Happy Birthday, Andy!

Dear Andy,

Four years ago, your dad and I welcomed you into the world. At 9 pounds 5 ounces, you took the prize for biggest baby in the hospital nursery, but to us, you still seemed so tiny! From that day until now, you have brought so much joy to us. So for your 4^th birthday, I thought I would list the Top 4 Reasons why you are my absolute, most favorite kid in the whole, wide world (shhh! Don’t tell your brothers!).

Reason #1: You have a GENEROUS HEART.

I have lost count of how many leaves, rocks, and stickers you have given me, but I have loved every single one. It makes me feel so special that you are always on the lookout for something beautiful you can give to me. 

Reason #2: You are an AMAZING BIG BROTHER.

I love hearing you tell your brothers that you love them and then watching you show it by sharing your toys, teaching them the rules (and sometimes how to break the rules…), and always being ready to snuggle up with them for a good show or a book. They both adore you, and that makes my heart smile. 

Reason #3: You can STAY IN CHARACTER for an indefinite amount of time.

I have so much fun hanging out with a real, live superhero (not the pretend one from TV!). All the day-to-day stuff we have to do takes on new life with you doing things like “zooming” through Kroger, freezing customers in the checkout line at Ross, and telling the hair salon to put you in the computer as “Batman”. I truly believe that sort of persistence is going to serve you well when you are older.

Reason #4: You CHALLENGE ME.

You are already asking me hard questions, and testing boundaries, and refusing to give in to my way. Sometimes, that drives me a little nuts. But most of the time, I am so thankful that you make me work at being a mom instead of just coasting through this time with you. You aren’t allowed to watch A League of Their Own yet, but one day we’ll sit down and watch it together, and I’ll point out the Tom Hanks speech where he says, “If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. It’s the hard that makes it great.” That’s how I feel about being your mom—it’s a hard job sometimes, but it’s the hard stuff that makes it so worthwhile.

Happy birthday, Batman. I love you 1,000 M&M’s. (We’ll watch that movie one day too!)

Love, Mama

The Crazy Middle

There is a lot of research concerning birth order. And if you’d asked me a few years ago what I thought about all that research, I would have said that it’s a bunch of psychobabble junk. But now that I have children, I’ve come to realize—there is a special kind of CRAZY that is the middle child. In fact, my hubs and I have discussed at great length the need for a fourth kid, just to remove the “middle child” stigma, thus dialing down the crazy of kid #2. 

That crazy was on full display a couple of nights ago when my husband suggested going out to dinner. Destination—Olive Garden. Probably not the best choice for three kids ages 3 and under, but we had a gift card. And the free pasta and unlimited bread sticks called to us. Against our better judgment, we decided to answer the call, so into the freezing wind and rain we went.

The drive went something like this…

OLDEST CHILD: Looked out the window and sang sweet songs about Jesus.

YOUNGEST CHILD: Slept quietly.

MIDDLE CHILD: Screamed “MAMA, I WANT YOU!!!!” at the top of his lungs for a full 25 minutes.

I could tell already, this outing was not going to be our best. Those bread sticks had better be absolutely incredible.

Finally, we arrived at the restaurant. Oh, sweet moment to be able to open the doors and let out some of the noise! Of course, it was still raining, and we had three kids we needed to get inside. But with two parents, how bad could it be...

OLDEST CHILD: Held my hand and walked quickly to the awning to get out of the rain.

YOUNGEST CHILD: Silently allowed Dad to carry him within the carrier to dry land.

MIDDLE CHILD: Yanked me over to every puddle so he could splash while “running” to get under the awning. (Running=trotting in place.) Refused to hold Oldest’s hand, screaming “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” whenever he had the audacity to reach for it.

I began to dread the stares of disapproval we were doomed to receive inside the nice, quiet restaurant.

Thankfully, the hostess ushered us to the very back room. I always feel a little better when we are seated in the back or in a corner. It helps us be a little more inconspicuous with our noise and mess. That hostess must have had a premonition, or she was simply a genius, because so it began…

OLDEST CHILD: Sat down and begin to color his child’s menu.

YOUNGEST CHILD: Stared sweetly around the room whilst making precious cooing sounds.

