Lately people have been commenting about my hair. “Did you do something different to your hair?” “Your hair looks lighter…what did you use?” “Your hair looks really nice!” So, naturally, I decided it was time to do something to screw it up. I drove to the store and looked for my very favorite color: Clairol nice’n easy 119C Dark Spice, which they no longer produce. So I stared at the boxes for about 30 minutes, hoping that one last box of 119C would jump out at me from behind all the “New” colors. When that didn’t happen I began the tortuous process of choosing another color that would magically transform me into one of the raving beauties on the packages. My choice: 129G Rich Medium Golden Brown.
Days went by while my busy schedule which included VBS, working, driving kids all over the place, and marathon Spider Solitaire sessions, prevented me from doing anything other than gaze upon my box of 129G Rich Medium Golden Brown. Finally I staggered out of bed Saturday morning and decide “NOW! I’ve got to get this done NOW!” I ripped open the box and began the process with which I am so familiar.
My husband, freshly home from his night shift job was sleeping quietly so I didn’t turn on the light, choosing instead to use whatever light streamed into the bathroom from the closet. That was only one in a series of tragic mistakes including, but not limited to, my forgetting to use the ColorSeal Conditioning Gloss before exiting the shower!
To be continued… I have to go to work soon. I think today I’ll wear a hat.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
The 2009 Kitty Olympics
I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. The reason, it seems, is that the 2009 Kitty Olympics are taking place in my house! And while I’m honored to be hosting the games, (who wouldn’t be?), I am losing quite a bit of sleep. Cats, as most of you know, are nocturnal which means that they sleep in fat, furry, globs all over the house all day while we’re at work, and look for ways to amuse themselves at night when we’re trying to get that much needed rest.
Do they appreciate us? Yes, they most certainly do! They show their appreciation in so many interesting ways. There’s the “look what I killed for you” gift of appreciation. These little treasures can show up almost anywhere! On the front walk, on the patio, in the garage, even floating in the pool. I’m especially fond of the pre-digested gifts, regurgitated to insure optimum freshness. My kitties are very considerate that way. And then there’s the “I Appreciate You Massage”. I’m telling you, there’s just nothing quite like thousands of needle fine cat claws massaging my back when I’m drifting off to sleep. Invigorating doesn’t even begin to describe it! And let us not forget the moonlight serenade – how romantic and heartwarming! My darling kitties love to wait until I get comfortable in bed or on the sofa with a good book and then they start singing away! They sing “Let me in or I’ll claw another hole in the screen” and “I swallowed too much fur while bathing and I’m going to yak on your daughter’s bed” and “I want to be on the other side of the door.” That’s my favorite.
Anyway, back to the Kitty Olympics: I’d like to fill you in on some of the events taking place this week, they’ve been loads of fun to observe. There’s the 20 Yard Dash and Slide down the hallway from one end of the house to the other. The preliminary heats are just plain fun to watch, especially when my bedroom door is shut. Crash! Slam! Thud! The finals are tonight, I believe, I’ll have to keep an ear out for the warm-up exercises. The warm-up for this event consists of spitting, swatting and wailing at each other.
Another event I just love is the Kitty High Jump. You think people can jump high? Ha! They have to use a pole! Kitties can simply launch themselves into the air and voila! They are on top of the refrigerator. Or spring! And they’re on top of the china cabinet! Depending on the physique of the cats competing, there can sometimes be some pretty ugly scrabbling to get the highest perch. Our 20 pounder, Reno, cannot achieve the same heights as his nimbler and lighter sibling, Tiger. So the gold medal (which is the best spot at the highest place in the house) goes to Tiger every time.
One event that I never seem to get to see, but I hear it taking place, is Kitty Table Tennis. This event is very simple, really, it involves two cats, at opposing ends of a table or counter top, swatting every single thing they can find onto the floor. After they’re through, they move to the next game, Kitty Hockey, wherein everything that was on the table or counter now gets swatted all over the house until someone manages to score a goal by knocking it under the refrigerator, stove or china cabinet.
