Nov 6, 2013 | The Good Word, The Parenthood
Hi friends! I know it’s been a few days since 31 Days ended and you’re probably thinking I’m going back to my cave and only writing once a month or something. I promise that’s not true! But here’s what is: getting up early really, really, is so much better than not.
After 31 Days ended, I decided to give myself a couple of sleeping-in days to recover. And guess what? That was a bad idea. As if I didn’t learn anything from how great and fulfilling it was to start my day extra early and get stuff done!!
I slept in, didn’t really feel better for having done so, felt significantly less productive, ended up running late on one particular occasion, and suffered the consequences. Don’t make me go into detail, it would just rub it in, MMMkay?
So, before I continue with efforts at inspiring your precious hearts and minds by turning my eyes to Jesus and writing what comes as a result, I thought I’d take a moment to step back, look at the big picture, and tell you what’s on my heart.
First, now that I know I can get up and get stuff done, I have every intention of doing just that, and of being very careful with the time that I’ve been given. I’ve been getting up at 5:30, and I’m usually showered and dressed by 6:00. And our small people have a little clock that turns green
at 7 and that’s when they’re allowed to wake up.
One free first-thing-in-the-morning hour = GOLD, I tell you, GOLD!
Two take homes from this discovery:
- Not letting your children be what wakes you in the morning is very, very wise. Train them to stay in their rooms until the reasonable, parent-appointed wake time. This clock has been a lifesaver for our kids who can’t tell time yet. WORTH IT!
- Getting up early is really hard. But when 9 am rolls around and you are amazed at what you have already accomplished, it feels really good. Yesterday I was free and un-stressed enough to make dinner and bring it to another family before we had dinner… and I’m certain that was because my day didn’t feel like an hourglass that got turned over and started pouring before I woke up.
{My belly button is not a snooze button, and I am NOT an alarm clock!}
In other news, there’s a bigger writing project that’s been on my heart that I’d like to begin making concerted efforts toward. With the occasional use of my golden hour. I’ll share more about that soon.
I’m also planning to write here more regularly and you are likely to see some changes around the site. I will no longer be posting automatically filled ads in the sidebar for right now because I don’t always feel like they line up with my pro-simplicity and greenness and try-not-to-focus-on-the-getting-of-much-stuff-heart. If you see something being advertised here, you’ll know I personally made the decision to put it there.
On that note — if you are a business or website interested in advertising space, feel free to contact me. I am turning down other writing gigs in favor of writing about the things I am passionate about — selling advertising space makes this writing more possible. (If you love this site and just want to donate to make it happen, let me know, too!)
I may also spend some time revamping the look around here again… it’s about time, right? But I haven’t decided whether I’ll throw out the baby with the bath water or just tidy up. Any thoughts?
Get up and get out there, friends! Life is always happening one day at a time!
xCC
Oct 15, 2013 | 31 Days, The Good Word, The Parenthood
Hi there! This post is part of a 31-Day writing adventure I’m now about halfway through! Yeow! I’d love for you to meet up ’round here and read along. You can find the introduction to the series, and a “Table of Contents” as each day goes live, right here. Thanks so much for dropping in!
I’ve nearly crossed the threshold of the halfway-marker for this marathon of writing, which to be honest, compared to the average length of a publication on the New York Times Bestseller list is probably more of a sprint. Or a 400 meter. With hurdles.
At any rate, I thought I’d take a moment to do a Heads-Up at the Halfway-Mark and share a bit of what’s going on behind the scenes for me as I have the privilege of adventuring into some great cloud of unknowing to look for the goodness of God in unexpected places.
First, feel free to send me a virtual fist-bump and throw in a few of those waving-your-hands-in-my-direction-with-your-fingers-pointing-like-six-shooters, because I have already achieved what I considered a near-impossible task:
Cue the bold, italics and underline. And center:
For two whole weeks, I have gotten out of bed every morning somewhere between 5:30 and 5:45 am to spend time with the Lord and then write what I feel led to write.
My conclusion? I am capable of a whole lot more than I thought I was. I absolutely convinced myself that I would never function on a slightly reduced number of hours of sleep. I was wrong. I was occasionally able to go to bed slightly earlier the first week, but was on holiday with family last week and felt like staying awake long enough to be reasonably sociable was the right thing to do.
Cuz it wuz.
