my thm journey, part two: baby steps

At the suggestion of a sister THM-er, I've decided to post weekly rather than monthly.  Given the length of this one post, I think that was a good suggestion. :)

I think I should introduce myself before going much farther, in case people read this, but not any of my other blog posts.

My name is Cathy.  I am the stay-at-home wife of a Baptist pastor, living in eastern Ontario.  We have ten children, ranging in age from almost 6 to almost 26.  Three of our children have left home (two of those are married; one has given us our first grandchild).  Of the seven who are left, one is an adult working as a carpenter full time and paying rent by helping us remodel our house.  Another is almost an adult, and has plans to move to Virginia if he is accepted as a Joel Salatin apprentice.  The last five are still in home school, so my days are still very full.  Full, but rewarding. :)

Last week I started a series depicting my THM journey.  I "went public" because I believe I need the accountability.  Writing this paragraph at the end of the first week, I can definitely say going public has helped a lot.  You can read my first post here.

February 28, 2014 -- Weighed in at 207.0.  Ate three butter-fried eggs for breakfast.  Drank water kefir pretty much all day.  I drink water kefir pretty much all day every day, so I'll not mention that again.  Snacked on cheese somewhere around noon.  Celebrated my daughter's birthday at our church after youth group/Bible club.  We had brought an ice cream cake from Dairy Queen, but I remembered to bring all the stuff I needed to make a chocolate muffin in a mug and a cottage cheese raspberry whip, so I had that instead.  Later, though, I ate the chocolate bunny my husband had bought me.  (Note to self: Ask him not to buy me any more chocolate, not even if I beg.)

March 1, 2014 -- Weighed in at 205.8.  Ate two butter-fried eggs for breakfast.  Had a family day skating on the Rideau Canal, where my daughter took this photo of me pushing my grandson in his stroller:

I have probably a dozen or so "before" pictures I could have picked from, but I decided to let this one be it.  I smiled for the camera even though I knew my daughter would post this on facebook.  She and I have talked a lot about self image as relates to our bodies, which conversations would fill several blog posts of their own.  In fact, we had such a conversation today, as we traveled the canal together.  (She skated, I walked with the stroller.)

Considering the fact that I spent 4-5 hours walking almost non-stop today, I felt myself justified in getting a poutine.  For the uneducated, this Canadian delicacy consists of French fries and cheese curds with gravy poured over it.  I'm sure that sounds gross to some people, but we all think they are delish.  I only get one when I'm at the canal (which is no more than once a year, or less), and only when I don't get a beaver tail.  I also had a small cup of hot apple cider.

On the way home, we stopped at Tim Horton's where my husband treated every one to doughnuts and hot chocolate. I had come prepared for this.  I pulled my knitting out of my backpack (which I carry everywhere instead of a purse), and knit fast and furious on what will probably be the first of many hats I plan to donate to a rescue mission in Ohio (where a friend of ours is a men's counselor).  This will be a good way to keep my hands occupied when we are out in public and there is non-THM food around.  After I use up all my leftover yarn, I'm going to buy some cotton and start on dishcloths.

All that walking just about did me in, though.  I have plantar fasciitis in both feet, so after hobbling into the house, I plunked myself down in the recliner for the rest of the evening.  Asked one of my girls to make me a peanut butter sandwich.  She used homemade whole wheat bread, and it tasted good.

I worked out where we were on the canal on Google Earth, and I'm guessing I walked close to six miles.  That's a lot when you're walking on ice and trying to keep your balance!

March 2, 2014 -- Weight: 205.2.  My feet feel like they are broken.  Thankfully it's Sunday, and I don't have to do much.  A friend sent me a link with plantar exercises, which I hope to start tomorrow.

Breakfast was chocolate muffin in a mug and cottage strawberry whip.  I ate it on the way to church since I was running late, but it was so filling I could not finish it.  I left it in the van since it's still cold and snowy here, and finished it on the way home.  I did eat a piece of the chocolate that was being passed around by someone in the church.  I'm debating about whether to let this be a once-a-week treat, or to say no to it altogether.

Sunday dinner: The big thing in this house is to keep Mom out of the kitchen on Sunday afternoons.  The children are all adamant about this.  This is the day Mom gets a break from the kitchen, so while they make dinner, I get to put my feet up--and stay out of the food. :D  Today they made scrambled eggs and a mixture of fried potatoes, sausage and onions.  I ate the eggs with a little ketchup, though I'll have to look later to see if ketchup is S acceptable.