Now here’s a game that I thought I’d never see again after I finished grade school, but apparently cats have adopted it as their own and given it an interesting twist. The Staring Game. You remember, two people stare into each other’s eyes until one of them blinks, thereby losing the game. Cats have expanded on this game and, dare I say, perfected it, in a Steven King Creepy kind of way. There is Singles Staring and then the truly horrifying Team Staring and they go like this: in Singles Staring one cat leaps onto the bed, sits on my chest and stares at a spot on the wall slightly above my head. If I choose to ignore said cat (which can be very hard depending on which cat is camped out on my chest) the cat may start making a noise which can only be described as moaning-chirping. If you’ve heard it you know what I mean, otherwise just trust me when I say it’s disturbing. Usually this causes me to reach for my glasses to try and see what exactly is on the wall just above my head. And I usually have to try and reach the light which, again depending on which cat is planted on me, can be difficult. I don’t want to move too much and disturb whatever is on the wall because that might cause it to drop onto me. The whole event can take anywhere from 2 to 20 minutes depending on how tired I was before the event and how persistent the cat is. Now Team Staring is more fast-paced. Nothing makes me move like two or three cats sitting on me staring at the wall/ceiling/floor and moaning/chirping. The light comes on, the glasses are donned and I’m down the hall headed for a bug swatter in no time flat. I usually get back in time to see the cats settled comfortably on my pillow and my side of the bed, sedately licking themselves as if nothing ever happened.
I’ll let you know how the events unfold. From what I can tell, Reno has the best times in the Dash and Slide but Valentine (also known as Porkahontas) has the best scores for form. There’s a chunk of her fur half way down the hall. Tiger is in the lead in the High Jump, naturally, but don’t dismiss Reno yet. I’ve seen him knock Tiger out of the lead before, it could happen again!
Do they appreciate us? Yes, they most certainly do! They show their appreciation in so many interesting ways. There’s the “look what I killed for you” gift of appreciation. These little treasures can show up almost anywhere! On the front walk, on the patio, in the garage, even floating in the pool. I’m especially fond of the pre-digested gifts, regurgitated to insure optimum freshness. My kitties are very considerate that way. And then there’s the “I Appreciate You Massage”. I’m telling you, there’s just nothing quite like thousands of needle fine cat claws massaging my back when I’m drifting off to sleep. Invigorating doesn’t even begin to describe it! And let us not forget the moonlight serenade – how romantic and heartwarming! My darling kitties love to wait until I get comfortable in bed or on the sofa with a good book and then they start singing away! They sing “Let me in or I’ll claw another hole in the screen” and “I swallowed too much fur while bathing and I’m going to yak on your daughter’s bed” and “I want to be on the other side of the door.” That’s my favorite.
Anyway, back to the Kitty Olympics: I’d like to fill you in on some of the events taking place this week, they’ve been loads of fun to observe. There’s the 20 Yard Dash and Slide down the hallway from one end of the house to the other. The preliminary heats are just plain fun to watch, especially when my bedroom door is shut. Crash! Slam! Thud! The finals are tonight, I believe, I’ll have to keep an ear out for the warm-up exercises. The warm-up for this event consists of spitting, swatting and wailing at each other.
Another event I just love is the Kitty High Jump. You think people can jump high? Ha! They have to use a pole! Kitties can simply launch themselves into the air and voila! They are on top of the refrigerator. Or spring! And they’re on top of the china cabinet! Depending on the physique of the cats competing, there can sometimes be some pretty ugly scrabbling to get the highest perch. Our 20 pounder, Reno, cannot achieve the same heights as his nimbler and lighter sibling, Tiger. So the gold medal (which is the best spot at the highest place in the house) goes to Tiger every time.
One event that I never seem to get to see, but I hear it taking place, is Kitty Table Tennis. This event is very simple, really, it involves two cats, at opposing ends of a table or counter top, swatting every single thing they can find onto the floor. After they’re through, they move to the next game, Kitty Hockey, wherein everything that was on the table or counter now gets swatted all over the house until someone manages to score a goal by knocking it under the refrigerator, stove or china cabinet.