And I will admit when the Belle decided she was too princess for a pack-n-play and woke up MULTIPLE times every night for the entire week of our vacation (not the deal at home, mind you), I was completely surprised that it was only on the car ride home on Sunday afternoon that I felt a sudden risk of collapse.
For most of the week, I actually felt…better than usual.
{Uncle Russ and his fan club.}
And I suppose I must also admit there was ONE morning which involved me resetting an alarm thinking I was going to let myself sleep just until 6 am and something malfunctioned and I woke up thanks to the Belle at 6:42.
But other than that, I feel like a champion.
You, too, are capable of more than you think, dear reader, dear friend!
Second, I don’t know if you remember me mentioning in the Introductory Post about how 22-ish ideas showed up in the hotel room when I had a moment to think this gig through? Well, I’ve probably used about five of those ideas over the past 15 days. Which convinces me very quickly that there is no end to the goodness of God, and perhaps no direction you can look where you cannot somehow see a glimpse of His hand or the potential for praiseworthiness.
The Earth is filled with His glory.
Last, I have probably arrived at a place of admitting that my kids are sometimes an excuse when they shouldn’t be. With regard to stewarding my gifts well, with regard to ministry, with regard to when I go to bed and when I rise, my level of sanity on any particular day, my mood, and how often I sneak to the fridge for three or twelve chocolate chips.
Maybe I’m not ready to admit that yet, so forget you read any of that.
To you sweet people who are commenting and sharing and virtual-high-fiving, thank you. The sweetest reason for me to get out of bed is the quiet time where I hear whispers that remind me of a good and Holy God who commanded the Universe to exist and still somehow thinks I’m worth talking to. But the knowledge that you are blessed, encouraged, challenged, uplifted — it absolutely makes this journey so much sweeter.
Here’s to fifteen more days of glorious goodness… and I imagine many more after that.
xCC
Oct 8, 2013 | 31 Days, The Good Word, The Parenthood
Hi there! This post is part of a 31-Day writing adventure I’m embarking on. I’d love for you to join me and read along. You can find the introduction to the series, and a “Table of Contents” as each day goes live, right here. Thanks so much for dropping in!
I’m a parent, and like a lot of parents, I think my kids are uber-awesome. Really. I adore each one of them for different reasons — I love the Bear’s tenderheartedness, his clever mind, his deep thinking. Although the Tank is absolutely a steamroller in many situations, he somehow also has this incredibly gentle spirit, loves to give kisses, shows deep concern when someone is sad, and is full of that age-two-everything-is-full-of-wonder stage that melts my heart on a daily basis.
The Belle, of course, is our little princess and we cherish her. She shows so much delight in the world around her. She is quickly becoming very eager to not just watch, but participate in what her brothers are doing. She loves to be tickled and to giggle, and has an out-of-this-world nose scrunch.
It’s pretty easy to come up with a list of reasons why the small people in my life have such a special place in my heart (besides, obviously, the wonderful knowledge that they’re mine) but there are also times when it is NOT so easy to be their Mama. When I feel like a steaming pressure cooker with a stuck-on-lid, when there are more rides on the drama llama than this Mama can handle.
A couple of weeks ago, the Bear had one of those drama-llama moments. It had been a really long day. He no longer takes naps in the afternoon, but I sometimes think he still could (but then he’d never fall asleep at bedtime.) He’d been very active and was probably a little tired, though he wasn’t showing it.
Dinner wasn’t going to take long so I suggested we go for a stroll to the playground to enjoy just a little more fresh air at the end of our day. I have a double stroller, and it’s anybody’s guess, sometimes, how many kids I’ll be pushing in it. The Tank wanted to ride in the back, the Belle was in the front, and the Bear was riding the Tank’s bike, so that if he decided to get out of the stroller and ride a bike, he could.
It was not a surprise when the Tank switched gears and wanted to ride his bike. The Bear happily jumped into the backseat of the stroller when I said it would be okay — yes, he’s probably too old to be riding in the stroller, but I caved in the name of having fun.
We arrived on the gravel path we take for the last stretch to the playground, and, no surprise, sweet little Tank wanted to ride in the stroller again because it is too hard to push a plastic bike over a gravel road. Truth.
A fight ensued. Over rights to the backseat of the stroller, of course.