Snack after evening service: peanut butter sandwich made with slices of cheese instead of bread.  Yes, I am quite aware of the lack of veggies in my life.  Plan to fix that tomorrow.

March 3, 2014 -- Weight 202.6.  Chalking up that drop to be the 6 miles on the canal catching up to me.  All the same, I don't want to lose weight that fast, so I determined to eat every three hours today, whether I felt hungry or not.  Started with a chocolate muffin at 7:30.  Those things taste amazing, but they are soooo filling.  I felt like a stuffed pig already when Tom came in 15 minutes later and announced to the children that he was taking me out for breakfast and all the normal Monday morning errands.  I was totally not expecting that!

Thankfully, we did some of the errands before breakfast, so by the time we got to the diner I felt like I could eat again.  Normally I get the Atkins breakfast (no carbs), but we were at a different diner this time, so the plate of eggs and bacon came with toast and home fries.  I did eat the toast with a teeny tiny bit of jelly, but passed on the home fries.  But by the time three hours had gone by, I still felt way too full, so decided to wait another hour before eating an FP cottage strawberry whip.

After that, it was time to take the girls to piano lessons, so I was in town when the next three hours was up.  I shared some pepperoni and cheese sticks with them to hold me over till supper.  (Meanwhile, I had been at the library studying my family herbalist course--I don't trust myself to go shopping alone.  Too much chocolate in every single store.)  I also finished a hat while one daughter went into the mall for something.  While the family ate lasagna, I ate a huge plate of greens with a sprinkling of parmesan cheese and some ranch dressing.  Seriously, that is enough food for one day!!  I am stuffed full to bursting, and never once felt hungry.  I'm thinking I'd like to feel hungry between meals.

Oh, I forgot.  One of the girls got a small peppermint patty from her piano teacher, and she gave it to me.  Yes, I ate it.  I need to learn how to make THM patties.

March 4, 2014 -- Weight: 203.8.  I expected this after all the food I ate yesterday.  Also, I'm figuring the weight loss from the canal has stabilized.  And I know that you're not really supposed to weigh yourself every day.  I will probably do something different next week.

Spent 25 minutes snowshoeing.  The wind and the recent snowfall almost erased my previous trail, so I had the fun of breaking it out again.  Came home and felt hungry.  There is something about working up an appetite that makes me feel like I "deserve" to eat, and that I'm not being a glutton.  I like the feeling, but I don't know if it's a good one, or an accurate assessment of why a person does or should eat.  Somehow I suspect not.

Breakfast: oatmeal sweetened with xylitol and cinnamon, and a cottage strawberry whip.

Lunch: Took me a while to get over my "full" feeling from breakfast.  Ended up with a four-hour gap instead of three.  Decided I needed dessert for lunch, so after eating the piece of mozzarella a young son cut and gave me, I looked through the book and decided on Peanut Butter Chocolate Cookies (page 387).  Chose to bake them in a square pan as bars instead of as cookies.  Baked 20 minutes instead of 10.  I ate two small bars, finding them a bit too sweet.  Next time I shall reduce the sweetener amount.

Snacked on those bars, one here, one there, for the rest of the day.  Sounds bad, but I didn't eat nearly as many of them as I would have of a pan of regular brownies.  There were still a lot left, even after sharing them with a few of the children.  But they've respected my announcement that they were mine, made without sugar, and were good enough to ask instead of just taking.

I did eat a piece of homemade whole wheat bread fresh out of the oven, with some butter on it.  I know I should learn to make Gwen's whole wheat sourdough bread, but I've not had good success with sourdough, so I'm a little leery of it.

March 5, 2014 -- Weight: 202.8. 

"O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is; to see thy power and thy glory, so as I have seen thee in the sanctuary." --Psalm 63:1-2

Oh Lord, fill me with that kind of longing for You!

Breakfast: Scrambled eggs with cheese, two biscuits with butter, one also with apple butter.  Biscuits and apple butter not THM friendly. 

Lunch: This was one of my busy days, when I just didn't want to take time to actually make something.  Had a few more of those chocolate peanut butter cookie things, with a couple pieces of cheese.