MIDDLE CHILD: Threw a temper tantrum over the booster seat provided for him, insisting on sitting on the bench like Oldest. Turned around to meet the folks behind us, all the while brandishing his fork like a weapon. Shoved his coloring sheet into Oldest’s repeatedly, finding great delight in his frustration. Threw his crayons on the ground. Begged to sit with Mama, then lunged headfirst into the diaper bag, sitting on the booth bench, much like a football player would tackle his opponent. 

I had the naïve thought that maybe he was just hungry and would settle down when the food arrived. But then the appetizers came, and I quickly realized that wasn’t the case...

OLDEST CHILD: Asked politely for a piece of bread with cheese and salad.

YOUNGEST CHILD: Entertained himself quietly with a cloth napkin.

MIDDLE CHILD: Refused to sit down, so ate while standing precariously on the very edge of the booth bench, still waving his fork around, by the way. Greeted the new customers behind us by clonking one of the girls on the head with the fork-sword. Banged on the wall with the fork. Dropped accursed fork on the ground- hallelujah!- but… then stole Oldest’s. Sucked the dressing off his salad then spit the lettuce back out. Asked for more at the top of his lungs, then pouted that we wouldn’t let him have it. Inhaled 5 pieces of cheesy bread instead, which I had to blow on over, and over, and over, even when it wasn’t hot.

At this point, I gave up all hope of a nice family meal and started mentally counting down to the end of the torture. Meanwhile, our meal arrived…

OLDEST CHILD: Commented on how good everything looked, waited patiently for his plate to be fixed, then ate in a mannerly fashion.

YOUNGEST CHILD: Continued to chew the cloth napkin.

MIDDLE CHILD: Dropped his new fork. Practically ripped my shirt off to get my attention, even though I was looking at him and saying, “What do you need?” Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.  Tried to climb the diaper bag, knocking multiple items onto the floor. Climbed under the table to retrieve fork(s). Had so much fun that he started dropping things on purpose so that he could pick them back up. Banged his head on the table and needed a kiss in order to recover. By the end of the meal, despite multiple recovery trips down below, there were three forks, one spoon, two jackets, and a blanket under our table.

At last, our meal was completed. All we had left to do was pay our bill…

OLDEST CHILD: Pretended his straw was a gun. (Hey, he had been a PERFECT ANGEL this whole time! Cut him some slack!)

YOUNGEST CHILD: Fussed to be held. (Again, perfect angel up til now!)

MIDDLE CHILD: Pretended his straw was a gun. But louder. And he upped the game a little by “shooting” other customers.

Back at the van…

OLDEST CHILD: “Thank you Dadddy for taking us to The Garden!”

YOUNGEST CHILD: Sweet silence.

MIDDLE CHILD: Shot Mom and Dad with his straw gun.

An Internal (mostly) Dialogue Concerning My Angel Tree Experience

Today is the day! I am so excited! Gonna teach my baby about kindness, gonna get him thinking of others! Woot woot! Now, where the heck is the tag that has my Angel kid’s information? Maybe I left it in the car… No, not in the car. Maybe it’s with the rest of the mail on the bar… No, not there. Maybe I stuffed it in the diaper bag after church… Nope. Maybe I don’t need it! I know it said he’s 15, and he wears a Large shirt, and his pant size was a 36…something. What was the other number? Well, the devil, I need that tag after all. 

(20 minutes later) THE TAG!!! Hallelujah! 

“Andy! Are you ready to go help me shop for our Angel Tree boy? Let’s go!”

(to the tune of a conga line) Mama time with Andy! Mama time with Andy! 

Hmm… I should make this time really special since I hardly ever get time with just Andy anymore. And it’s Happy Hour at Sonic. Let’s get slushes! Yum yum yum!

“Andy, do you want a slush? What flavor?”

…(Willie Nelson style) On the road again! Just can’t wait to get on the road again!

…Holy smoke, what’s up with all this traffic? UGH, we’re not even moving! I wish I had a big truck—I would totally off-road it right about now… Ah, it’s a wreck. 

(15 minutes later) Whew! That wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be! Thank goodness because stores close early on Sundays, so we don’t have time to be sitting in… WHAT THE HECK??? We just got out of stand-still traffic! What is going on?...Another wreck? Are you kidding me? Ain’t nobody got time for this!

(10 minutes later) Wow, that was a mess. I better be extra careful. Obviously, people are having trouble driving today.