Knowing we would not make it to the playground without the Tank getting in the stroller, I asked the Bear to get out, and he was… more than a little disappointed.
I did my best to explain my reasoning, talked about how great it would be to play at the playground, attempted a little discussion about the best decision in this scenario, tried to make it NOT a big deal… nothing doing.
He parked himself in one spot and didn’t budge.
I strolled a little further (safe location folks, don’t worry) and looked back to see him still arms crossed, crying a little.
I strolled a little further and the weeping turned into wailing. Embarrassingly loud, cray cray wailing. Perhaps he would follow now?
I strolled a little further and he eventually freaked out with scream-crying.
Without boring you with more exhaustive details, I’ll basically say it ended badly. His favorite toy taken away for a week for his disobedience (when I asked him to come), other punishment for the fact that he yelled at his Mama… still more discussion later that evening about the fact that — {ohmigosh this is what it looks like} he actually did a little on-the-ground kicking and screaming. It wasn’t a full-fledged grocery-store-kid gone wild — but it was the closest I’d ever seen from him.
Eventually, order was re-restored, but we never made it to the playground. He cried most of all of the walk home, and waited in his bedroom for his Dad to get home.
Washing dishes after dinner that night, I reflected on the reasons behind the freak-out, and thought about what I could have done differently to better handle the situation, and to perhaps even prevent it from happening like that again.
I remembered this verse from Psalm 18:35:
You give me your shield of victory, and your right hand sustains me; you stoop down to make me great.
In the middle of the Bear’s tantrum, which allow me to mention — this might have been his third one, total, in his five years of life — it’s totally not like him — the first one ever was shockingly embarrassing when we had to leave a pool party early…never mind. In the middle of the Bear’s tantrum, the thing that finally connected me with him enough to manage to get him off the ground and on the way home was stooping down to look him in the eyes.
{It doesn’t always look like this…}
However, I pretty much presided over the entire tantrum, from my vantage point, a couple of feet above him.
But my conclusion as I washed the dishes and thought about the best course of action? It would have been very good for me to have gotten down on his level sooner — to gently discuss the situation, to talk about what was happening in a way that could have put it in perspective for him, instead of barking out my own threats or wishes or commands or whatever else.
Sometimes the mess a kid is in can feel so bad you don’t want to get in it. You don’t want to bend down to try to start wading through the web of emotions and screens to get to the heart and really gain understanding.
But how gloriously good is this?
In the midst of our own mess, our collective strops and tantrums and rages, our arms-crossed defiant head-shaking no-shouting ways, (which are sometimes not visual from the outside, mind you) the God of the Universe stooped down to make us great.
Jesus condescended, entered a broken world, and created an opportunity for us to climb off the back of our own drama llamas, and to choose a life well-lived, with the help of the Holy Spirit, to the honor and glory of God.
The verses that surround this one from Psalm 18 declare the goodness of God, and discuss what He does to strengthen and encourage and prepare His people for the battles that we will face. He does not leave us to face the challenges that absolutely do come our way empty-handed.
Other translations declare that His humility, or His mercy, or His gentleness makes us great. And amen. But I love the picture of the God of the Universe stooping down to look us in the eyes, the way I might have better connected if I’d decided to kneel in front of a frustrated son that day.
Who could have expected the God who created the universe to love the people He created this much? With this everlasting, never-changing love!
And He stoops down, AND says,
“I have loved you, my people, with an everlasting love. With unfailing love I have drawn you to myself.” {Jer. 31:3}
The love of God for you and me is the most incredible unexpected treasure. And the Holy stooping He does, to help us wade through our own mire, turn our eyes to Him, be lifted up and gain understanding? It is nothing short of glorious.
xCC
Sep 4, 2013 | Hometastic Goodness, Stories, The Parenthood
I’ve mentioned before ’round these parts that I think the return to the US has made me a little granola here and there. I transitioned to (always) baking my own bread a couple times a week, cooking about 90% of our meals from scratch, and I even dabble in literally making our granola and laundry detergent when I’ve got the time.
Earlier this year, I felt like I started to up the ante a little more, with some decisions that felt, considering I had three kids four and under around the house, slightly crazy. Among the many, I started cloth diapering (I haven’t told you about that yet, have I?) and simultaneously kicked off infant potty training (pretty sure I haven’t mentioned that yet — cool topic for another day.)