Now here’s a game that I thought I’d never see again after I finished grade school, but apparently cats have adopted it as their own and given it an interesting twist. The Staring Game. You remember, two people stare into each other’s eyes until one of them blinks, thereby losing the game. Cats have expanded on this game and, dare I say, perfected it, in a Steven King Creepy kind of way. There is Singles Staring and then the truly horrifying Team Staring and they go like this: in Singles Staring one cat leaps onto the bed, sits on my chest and stares at a spot on the wall slightly above my head. If I choose to ignore said cat (which can be very hard depending on which cat is camped out on my chest) the cat may start making a noise which can only be described as moaning-chirping. If you’ve heard it you know what I mean, otherwise just trust me when I say it’s disturbing. Usually this causes me to reach for my glasses to try and see what exactly is on the wall just above my head. And I usually have to try and reach the light which, again depending on which cat is planted on me, can be difficult. I don’t want to move too much and disturb whatever is on the wall because that might cause it to drop onto me. The whole event can take anywhere from 2 to 20 minutes depending on how tired I was before the event and how persistent the cat is. Now Team Staring is more fast-paced. Nothing makes me move like two or three cats sitting on me staring at the wall/ceiling/floor and moaning/chirping. The light comes on, the glasses are donned and I’m down the hall headed for a bug swatter in no time flat. I usually get back in time to see the cats settled comfortably on my pillow and my side of the bed, sedately licking themselves as if nothing ever happened.
I’ll let you know how the events unfold. From what I can tell, Reno has the best times in the Dash and Slide but Valentine (also known as Porkahontas) has the best scores for form. There’s a chunk of her fur half way down the hall. Tiger is in the lead in the High Jump, naturally, but don’t dismiss Reno yet. I’ve seen him knock Tiger out of the lead before, it could happen again!
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Wanda's story - Back in our Homeschooling Days
8/23/06
Well, school has begun.
And we’re having fun.
In the sun.
But our work is not done.
So we must run
very fast, away from Mom and her awful poems!
OK, I’ve got that out of my system and now I must tell you how very much I’m enjoying being home with my cherubs. My favorite class is PE, which is every morning after we’ve dropped David off at "real school." I can’t say that we’ve invented this game (John McEnroe gets the nod there) but Steven and I are definitely perfecting the art of Trash Talk Tennis. From the "Serve it up, Old Lady!" to the "Ha! How’d that taste?" to the "Hellooooo, I’m on this court" and the "What do you call that?!" Steven and I have moved from the sedate mother-son tennis games of the past into a new, fully dysfunctional, borderline abusive, trash-talking, insult hurling game that we thoroughly enjoy. Sarah serves as our ball girl as she twirls and whirls around the court on her roller blades. She seems to be enjoying herself as well, despite one really awful spill that resulted in a wicked road rash on one knee and leg. She also serves as a moving target for her over-active, easily distracted brother. But that’s another story.
Now I must tell you the saga of the chicken. I’m sure that by now most of you have heard about what happened to Katie so I won’t rehash that nightmare. If you don’t know what happened to Katie and are just dying to know, I would recommend that you ask my dear friend, Laura, what she thought after she begged for the details, and then, if you are still dying to know, ask and I shall regale you with the full, unabridged version. Otherwise, this is one of those things you might be better off not knowing. Moving on! Wanda, the remaining chicken, has been a bit off for the last couple of days. Nothing obvious, mind you, just not quite as energetic and enthusiastic as normal. But it’s been over 100 degrees for the last several months and I think we’ve all lost a bit of our enthusiasm for summer, so I didn’t make much of it. What I did not know until last evening is that because birds are "prey animals" they have become very adept at hiding their illnesses. It’s important for them to look robust and healthy at all times and they are very good at faking it. Therefore, by the time a bird is exhibiting obvious signs of illness, they are nearly dead. Which was the case with Wanda when we came upon her crouched in a corner of the yard and covered with fire ants yesterday afternoon. Steven scooped her up and handed her out of the pen to me and I, without any regard to myself and my own allergy to fire ants, dipped her into the pool and began picking the ants off her. She lay limp in my arms, eyes closed, not struggling at all.
What happened next is a blur. Because the Good Lord gave me a kind heart, a tender heart, a heart that has been softened to the disabled, homeless, unloved, unwanted, underdogs (and underchickens) of the world., I rushed Wanda to a vet that is known for their excellent care of birds. Somehow over the course of the next 4 hours, I managed to spend several hundred dollars to save the life of this $1.50 Callahan’s General Store Cast-off Chicken named Wanda. I can’t explain it. I didn’t want her to die, of course, but had I been given the option of: (1) spend hundreds of dollars, and several hours driving back and forth from one vet to another, including having to get up at 5 am, to save her; or (2) put her out of her misery for $25.00, I’d like to think I would have chosen curtain #2. But I can’t say for certain. In any case, it’s a done deal now. The chicken has been saved, the vets have been paid, they are laughing all the way to the bank and planning an exotic cruise with Stan’s hard-earned money. Which brings me to the next part of my story.