Okay, now that we are in the clear traffic-wise, I better make sure Andy understands the whole Angel Tree thing. Here goes:

“Andy, do you understand what we’re doing today? We are buying Christmas presents for this boy whose family can’t afford to buy him presents. Are you going to help me pick him out some cool stuff? Alright, awesome!”

Arrive at Store #1:

Whoa, it is really crowded… Great, they’ve moved all the toys to the front of the store. No way to avoid them. Power through, power through, power…

“No, Andy, we’re not shopping for you today. We’re shopping for our Angel Tree boy. You have lots of toys at home. This boy doesn’t have much, and he needs clothes. We need to focus on getting him some new clothes… No, we have a BOY. That’s a dress…. No, he’s a teenager, so he doesn’t need an Elmo… Well, that’s a nice shirt but he needs a shirt with long sleeves… No, he needs long sleeves…No, that one doesn’t have long sleeves either… Long sleeves, Andy…”

Kill me. Kill me now.

“Okay, Andy! Time to find him some pants!... Hmm, I don’t see his size…”

No, no, no, no, no! Don’t tell me they don’t have his size! That means going to another store! Sigh. Well, it’s due, so I guess that’s what we’re going to have to do. Brace yourself for the toys again…

“No, Andy, we’re not shopping for you today. Remember- we’re thinking of OTHERS today… No, you can’t have the Transformer… Because we’re not shopping for you today; we’re shopping for our Angel Tree boy… No, you can’t have the candy either… Because you’ve already gotten a slush, AND we’re not shopping for you today… Andy, do you even know what that is? It’s coffee. You don’t drink coffee… No, you cannot try coffee… ANDY! we’re NOT shopping for YOU!”

I do not think this is working. This whole experience is supposed to be teaching him gratitude and thinking of others. I am not sure what I’m doing wrong. Maybe I need to explain how Angel Tree works again…

(on our way to store #2) “Andy, did you understand what I told you about the Angel Tree? We picked this boy’s name off the tree so that we can help him have a happy Christmas. He needs some new clothes to keep him warm this winter, and his family can’t afford to buy him what he needs. So it’s our job to find him the things he needs today. Do you understand?... Okay, good! So are we shopping for YOU today?...That’s right! It’s not Andy’s turn today. It’s this boy’s turn. And look! We’re here! Let’s see if we can find him some pants!”

Store #2:

 “You need to tee tee? Okay, let’s go find a bathroom!”

Please, let it be clean! Please let it be clean! Please, let it be clean!... Okay, not too bad. Alright, let’s do this! 

“Andy, don’t touch the…!”

Too late. Well, he’s current on all his shots, so maybe he won’t get sick. We’ll just wash those hands really, really well… Done! Let’s do this!

“Alright, so we need to find pants… Yes, that is cute, but we’re not shopping for our brothers right now.”

Man, that’s super cute. And I haven’t finished Christmas shopping for them yet. And he IS thinking of others, so maybe it’s not so bad. And again, super cute. Oh, blast it all, let’s get it!

“Okay, okay, we can get that for your brothers. Put it in the bag…You want to get the baby that, too? I don’t think he really needs another hat… Okay, fine, put it in.”

Aw, he’s so sweet! Look at him, all picking stuff out for his brothers!... 

Uh oh. I think I blurred the line. Here we go again…

“No, Andy, you don’t need another superhero shirt… Because you just got a new one last week… No, you don’t need that either. Remember, we’re not shopping for you right now… No, we’re not shopping for you right now… No, we’re not shopping for you right now… Andy, what am I going to say? That’s right—WE’RE NOT SHOPPING FOR YOU RIGHT NOW!”

$50 for jeans??? They’ve lost their mind. Guess we’re going to have to try one more store. I don’t know if I have it in me…

Store #3:

“You’ve got to go to the bathroom again? We just went at the last store!... Okay, let’s go!”

Holy smoke, this does not look sanitary. And it smells awful. Ugh. Why does he always have to go in public bathrooms? I HATE public bathrooms!

“Andy, don’t touch ANYTHNG in here, okay?... You’ve got to what? Nooooooooo, are you sure you can’t wait?”

Line the seat, line the seat, line the seat… Okay, I think that’s safe. 