Most of these decisions have family health and environmental concerns at heart, but there was another on the horizon that felt like a bigger deal, whispering in the back of my mind for two or three years now. I tried to avoid it as best I could, tried to come up with alternative solutions to the I know in my gut this is right for us thing that I just couldn’t shake .
But that wonderful Houndog of Heaven didn’t give up on me. He kept whispering, first one way, then another, until finally, I just couldn’t shake it anymore.
You can be sure of one thing, friends: when the Maker of Heaven and Earth whispers to your heart something He wants you to do, you can count on experiencing blessing and adventure, and often also challenge and adversity, when you choose to obey. But, woe to your soul, if you hear Him whispering and choose another path: you will miss out on the adventure and blessing, but the challenge and adversity still have a way of finding you.
So here it is. Decision made. And I proudly introduce the Bear’s Kindergarten Teacher.
{She’s the long-haired one in the middle.}
Yes, boys and girls and children of all ages, we are homeschooling.
You saw it coming, maybe? Maybe even before I did?
Well, here’s the moment for us to look at it together.
I’ll take this introductory opportunity to share a few thoughts on this subject, just to make sure the thoughts are shared before I perhaps find myself with too little time to share any thoughts about anything anymore.
Let’s start with the reasons that are NOT reasons we’re homeschooling:
1. We are NOT homeschooling because we think our local public school system is lousy or full of slackers.
I am confident that the Bear would get a very good education in our local public school system. Do I believe there is a possibility he might get a better education at home? Well, yeah, but it’s kind of an unfair fight. I only have to teach one kid (right now), I can work at his pace, choose curriculum that suits his learning style, spend extra time on things he needs extra time on, and enjoy focusing on the subjects that really interest him. I don’t have to deal with government-legislated budget cuts, lack of parental involvement, or a number of other issues that public school teachers face on a regular basis — and they still manage to work their magic.
Basically, I’m taking a risk with the hopes that it’ll pay off.
P.S. My Mom taught in the public school system for thirty years — I have a huge amount of respect for the underpaid, underappreciated, incredibly challenging profession of teaching. Teachers, you are amazing.
2. We are NOT homeschooling because we think the Bear is smarter than everybody else’s kid and needs special attention.
While I do think the Bear is a very clever little chap, I’m not avoiding the public school system because I feel like I need to make sure his astro-physicist-genius-potential is handled with care. I do intend to handle his education with care, and hope that it does foster him reaching his full potential — but not because I think he’s smarter than your kid or your kid or your kid.
3. We are NOT homeschooling because we want to hunker down and live in a bubble until Jesus comes back.
We will still be involved in the local community. The Tank will start preschool soon. The Bear will hang out with his little pals in children’s church every Sunday, play sports with other kids when we’re ready to kick that off and we’ll be connecting with others in play dates throughout the week. There is a great homeschooling co-op in our area, so we’ll also get to hang with other homeschoolers, take field trips and so on.
Here are a couple of reasons we are choosing to homeschool:
1. As previously mentioned, I have a deep sense of conviction that it’s something I’m being called to do.
Would I rather drop the Bear off at 8 and not have to worry about him again until 3? Sometimes, yeah – I would like to use nap time to write the books that are swirling around in my head, instead of using it as a small-people-free-zone time to accomplish some of my learning goals for the big kid that day. But, the old hymn might’ve said it best: “Trust and obey, for there’s no other way to be happy in Jesus, than to trust and obey.”
2. Like my Argentinian PhD advisor once said, “You will never regret to put your family first.”
It sounded really extra beautiful when she said it with her gorgeous accent. And this feels like a family-centered decision. I get to play an (even more) integral part in training my children up in the way they should go. I’d like play an integral part in choosing their curriculum, helping them find the subjects that make them come alive inside, and helping them process a lot of the information that is difficult for small people to take in, about the fallen world we live in, and how we are supposed to keep on living in it.
The more I do my homework, the more I hear the stories about how connected, what a unit families feel like when they choose to homeschool. I’ve witnessed it first hand, and I hope I have the privilege of enjoying it, too.
And sure there are trade-offs. I might have just tossed a whole heap of me-time out the window. I’m already fielding weird questions and sometimes beginning to feel like I should start dressing weird and stop brushing my hair to somehow play the role I feel stereotyped into.