Last night, after arriving home exhausted and bewildered and feeling like I’d just been mugged, Stan called. He knew nothing of the past 4 hours adventures but was, nevertheless, very agitated and trying to make flight arrangements and seemed annoyed at me. I told him Wanda was sick and I had taken her to the vet but wasn’t able to say much more before he started pouring out the troubles he was having with his computer, etc. In the middle of his tirade he blurted out "And I don’t want you spending $200.00 on that &*^%$ chicken!" "Ok" is all I said. So he knows nothing about the vast sums of money I charged on my Mastercard on behalf of our sweet little brown-egg laying feathered friend and I’d appreciate it if we could keep it that way, capiche?
So, if anyone needs any little jobs done, I’m available. I’ll watch your kids, I’ll mow your yard, I’ll do laundry, clean house, run errands, bake, even pet sit for you. If you hire me to pet sit, you may want to give me some very strict parameters about what lengths you wish me to go should someone start to look unwell! I could tutor, sing songs, read poetry, dance and even wash windows for the right price. The fact is, I need cash, lots of cash, and need to earn it before the Mastercard bill comes due. So, remember me, my fire ant bitten hands and Wanda. Lovely Wanda. Lovely, Wanda the Million Dollar Chicken. Hmm... how much could I charge for a complete chicken and dumplings dinner????
Well, school has begun.
And we’re having fun.
In the sun.
But our work is not done.
So we must run
very fast, away from Mom and her awful poems!
OK, I’ve got that out of my system and now I must tell you how very much I’m enjoying being home with my cherubs. My favorite class is PE, which is every morning after we’ve dropped David off at "real school." I can’t say that we’ve invented this game (John McEnroe gets the nod there) but Steven and I are definitely perfecting the art of Trash Talk Tennis. From the "Serve it up, Old Lady!" to the "Ha! How’d that taste?" to the "Hellooooo, I’m on this court" and the "What do you call that?!" Steven and I have moved from the sedate mother-son tennis games of the past into a new, fully dysfunctional, borderline abusive, trash-talking, insult hurling game that we thoroughly enjoy. Sarah serves as our ball girl as she twirls and whirls around the court on her roller blades. She seems to be enjoying herself as well, despite one really awful spill that resulted in a wicked road rash on one knee and leg. She also serves as a moving target for her over-active, easily distracted brother. But that’s another story.
Now I must tell you the saga of the chicken. I’m sure that by now most of you have heard about what happened to Katie so I won’t rehash that nightmare. If you don’t know what happened to Katie and are just dying to know, I would recommend that you ask my dear friend, Laura, what she thought after she begged for the details, and then, if you are still dying to know, ask and I shall regale you with the full, unabridged version. Otherwise, this is one of those things you might be better off not knowing. Moving on! Wanda, the remaining chicken, has been a bit off for the last couple of days. Nothing obvious, mind you, just not quite as energetic and enthusiastic as normal. But it’s been over 100 degrees for the last several months and I think we’ve all lost a bit of our enthusiasm for summer, so I didn’t make much of it. What I did not know until last evening is that because birds are "prey animals" they have become very adept at hiding their illnesses. It’s important for them to look robust and healthy at all times and they are very good at faking it. Therefore, by the time a bird is exhibiting obvious signs of illness, they are nearly dead. Which was the case with Wanda when we came upon her crouched in a corner of the yard and covered with fire ants yesterday afternoon. Steven scooped her up and handed her out of the pen to me and I, without any regard to myself and my own allergy to fire ants, dipped her into the pool and began picking the ants off her. She lay limp in my arms, eyes closed, not struggling at all.