Supper: About half an apple and some cottage cheese.  I really was not hungry, which was why I didn't eat the whole apple.

March 6, 2014 -- Weight: 202.8

Breakfast: Chocolate muffin in a mug, cottage strawberry whip.

Walked down to the local Tim Hortons to buy some K-cups for a friend.  This was a round trip of about 5 1/2 miles.  Normally, I would use that distance to justify a doughnut or two and some hot chocolate.  However, I did not want to have to confess to that in this public journal, so I refrained.  (See what I mean about needing accountability?)

Lunch: Somehow I skipped lunch.  I didn't mean to, but it happened.

Supper: Salad with cut-up chicken breast, with ranch dressing.  Finished with two more of those chocolate peanut butter bars. 

Midnight snack: One chicken breast.

March 7, 2014 -- Weight: 201.8

End of Week One assessment:

Weight loss: 5.2 pounds.

Successes:  Having to report to a public journal made me less likely to eat unhealthy foods.

Areas for improvement:

1. I need to eat more meats and veggies.

2. I need to eat more regular meals.

3. I need to space out my exercise to daily short bursts rather than 2-3 long, hard "marathons".

4. I need to weigh myself less often so as not to be obsessed with numbers.  Planning to try for Friday mornings only.

my thm journey, part one: confession is good for the soul

If you don't start somewhere, you will never start.  Just like a baby learning to walk, you will never have a perfect beginning, but you'll make a good start by taking the first step.

I am a lazy perfectionist.  I am the kind of person who wants everything perfect right from the start, and who is ready to give up in despair at the first blunder.  And then wallow in despair for a while before getting up and trying to be perfect again.  I am too lazy to work at it.

I first found out about Trim Healthy Mama during the summer of 2013.  I understood the concept almost immediately, and thought, "Wow!  I can follow an easy diet full of foods I love and crave, and the pounds will simply melt away without my even half trying!"

As soon as I had enough Amazon gift cards (earned through swagbucks), I ordered the book.  It's a huge, thick book, but I dived in right away.  Everything I read made perfect sense to me.  I was sold.  So sold, I went out and bought enough of the specialty items I could find locally, and started gung-ho into the plan.

Within the first several weeks I had lost ten pounds, I had told numerous friends about the plan, and had sold a few of them on it.  They ordered their books, and started seeing the same results I had.  I was so pleased to find a plan that worked.

But then laziness kicked in.  My long-suffering husband, having watched me start and fail too many times, was not keen on having the whole family diet radically changed on what he perceived to be just another whim.  I was going to have to prove it first.

Which meant that I was going to have to prepare six meals every day: three for them and three for me.  Every dieter in the world knows how hard it is to stick to a plan no one else is following, in a house full of forbidden eatables.  Sugar and wheat flour were the biggest temptations for me.

Every day started well.  The girls and I would get up and start breakfast for the family.  Then, while the family had Bible Time, I stayed nearby and contributed my thoughts while making my own breakfast of THM-friendly ice cream and cake (a chocolate muffin in a mug and a whip made of frozen strawberries, cottage cheese, almond milk, and THM-approved natural sweetener).

However, as the days went by, I often found myself too busy to fix a meal that was different from what the family ate.  At noon, I would typically grab some sort of THM munchy such as cheese, a spoonful of peanut butter, or a bit of cottage cheese.  Something quick and easy, but not very filling.  By supper time I would be just ravenous, and not caring about E, S, FP, or even Crossover.  I gobbled whatever the cook for the day had made (my girls take turns), then spent the rest of the day feeling very bloated and very guilty.

And the numbers on the scale stopped going down.  In fact, they began to climb back up to pre-THM levels, and then higher.  I hated what was happening, but despaired of ever changing.

So I came to a decision:  I'm just going to get back on the bandwagon and do the very best I can in an imperfect way.  I'm going to stop "starting over" every morning, and just go with it.  I'm not sure how well things will go, but I'm going to work hard and see where I end up.

February 28th marked my last "start over" day.  I'll come back in another month with a THM update, and let you know how it went.  I plan to keep a journal of each day's ups and downs which I will post in the update.

Pray for me, especially those of you who know me personally.  :)

"her name is sarah"

There came a day one late spring when my son Nathanael decided that his life was not yet complete.  Something was very missing.  Or, rather, some one. 

