thing to do. Oh well. It turns out that for the last twelve hours, our stove had been filling our house with natural gas - and all of our windows had been shut. The house absolutely wreaked - every room, every closet, the upstairs. Everything. Upon further examination, it turned out that one of the burners had been turned on by one of the twins (given my last post, you can guess who I might suspect).