What happened next is a blur. Because the Good Lord gave me a kind heart, a tender heart, a heart that has been softened to the disabled, homeless, unloved, unwanted, underdogs (and underchickens) of the world., I rushed Wanda to a vet that is known for their excellent care of birds. Somehow over the course of the next 4 hours, I managed to spend several hundred dollars to save the life of this $1.50 Callahan’s General Store Cast-off Chicken named Wanda. I can’t explain it. I didn’t want her to die, of course, but had I been given the option of: (1) spend hundreds of dollars, and several hours driving back and forth from one vet to another, including having to get up at 5 am, to save her; or (2) put her out of her misery for $25.00, I’d like to think I would have chosen curtain #2. But I can’t say for certain. In any case, it’s a done deal now. The chicken has been saved, the vets have been paid, they are laughing all the way to the bank and planning an exotic cruise with Stan’s hard-earned money. Which brings me to the next part of my story.
Last night, after arriving home exhausted and bewildered and feeling like I’d just been mugged, Stan called. He knew nothing of the past 4 hours adventures but was, nevertheless, very agitated and trying to make flight arrangements and seemed annoyed at me. I told him Wanda was sick and I had taken her to the vet but wasn’t able to say much more before he started pouring out the troubles he was having with his computer, etc. In the middle of his tirade he blurted out "And I don’t want you spending $200.00 on that &*^%$ chicken!" "Ok" is all I said. So he knows nothing about the vast sums of money I charged on my Mastercard on behalf of our sweet little brown-egg laying feathered friend and I’d appreciate it if we could keep it that way, capiche?
So, if anyone needs any little jobs done, I’m available. I’ll watch your kids, I’ll mow your yard, I’ll do laundry, clean house, run errands, bake, even pet sit for you. If you hire me to pet sit, you may want to give me some very strict parameters about what lengths you wish me to go should someone start to look unwell! I could tutor, sing songs, read poetry, dance and even wash windows for the right price. The fact is, I need cash, lots of cash, and need to earn it before the Mastercard bill comes due. So, remember me, my fire ant bitten hands and Wanda. Lovely Wanda. Lovely, Wanda the Million Dollar Chicken. Hmm... how much could I charge for a complete chicken and dumplings dinner????
Monday, February 23, 2009
Flying Kites and Other Bad Ideas
Want to try something truly awful? Something guaranteed to leave life-long scars? Try teaching six 4&5 year old boys how to fly a kite. I promise, no one comes away unscathed. One might ask, "Martha, what were you thinking? Why did you think this would be fun? Who told you it was even possible to teach six 4&5 year old boys, 3 of whom speak limited English, how to fly a kite? Did you seriously expect good results?"
I might answer, "I had these lovely images in my mind of: laughing, happy faces, boys and their smiling teacher frolicking in the field while the kited bobbed merrily in the beautiful February breeze. I my head I could actually see them chasing me thru the field, laughing and shrieking. I could feel the joy and love."
But something went wrong. Terribly, awfully wrong. Was it the fact that a February breeze isn't really a breeze at all, but more of a manic-depressive episode of wind? Was it the fact that the string to this $1.99 kite was made out of something similar to tissue paper? Maybe it was the power line strung so innocuously across the field? Maybe, just maybe, if these kids spoke English, things would have turned out differently. But they speak Korean. And I do not. And apparently this sentence in English, "Look! You're flying it all by yourself!" sounds like something in Korean that means, "Let go! Set it free!" Who knows how things might have been. What I do know is there is a camo blue and gray kite shaped like a stealth bomber fluttering around FM 1431 right now, 2 little boys are crying, 1 little boy is frightened and thinks he's in trouble and the other 3 boys really have no idea what happened except that they didn't get their turn!
Sigh. On Friday we are most definitely NOT flying kites. We're staying in the nice safe schoolyard and playing soccer in the dirt. And maybe, just maybe I'll go look for that stupid kite.
I might answer, "I had these lovely images in my mind of: laughing, happy faces, boys and their smiling teacher frolicking in the field while the kited bobbed merrily in the beautiful February breeze. I my head I could actually see them chasing me thru the field, laughing and shrieking. I could feel the joy and love."
But something went wrong. Terribly, awfully wrong. Was it the fact that a February breeze isn't really a breeze at all, but more of a manic-depressive episode of wind? Was it the fact that the string to this $1.99 kite was made out of something similar to tissue paper? Maybe it was the power line strung so innocuously across the field? Maybe, just maybe, if these kids spoke English, things would have turned out differently. But they speak Korean. And I do not. And apparently this sentence in English, "Look! You're flying it all by yourself!" sounds like something in Korean that means, "Let go! Set it free!" Who knows how things might have been. What I do know is there is a camo blue and gray kite shaped like a stealth bomber fluttering around FM 1431 right now, 2 little boys are crying, 1 little boy is frightened and thinks he's in trouble and the other 3 boys really have no idea what happened except that they didn't get their turn!