"Please," he begged his father and me, "I need this person.  Get her for me."

We told him it wasn't the right time.  Conditions were not favorable.  He needed to wait.

But he persisted.  Not a day went by when he did not speak of her.  Finally, I told him he would have to pray about this, because this dream of his was not on our agenda.  Only God, we told him, could work this out for him.

So he prayed.  "Dear Jesus, please give me a baby sister."

He was three years old, and had the undeniable, unshakable faith of a child.

Technically, we were homeless.  We had a place to stay, but not permanently.  Most of our worldly possessions were in storage in another state a full day's drive away.  Tom worked nearly non-stop from seven in the morning till eleven at night because we were trying to save as much as we could so we could join our possessions before fall.  With a preschooler and a toddler, we felt we had enough on our hands at the moment.  Much as we love children, this was not the best time to add a baby.

One month later I got so sick I could hardly function.  Nothing I ate would stay down.  Nothing.  I moaned and groaned on our borrowed couch, overcome with waves of nausea.  I knew the signs.  I'd gone through this before.  Twice, in fact.  I dreaded going through it again, but there was no denying it.

We were having a baby.

Nathanael was just ecstatic when we told him.  Jumping up and down, clapping his hands ecstatic.  He told everyone he knew, and even a few people he didn't.  He wanted to know when she was coming, what her name would be.

"Well," I said, "IF we have a girl," (great emphasis on the word if), "we will call her Sarah."

Nathanael completely ignored the if.  There were no ifs in his thinking.  Not at all.  God had heard his prayer; he was getting his baby sister at long last.

We went to Maranatha that August, and Nathanael met lots of new people.  He quickly learned there were several pieces of information everyone wanted to know, so as the out-going older brother of a rather shy toddler, he took over all the introductions.  And added a bit of extra information no one thought to ask about.

"Hi!  I'm Nathanael, and I'm three.  This is my brother Josiah, and he's one.  And I have a baby sister named Sarah, and she's inside my mommy's belly."

Oh, the looks that generated!  Most people at least had the grace to act excited for his sake, but the sidewise glances I got were...interesting.  :D

Several teenage girls sat down with Nathanael that week, and tried to explain the facts:  Mommy could give you another brother, you know.  What would his name be? 

"I'm not having a brother, I'm having a sister.  And HER name is Sarah."

Then one day in January there was a concern that I might possibly go into early labor.  I didn't, and there was no real cause for alarm, but that day we had a sonogram done.  Which revealed that we were having a boy.

I had caught Nathanael's excitement, and was eagerly anticipating my first daughter.  I was never more disappointed in my life.

I explained to Nathanael that doctors have this machine that can take pictures of a baby before it's born, and that those pictures showed that our baby was a boy.  We would be calling him Christopher.  He listened patiently, then patted my shoulder to assure me:

"It's a girl, Mommy.  Her name is Sarah."

A month later, labor started for real.  In the middle of the night we woke the boys and rushed them to the babysitter's house.  Then we rushed to the hospital, running several red lights in the process.  We got there barely in time.  I was in the hospital maybe 45 minutes when with a loud SMATCH the water balloon broke and our baby entered our world.

"It's a girl!" Tom said, his face radiant with smiles.

I was incredulous.  "It's a girl?  It's a girl?  It's a GIRL?"

A girl.  A glorious daughter.  A dream come true.  A prayer answered.

Of course, Nathanael was not in the least surprised by this news.  Later that day he was heard speaking on the phone:

"It's a girl, Grandma.  The doctor said it was a boy, but it's a girl."

His voice clearly indicated his opinion that doctors are fools.

lonely moms of older children

This blog post struck a chord with me.  A couple of friends posted it on facebook, and some of the comments referred to young moms who think they've got it all figured out and how maybe it's better not to give advice to other moms.

I know what they mean--we really don't have it all figured out, we really don't have all the answers, we really aren't sure we're qualified to give anyone advice about anything related to child-rearing.  Young moms haven't gone through the whole gamut of parenting from start to finish.  Older moms wonder if you're ever really "finished" parenting.  Really older moms know you never will be.

My point is, no one, if they're truly honest, thinks they have all the answers.  No one feels qualified to advise or counsel someone else.  As a result, there are mothers out there who are searching for answers they can't find, struggling in the dark to make a go of things without any assurance they're on the right track.