But here’s the thing it keeps coming back to. Yeah, it would be easier to do what mostly everyone else is doing for a million and three reasons, which include convenience and the fact that I don’t like feeling like a weirdo. But has anything amazing ever happened to anyone who backed down from that thing they sensed in their hearts they needed to do to instead choose to just fall in line with what everyone else was doing?
If Benjamin Franklin hadn’t risked looking looney to chase thunder and lightning on horseback would we have electricity?
If Martin Luther hadn’t written those ninety-five theses would the Protestant Reformation have taken place?
What if Mother Teresa had asked the Lord to call back later when He called her to live among the poor?
None of this is meant to sound like I’m preparing for something absolutely miraculous, but it is to say that what I’ve seen in my heart over the course of wrestling with this decision is a deep desire to kind of look like a reasonable version of normal to a lot of people whose opinions really don’t matter much in light of eternity.
“Will my kid be socialized?” No, I’m currently placing bids on ebay, hoping to purchase some wolves who will raise him for me in the woods near our house.
“Will my kid feel weird?” Maybe, but plenty of public school kids feel weird enough to go off the deep end (in one direction or another) on a regular basis.
“Will this possibly be the hardest thing ever?” I am kind of starting to think so, but it might also be the best.
So here we go. Maybe he’ll call me Mrs. Collie, but I think he’ll probably just call me Mom.
xCC
Aug 14, 2013 | The Good Word, The Parenthood
She is sitting down, on a potty, right in front of me, when all the thoughts start swirling in my head again. Seven months, quickly closing in on eight, her eyes are bright, filled with wonder and interest, and I am simply lifting the tow hook of a little lego truck and letting it fall for her to see.
Gravity is not in her vocabulary, but wonder, oh how wonder is.
Gift. Gift I think — what I could have named her, and her brothers. Gifts. For the days that are long and hard, for the losses that grab a hold of your heart and squeeze so tight it’s hard to take each breath. They are gift, gift, and reward.
And the thoughts that swirl? How strange it is to see this as other than gift.
Sure, there are days. Laundry piles high. Dishes stack up. Tempers flare: He hitted me with that ball! Let go of your brother, you are not his Mommy or Daddy! How many times do I have to call your name before you will look at me? I strain my voice too often.
But stand still. Be still just a moment. Mimic the wonder you see in front of you — take it all in. Flesh of flesh, bone of bone, this child that sits here with half my DNA — absolutely desired before she arrived, though fear met me once or twice: This is quick. They will be less than two years apart. Two kids in diapers…
Still, and I see it: she cannot be seen as other-than gift.
And what of the other-thans?
They are the words of strangers: Boy, you’ve got your hands full! You know where they come from right? Aren’t you finished yet?
And the stories they tell: I could only put two through college. We just wanted one and we would be done. How can you handle more than two or three at the most? Kids are bad for the environment.
The world’s sending mixed messages, one grocery store checkout line at a time.
Post-potty bath time, she is splashing and full of wonder — water swirling with a few white suds from a little baby wash in the duck tub sitting on the island in our kitchen. She beams. Glee. HH hurries for his camera — and I tell the truth, he calls her name and she looks and poses as if she understands, with a huge grin, mouth open nearly as wide as it will go, eyes, too. She pauses the splashing to pose and lets us capture the moment.
I beam with Mama-pride at this simple moment. Thankfulness has been swelling my heart these days — I am taking it seriously. A thankful heart prepares the way for the Lord. I am taking seriously the business of being still, giving thanks.
I have wept with friends, struggling to become pregnant. Wept with friends who have experienced loss. And with research, intervention and no small amounts of effort together as a society we endeavor to put children in the arms of the childless. Through the marvels of modern medicine and the awe-inspiring beauty of adoption.
None is sad. One is great. But too many? A burden — and some might even say downright wrong — bringing too many children into the world.
A gentleman sitting next to me on a plane once genuinely questioned the sanity of a married couple who does not want to use birth control if they already have more than a couple of children. What is the difference between birth control and clipping your fingernails? he mused.
I disengaged from the conversation as quickly as possible.
You’ve got your hands full. Maybe so.
But these moments of God-wonder have not slowed. For the four-year-old who understands so much, thinks deeply, cares and cares. With the two-year-old’s milky white smile, peeking from perfect, parted pink lips, eyelashes to rival any mascara commercial — and eyes to charm any man or woman in town.