SERIOUSLY??? Did he just knock every bit of my lining into the toilet and sit his naked behind on that thing? No, he did not! Gross! I’m going to have to bathe this kid in scalding water when we get home. Oh, yuck, and his clothes too. Those pants are dragging on that nasty floor. Ew! 

“Okay, let’s wash your hands. Let me help you with the paper towels since you can’t reach.”

Ugh, what is this on my hands? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. What IS that? And it’s on the handle? What? Surely that’s not… OH HEAVENS, it is. That is POOP on the paper towel dispenser handle. 

That is A STRANGER’S POOP and it’s ON MY HAND! AUGH!!!!! CUT IT OFF, CUT IT OFF, CUT THIS DEFILED HAND OFF OF ME AND THROW IT OUT!!!!!! OH, I’M GOING TO DIE! BLEH! BLEH! I NEED TO PUKE! OH, CRAP, I CAN’T PUKE IN THAT TOILET—IT’S DISGUSTING!”

“No, Andy, I’m fine. There’s just… MUD on the handle and it got on my hand. DON’T TOUCH IT!!!!!”

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts… More soap, hot water, more soap again, and soap a fourth time... Now, I need to dry them—NO, DON’T TOUCH THAT! Jean swipe will have to do. DEAR LORD, GET ME OUT OF THIS BATHROOM!!! 

“Excuse me, Miss. That bathroom needs some attention. There is… Well, let’s just say it’s mud because that would make me feel MUCH better, MUD smeared all over the bottom of the handle of the paper towel dispenser. Please, can you have someone clean that up before another unsuspecting soul gets… MUD… on her hand? Thank you.”

“Come on, Andy, let’s get these pants and get out of here!... Andy? Where--? Get out of the clothes, please… Andy, get out of the clothes!...Please don’t unfold things. You can just point if you want me to look at something, you don’t need to actually pick it up…What did I JUST SAY??? Please DO NOT unfold the clothes!”

Ooh, finally—JEANS! Let’s grab them and go! 36x34… Hmm… Come out, come out, wherever you are! 36x30, 36x32. 34x32… WHERE ARE THE 36x34’s???

“You need to WHAT? No, no, no. We just did that. We are NOT going back in there… Andy, it CAN’T be an emergency! We were JUST IN THERE!”

No, Lord. You wouldn’t do this to me. You wouldn’t send me back in there when I’m just trying to do this good deed for this Angel boy, just trying to do some intentional kindness-building in my child. Surely, Lord. Surely You wouldn’t make me go back to that bathroom. PLEEEEEEEEEEASE, LORD, SEND ME TO LIVE IN A HUT IN AFRICA, BUT DON’T SEND ME INTO THAT BATHROOM!!!

“Okay, Andy, I hear you. Let’s go… PLEASE don’t touch anything, and PLEASE don’t knock my toilet-liner into the toilet bowl.”

Let me just check out the situation over here… I cannot believe it has not been cleaned! Did I not tell that woman that it was DIRE that someone take care of this???... Oh, no. What is that kid doing? Oh, NO. What just happened here?!? And HOW?!?! 

NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONO!!! I think this bathroom is cursed. We’ve got to get out of here! 

“Don’t move! I will help you! PLEASE don’t move!”

Ew, ew, ew! Good grief, what am I supposed to do with these jeans while I take care of this MESS? These jeans are cursed. I should just chuck them into the poop and be done with them.

“Andy, do NOT touch me!... DON’T TOUCH me!... I SAID DON’T TOUCH ME!!!!”

God, please don’t let him touch me! I will have a meltdown right here in Poop City if those hands touch me. Please, God, please!

“LOTS of soap, Andy… Okay, let’s wash them again, just to be sure… One more time!... Okay, now dry them on your pants. And let’s go!”

His pants aren’t any cleaner than the paper towel dispenser. I seriously hope I still have antibacterial soap in the car or I’m gonna have to amputate his hands before he can get in… 

I need a manager. Ooh, there’s someone. Maybe they can call a manager over here…

“Yes, I do need help. Your bathroom needs MAJOR attention. MAJOR. It’s a total poop-fest in there. Wear a hazmat suit when you go, but PLEASE have it taken care of… Thank you, sir.”

Okay, let’s pay for the jeans and get the heck out of Dodge.