Sometimes I'm one of them.  And yet...

I am in a position where I am expected to have advice ready when called upon.

I'm a grandma now, and my daughter has lots of questions about this 24/7 occupation called "motherhood."  Most of her questions start with the words, "Is it normal...?"

Yes, it's normal.  It's normal for nursing moms to want some time off.  It's normal for a baby not to want covered up, even when you're freezing.  It's normal for a baby to sleep all night one night, and then want to play for hours on end the next night.  It's normal to struggle with patience when you've been up all night.  It's normal to lose it, to make mistakes, to second-guess yourself, to cry in the dark wondering if you really are cut out for this job.  It's also normal to feel like it's the best job in the whole world, and to know that you never want to do anything else.

I'm a mother, with two daughters still at home who need me to guide them through this winding, twisting, confusing maze called "growing up."

You're becoming a woman.  You're going to have meltdowns for no rational reason you can think of.  You're going to be on cloud nine one minute, and in the depths of despair the next.  [Anne of Green Gables, anyone?]  It's okay to be friends with the guys and to be irritated with all the annoying remarks and insinuations from people who can't seem to comprehend the concept of "just friends."  It's normal to be annoyed with your little brothers and love them to pieces (not literally) at the same time.  Yes, I want to get out of the house and get away from everybody sometimes, too.

I'm a pastor's wife, and women often ask me marriage/family-related questions.

No, your child will not suffer from doing chores.  I'm sorry to hear about your son/daughter.  It's hard to stand by and watch your grown children make choices that lead to bitter consequences.  I'll be praying with you about him/her.  Yes, God says we're to love and honor our husbands even when they are dead wrong.  Remember Sarah and Abraham, and 1 Peter 3.

[By the way, surely I'm not the only person who thinks maybe Peter wrote verses 1-2 with a somewhat rueful smile toward his own wife?  What kind of amazing woman was she, anyway, to put up with his impulsiveness and his "open mouth, insert foot" tendencies?  How she must have believed in him, encouraged him, supported him, prayed for him!  1 Corinthians 9:5 suggests she must have traveled with him in some itinerant ministry, also.  It can be hard on a woman not to have a permanent home.]

We women need other women.  Wives need other wives.  Mothers need other mothers.  Grandmothers need other grandmothers.

Which means someone needs me, and I need you.

I've learned not to put on a know-it-all front, because I really don't know much.  Pride turns to hypocritical condemnation faster than you can blink.

But I can point to what the Lord has told us in His Word, one of which is that the older women have this God-given list of things they are supposed to teach to younger women.  Which means that if I am older than you, I have the responsibility to show you the way on this journey of wife-hood, motherhood, life.

I can share what worked for me in any given similar situation, and I can also tell you a lot of stuff I tried that didn't work.  I can put my arms around you and tell you how I made a lot of sad, sorry mistakes and I don't know how to fix them, and I know how you feel.  I can tell you how I learned to trust my Saviour all the more through the hard times--how I learned to praise Him in the dark.

I can tell you about being so sorrowful of soul that no words come in the prayer closet--only heart-broken, heaving sobs.  I can tell you about turning hymns into prayers over a kitchen full of dirty dishes and squabbling children when there's no time or space for getting alone with God.

I can teach you how to be sober (which means to be self-controlled, and not moody--even during "that" time of the month).

I can teach you how to love your husband, to make him brownies and chocolate chip cookies and liver and onions, to be quiet when you've said enough (or too much).

I can teach you how to love your children, to change their diapers, to hug them at the odd times of the day or night when they seem to randomly need a hug, to home school them without "losing it", to spell love the way they do: TIME.

I can teach you how to be discreet (which is the same Greek word as sober, above--God knows we need to be told more than once to be self-controlled).

I can teach you how to be chaste in your heart and with your body, with your behaviour and with your clothes.  And I can help you understand why that is so important for the guys' sakes.

I can teach you how to be a keeper at home even when you're dirt poor and your husband has to take part-time work on top of his full-time work just to barely make ends meet--and how to keep your marriage strong when your husband works 60+ hours a week.  I can teach you how to keep your house clean, cook healthy meals, sew clothing, make quilts, knit mitts and scarves and hats, crochet pot holders, cross-stitch pictures with Bible verses for your walls.  How to manage your time wisely, and manage your children's time as well.