And this little one, who sat in front of me, warmest smile, toothless, yet so full — wild after-nap wispy waves encircling her head. Able to take my mind off the greatest problems, able to unfurl every knot that threatens to tighten me up to that struggling-to-breathe-state that occasionally finds me.
Who is right? What is true?
A friend and I talked about it the other day, the comments from the older ladies in the grocery store. How it is nice to hear “treasure this time” and “it goes by fast” — these reminders to slow down and take off your shoes. It is hard to hear “how many do you actually want” and “Boy, you’ve got your hands full” — which with certain tones and inflections sometimes sounds more like “Have you heard of birth control, you idiot?”
He has held her, for me to type now, and brings her in pink polka-dot pajamas, perfect hand-me-downs from her older cousin. With privilege I kiss her cheek before he takes her to bed.
God’s hand has provided riches beyond measure. I see it. I could take off my shoes if I were wearing any.
The Bible puts it this way:
Behold, children are a gift of the Lord;
The fruit of the womb is a reward. {Psalm 127:3}
With the busyness that has me doing the things I must and sometimes keeping me from things I love to do, these three little gifts are constant reminders: He is so, so good. And my answer these days to the world of other-thans, to the “Boy, you’ve got your hands full {—you dummy—}” folks?
“My heart is even more full.”
xCC
Aug 12, 2013 | Baby Photos, Quiver Tree Photography, The Parenthood
One wildly surprising thing about the journey of grief is the raw emotions you find yourself experiencing that show up out of nowhere. Don’t worry, this is actually a very happy post — I’m just starting with a sidenote/forenote of sorts. A few days ago, I had Arabella strapped in on her changing table and I was on my knees on the floor getting something from one of the lower shelves, or sorting laundry, I don’t remember. She flipped over to her belly {she was strapped in and I was right beside the table, so don’t get worried} and her teency little baby bum was in the air, and she had a gorgeous smile on her face. The thought occurred to me, though it had many times before that moment, that it will still be several months before we have the joy of introducing this little person to our family on the far side of the pond. The thought put me into tears on the nursery floor, and I was surprised by how “close to the surface” they were.
With heaps of excitement and anticipation, we are looking forward to visiting SA in March of next year for a big, important birthday. In the midst of the to-do lists involving moving, laundry, estate-settling and getting food on the table, I’m going to make extra efforts to share photos and stories in the meantime. {We miss you heaps, Goo-Goo & Gammy & Auntie Lyn!}
—
We are a little bit behind on baby photos. The good news is, we have been taking them each month. The downloading, editing, and posting of them is a bit of a different story. We left off at about three months…and we’re at eight now… so I’ve decided just to pull out a few highlights from each month and then hopefully I can get a full post for eight months up… before the Belle is nine months.
Since there’s already been plenty of ado, I’ll spare you further and jump in.
It all started with this tiny gift of a creature arriving in perfect timing…
And then her first month flew by…
Did you know every time a baby sneezes an angel gets its wings? 😉
At two months, she seemed rather unimpressed with the whole photo-taking idea. Or maybe she found it a bit… overwhelming?
At three months, she decided she loved it!
Just before four months, I lost my Dad, and discovered this little girl was a gift I never knew I needed. We took these pictures the day before his funeral, counting gifts in this life, even in the midst of loss.
At five months, it seemed the Belle decided she was not only cool with this whole monthly photo thing, she was ready to ROCK it. 
At six months, we decided it was high time we got outside (HH’s favorite place to shoot!) and added some color to the mix.
I also decided an outfit change was in order. {Thanks Kathryn!!}
Getting outside = great decision!
Finally, at seven months, the Belle seemed as comfortable around the camera as she is around Cheerios : very comfortable.
This thoughtful little face gives me a heartache…
And since the boys arrived as the session was wrapping up, we decided to do something special…
And grab a new image of the whole gang! I’m so proud of these kiddos… so grateful they are in my life… and so serious when I say that as crazy as things might get when you have three sweet peas and the oldest is four, they give me daily reasons to say Thank You, Jesus. And I trust they always will.
So for one and all, near and far… but especially for the folks we miss so much way down South… that’s Zero to Seven Months in 27 photos.
With hopes I’ll grab a chance to write again soon,
With Love,
xCC
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