“No, Andy, we’re not going to look at the toys today… Because we’re not shopping for you today!... What do you mean, I never do anything for you?!?! SON, I JUST CLEANED UP YOUR POOP MESS, AND YOU HAVE A SLUSH IN THE CAR! NOW GET IN YOUR CAR SEAT AND TELL ME WHAT YOU’VE LEARNED ABOUT KINDNESS!!!”

Don't Judge My Wal-Mart Brats

I used to be a real Judgy Judgerson.

I would stand there in that Wal-Mart checking line and shake my head at the screaming preschoolers begging for toys or candy and screaming at their mama for saying no. I used to roll my eyes at the bartering mamas trying to bribe their way into a calmer shopping experience, or, worse yet, the ones who finally gave in and bought the toys and candy. I used to think that if those mamas had done a better job teaching their kids manners and that “no means no” or maybe even (Heaven forbid!) doling out a spanking every once in a while, then none of us would have to stand here listening to their bratty kids throw temper tantrums in public.

Oh, it was nice and green on the childless side, where all my hypothetical future children were angels who obeyed my every sweet, soft-spoken command. 

Let me tell you—my real-life children are not perfect angels (no matter what Grannie tells you!), and my sweet, soft-spoken commands are ignored more often than not. And even though my ‘no’ really does mean ‘no’, and I try my best to both model and implicitly teach good manners, and I dole out spankings and time outs daily, and I do my ABSOLUTE BEST to be a good parent, my kids still pitch fits. Loud, long, ridiculous, scream-fest fits, complete with tears and flailing. 

Yes. It’s true. MY kids are the new Wal-Mart brats you hear screaming for toys and candy. 

And don’t think for a minute that I am not aware of the looks and eye-rolling of the people around me that get to witness the full onslaught of original sin that manifests itself as soon as we walk in the door of any given retailer. I am aware that we are ruining your shopping experience. I know you think I should just throw in the towel and try again when the kids are better rested, or better fed, or strapped head to toe in electronics, snacks, and teddy bears. I know that you think you could do a better job, did a better job way back when, or will do a better job when you have kids of your own. But let me warn you—all that judgment may come back to bite you.

You see, I am convinced that the vast majority of mess that my kids pull is in direct response to my judging another parent when their child exhibited that exact same behavior at some point in the past. (All other mess is a direct result of payback for everything I put my own parents through.) It’s funny, in a I-want-to-slit-my-own-wrists-kind-of-way, how life is circular like that, and “what goes around comes around” is an absolutely true statement, not just a random threat people like to throw out.

So, just be warned, you might want to hold your tongue and stop your self-righteous thoughts in their tracks when you start aiming judgment at me for the following:

1.      Refusing to let Andy walk.

Yeah, I know he looks like he’s 5. But you know what there, Judgy Judy? He’s 3 ½. Would you like to know what 3 ½ year-olds do when they’re allowed to walk instead of ride in the buggy? I do because I was foolish enough to try it once. They pull things off the shelves and put them in your basket without you realizing it so that when you make it to the register, there’s an additional $100 worth of CRAP to sort through and put back.  They also run down the aisles ahead of you so that they can hide in the clothes rack and make you search the entire department looking for them. When they do actually walk with you, you can bet your bottom dollar that they will be hell-bent on being FIRST, which means that they will manage to always, always, ALWAYS be in the exact spot that allows them to get clipped in the heel with the buggy wheel. And when you’re stopped, they will have to stand on the bottom rungs whilst performing buggy gymnastics. If you’re super lucky, they’ll manage to tip the whole basket over, pinning them underneath and suspending the other kid who’s strapped inside in mid-air. Oh, yeah—it’s happened to us. 

2.      Allowing Andy to walk.

Yeppers, it’s a long, hard, 2-way street of torture. If he walks, it’s hideous. But if he rides, it’s equally hideous. So while yes, I see you eyeballing me while my kid runs helter-skelter down the aisles screaming, “Find me, Mama!”, let me enlighten you on what to expect if a 3 ½ year-old rides in the basket: They hang over the edge of the buggy at precarious angles, occasionally managing to get their head clonked while turning onto a new aisle. Sometimes, they hold their arms out whilst leaning over the edge, much like good ol’ Leo in Titanic, sweeping items off the shelves onto the floor for Mama to get to pick up. When they do sit correctly, it’s only to rifle through the products in the basket with them, doing cool stuff like building towers with your can goods so that every single can looks like it went through a tornado by the time it arrives home, therefore losing the ability to stack neatly in the pantry. Or better yet, they’ll wave those tampons around and ask at full volume, “What are these for, Mama?” And don’t you dare put it past them to actually OPEN any given product if curiosity or hunger gets the best of them. 