Sigh. On Friday we are most definitely NOT flying kites. We're staying in the nice safe schoolyard and playing soccer in the dirt. And maybe, just maybe I'll go look for that stupid kite.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Glitter Day
It didn’t occur to me until I was home this afternoon, after Stan reached out to touch my neck and told me I had glitter on me, that I, Martha Miles, known in certain circles as The Anti-Craft, was in the presence of glitter today and I did not break out in hives! I know, it’s difficult to believe, but it’s true! Ask Phylis, my more-than-capable and downright crafty, co-teacher (no, she is not my assistant, she is an equal). While I was working with a student on a project at one table, she was behind me at another table, with the entire rest of the class, sprinkling glitter all over the place! All over the place! With glue! And I remained calm, cool and collected the entire time. Nary a ruffle in my feathers and the glitter was a mere two feet away the whole time! Now those of you who know my aversion to all things sparkly and sticky are probably sitting stunned, speechless and unbelieving, but it is true.
I think the breakthrough can be directly attributed to an act of God and I can tell you the moment it occurred. A friend turned me on to a new store in the area, Mardels. I went there on my lunch break a day or so ago and although I perused the entire store, I felt myself inexplicable drawn to the craft supplies and, more particularly, the books. I found myself slipping into my basket a book entitled “I Made it Myself!” a craft idea book for preschoolers. Me. Buying a book on crafts. For Preschoolers! Who ever would have thought I could have come this far in such a short amount of time. Not even two months ago I sat in my director’s office sobbing, telling her I had made a terrible mistake and that “the two’s were not the place for me.” Begged her to find a new placement for me next year. Promised that I would change every diaper in the toddler department for the entire school year if she would just please, please not place me in the two’s again next year. I just don’t understand them, I told her. Why would a person, in the middle of fingerpainting, suddenly stuff both their index fingers up their nose? What is so much fun about dumping every single puzzle onto the floor and then walking all over the pieces? It has never once occurred to me to take every book off the bookshelf, stack them up and then sit on them. And then cry when I fall off. How, I wailed, is it even possible to take a dump in one’s pants while sitting at the lunch table, talking to one’s neighbors?!?!? I just don’t understand them.
But today dawned a new era in my life. I survived in the same classroom with 10 two-year olds, covered in glitter, and didn’t even notice what had happened until I got home and my adoring husband flicked a piece of glitter off me. Glitter. On my person. Amazing. Only God knows what He has in store for me next! I’m excited and a little nervous.
I think the breakthrough can be directly attributed to an act of God and I can tell you the moment it occurred. A friend turned me on to a new store in the area, Mardels. I went there on my lunch break a day or so ago and although I perused the entire store, I felt myself inexplicable drawn to the craft supplies and, more particularly, the books. I found myself slipping into my basket a book entitled “I Made it Myself!” a craft idea book for preschoolers. Me. Buying a book on crafts. For Preschoolers! Who ever would have thought I could have come this far in such a short amount of time. Not even two months ago I sat in my director’s office sobbing, telling her I had made a terrible mistake and that “the two’s were not the place for me.” Begged her to find a new placement for me next year. Promised that I would change every diaper in the toddler department for the entire school year if she would just please, please not place me in the two’s again next year. I just don’t understand them, I told her. Why would a person, in the middle of fingerpainting, suddenly stuff both their index fingers up their nose? What is so much fun about dumping every single puzzle onto the floor and then walking all over the pieces? It has never once occurred to me to take every book off the bookshelf, stack them up and then sit on them. And then cry when I fall off. How, I wailed, is it even possible to take a dump in one’s pants while sitting at the lunch table, talking to one’s neighbors?!?!? I just don’t understand them.
But today dawned a new era in my life. I survived in the same classroom with 10 two-year olds, covered in glitter, and didn’t even notice what had happened until I got home and my adoring husband flicked a piece of glitter off me. Glitter. On my person. Amazing. Only God knows what He has in store for me next! I’m excited and a little nervous.
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