I can teach you to be good (which means, among other things, to be cheerful, useful, kind, honorable).

I can teach you to be obedient to your own husband, and how to appeal your case when you think he's being unreasonable.

And I can teach you how all those things I've listed are soooooooo necessary so that we don't cause the word of God to be blasphemed by those who are watching, wondering whether there really is anything to this thing we call Christianity.

I have been young, and now I'm getting older.  I'm more often being called upon to be the teacher....

BUT....

....at the same time desperately needing to be the student.

Yesterday I had a melt-down.  It wasn't pretty.  And mine weren't the only tears flowing.  I thank God my children are so forgiving.  I was mean.  I said hurtful things.  If I had taken time to bite my tongue and walk away, I would have seen that I was tired and frustrated.  I would have remembered that when I'm tired and frustrated it's better that I don't talk.  Because so often I don't talk when I'm that way.  I yell.  I cry.  I lecture.  I scold.  And with escalating intensity.  And people--usually my children--get their feelings and emotions hurt, crushed, stomped on.

I need someone to teach me.

I need you to get in my face about some stuff, to let me cry on your shoulder, to be excited about stuff I'm learning, to hug me when I'm down, and to show me by example how to praise God in the storm.

I need you to teach me how to be sober (which means to be self-controlled, and not moody--even during "that" time of the month).

I need you to teach me how to love my husband, to make food that will keep him strong and healthy, to be quiet when I've said enough (or, more often, too much).

I need you to teach me how to love my children, to be patient with their messes, to hug them at the odd times of the day or night when they seem to randomly need a hug (even when I'd rather be left alone), to home school the whole bunch without "losing it", to spell love the way they do: TIME.

I need you to teach me how to be discreet (which is the same Greek word as sober, above--God knows I need to be told more than once to be self-controlled).  I need you to keep me accountable in my eating habits.  I need you to teach me how to say just enough but not too much, and to do it calmly.

I need you to teach me how to be chaste in what I watch or read, and I need you to remind me to be careful about what my children watch or read. 

I need you to teach me how to be a keeper at home, to be frugal, to make a penny buy a dime's worth.  I need you to teach me how to make my home look home-y: tastefully decorated in a simple, uncluttered style that reflects who we are as a family, one that welcomes children but isn't constantly trashed by them.  I need you to teach me how to manage my time wisely so that I can slowly ease in a home business that adds to our income and the children's practical real-life education, but doesn't take me away from my other responsibilities, and manage my children's time as well.

I need you to teach me how to be good (which means, among other things, to be cheerful in attitude and to be kind in speech).  How to find the right balance between ministering to my family (top priority) and ministering to others on the "outside" (also important).

I need you to teach me how to be obedient to my own husband, and how to appeal my case when I think he's being unreasonable.

[By the way, pastors and pastors' wives are human, just like everyone else.  We aren't up on some "look at us, we've arrived" sort of pedestal.  We sin.  We make mistakes we bitterly regret.  We need grace and forgiveness.  We need hugs and encouragement and prayer.  We need people to hold themselves to the same standard they want to hold us to, as long as it's a biblical standard.]

And I need you to remind me how all those things I've listed are soooooooo necessary so that I don't cause the word of God to be blasphemed by those who are watching, wondering whether there really is anything to this thing we call Christianity.  I need you to encourage me to keep at it, no matter what the world, or even other Christians, think.

We need each other.  We do need to respect our children's need for privacy and not put a lot of personal stuff on facebook or in blog posts, or even in private e-mails.  Hey, I'm even careful about what I write in my journal.  But we also need to be vulnerable for the sake of encouraging others who are going through the same struggles we are, or that we have been through.  We need to teach our children that we're not in this life just for ourselves, but that we are here for each other and for the glory of God.

The blog post I linked to at the beginning of this post is titled "Dear Lonely Mom of Older Kids."  Let me remind you that God puts the lonely in families (Psalm 68:6).  We're in this together.  If you're lonely, reach out to someone around you who can walk with you.  If you know someone who is lonely, offer yourself to them.  There's no reason (other than selfishly shielding ourselves from vulnerability) not to.

{{{{hugs to all the lonely moms out there}}}} :)