3.      Not having my heart melted when Finnick says “Mama, I need you!” and bursts into tears.

I know, I know. He’s adorable with those big eyes and dimples, and he looks just pitiful crying those giant, crocodile tears. And all he wants in the whole, wide world is his Mama. I know you just cannot believe that I won’t pick that poor baby up and cuddle him til the cows come home. Here’s why: He has “needed Mama” every second of every day for about a month now. And he has cried giant, crocodile tears about 700 times already just since breakfast. But right now, at this exact moment, we need groceries. Or batteries. Or what-the-heck-ever I came to this store for. I assure you, I did not bring the kids out to Wal-Mart for kicks. And since there are 6 people in our house other than this adorable little sob story, I’m going to have to finish up this errand before I rock and cuddle and sing lullabies. So when you see me hunched over like Quasimodo pushing that basket while hugging that baby, understand that truly, this is all I can give at the moment. Be grateful, Judy, that I can’t give more. Because I want to give you a piece of my mind right about now.

4.      Not dropping everything to take Andy to the restroom when he yells it’s an emergency.

Judy, Judy, Judy. Poor, naïve Judy. It’s not an emergency. In fact, he does not need to go at all. Do you know how I know this? Because he’s my child. I live with him. Do you know what, “I need to poo poo!” means? It means, “Mama, this is the most BORING thing in the entire world, and I am ready to be done.” So when I calmly continue looking at women’s clothes, it’s not because I am a terrible parent. There are other things that make me a terrible parent, but this isn’t it. It’s because I have visited every public bathroom in the city with this child, and I now know exactly what signs I need to look for when he legitimately needs to pee, poop, vomit, or blow his nose. And since I have zero clothes left in my entire closet that are not covered in one of the excrements listed above, I am finally going to finish the process of purchasing new garments for myself so that I can go into public without being JUDGED for being a disgusting slob fest. 

5.      Bringing my kids shopping empty-handed.

I am aware that today’s culture says kids need to have a toy, or a snack, or some sort of electronic device at all times, especially if I want them to be behaved during something boring like shopping. But you want to know what I’ve discovered? Once you’ve started something, you’ve got to keep it going every time, without fail. So yeah, we used to do the snack/toy/Angry Bird thing. Until the fateful day that our trip was only going to last 5 minutes so I said no one needed a snack/toy/phone for such a short jaunt. Good gravy, Judy, you should have heard the fussing! The screaming! The crying! The why-why-why-why-why’s! It had become a necessity because shopping had been equated with goldfish/toys/AngryBird in their precious little minds, and now I OWED THEM those things! Heck to the no. I am going to be living with these little darlings for a very long time, and I have no intention of establishing a precedent that they will only behave if bribed. So sorry, customers, my kids are going to sing, and beg, and fuss, and cry, and giggle, and point out every round food that resembles a ball because they’re not buried in my phone or a box of animal crackers. I am going to deal with it. I guess you’ll have to also. And if you offer up a sucker in the midst of one of their epic tantrums just to “keep them quiet”, I am not afraid to go all Dikembe Mutombo on you. 

6.      Loading my kids up with snacks while we shop. 

Another double-edge sword. No, I’m not going to break out the Cheerios every, single time we go to the store. But sometimes, we’re going to be here awhile because we’re out of everything but Oxygen. And you know what—these days, I feel that a snack is about the only thing that’s going to allow us to survive this. I am aware that we are leaving a little cereal trail behind us as we go, and we’ve wiped blue sucker all over the basket, and we’ve probably dropped a sippy cup with a mangled lid that resulted in a small ocean on two separate aisles. I’m really sorry, store employees. I will gladly clean up the messes we’ve made and let you take care of the shopping list, if you’d rather trade. I’ll bet big money that you’ll be happy to trade back within the first 10 minutes.