Random Ramblings

I'm just going to be honest with you all right off the bat. This post is just going to be a bunch of unrelated things for no reason at all. Just things I've recently thought about or has happened. My idea for this blog was to capture things in this season of life that I want to remember.  Sadly, the majority of this blog is stupid things I've done or thought. You know when you look back at yourself ten or twenty years ago and think "What a moron."? It's pretty much inevitable that I will think that in ten or twenty years from now.

Without further ado, this post of unrelated topics.

Jeans

What is going on with jeans today? For starters, it seems like the general population has moved away from basic, $30 jeans at Target or Old Navy. Fashionable people today think nothing of plunking down their credit card for a pair of jeans that cost over $100. That's like 3 pairs of normal jeans. Not only that, they all look like a 12 year old designed them with a bedazzler. Horseshoes, fleurs-de-lis, skulls, the face of Elvis - all are rhinestoned to the back of jeans (you can bet your sweet bippy that I googled the plural of fleur-de-lis). Some of my girlfriends (sounds so fun when said like that, doesn't it? Slumber parties and lip gloss abound!) have told me that it's an investment. An investment in what, may I ask?

That's not the worst part. Men's jeans have become just as ridiculous. There is no way you can defend this pair of jeans. Don't even try.



It looks like a unicorn on the bottom right and, oh I don't know, the wheels of an upturned covered wagon on the left?

Matt asked me recently to find him some more jeans. He probably bought his current pairs in 1997. At Walmart. They're Waljeans. He doesn't even care enough to pick out his own jeans. He's too busy changing oil and hammering pieces of wood together. In short, he's a man. He gave me his measurements and said "I don't care, just find some. Maybe try Ebay." This is a step up from a guy who used to shop for clothes at Goodwill (and not in the hipster way). Another plaid shirt? Score!

But even Ebay is not safe. A lot of jeans in his size are either skinny or have manufactured bleach stains or rips or hurt your eyes with the shine of a thousand sparkles. If I bought Matt a pair of those jeans, he would either laugh or ask bluntly "Why do you hate me?"

Guests

We recently had a guest over for dinner. He and his wife are also adopting from China and are leaving quite soon. He and Matt went to high school together so it was fun to catch up. While the men were getting coffee, Matt asked our guest how he took his coffee. He said "Cream or milk if you have it. Sweetner/sugar would be nice." During the course of the conversation, Matt remarked that he took his coffee black. Without thinking, I said quietly "Like a man." Our guest sputtered on his coffee and asked if I was making fun of him. Actually, yes, yes I was. Let's be honest - it's fun.

Exercise

I'm trying to do Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred. I'm at the point in the video where I suddenly remember that I hate it. The other day I was in the middle of a beating when Jack bounds into the room excitedly exclaiming "I love this exercise!" Then he proceeds to join me saying "This is easier for me because I'm stronger than you, I'm younger, and I'm skinnier."

Meanwhile I scold, between gasps "There's no talking during plank jacks! And also, I can still take you down. Maybe not physically but intellectually. Don't roll your eyes at me! And at least could you try to act like this is hard? You know what? Just go. Go run around the house 17 times. And I don't want to hear about your resting heart rate or no snack today."

Math

What would a post be without an update on Statistics? The last class our teacher flat out told us that most of us, if not all, will not use this material ever again. She said that it must be taught as some people go onto a career in Statistics. So I raised my hand and said "Why don't we take a poll on our career intentions? If all of us plan on non-mathematics careers, can we skip some of this stuff? We could make pie charts from our poll." She chuckled and continued teaching. Nothing irks me more than people assuming I'm being sarcastic when I'm quite serious.

(I read this post aloud to Matt and at the end he said "Our poor kids. Someday they're going to read this and think 'What was wrong with my mom?'")

School Plans Fall 2012 Part 1

The school year is off and running for us. My plans for us are to quietly and politely discuss philosophy, maybe in Latin, passing each other wheatberry scones. When I ask "Who would endeavor to diagram this sentence?" I would be met with an eager chorus of "Please, Mother! Allow me the honor!"

The reality is that we are usually discussing how much toilet paper to use so as not to clog the toilet. And what I usually ask is "Would you please, for the love of all that is good in this world, stop picking your nose?!" And what we usually eat is Goldfish, right out of the box (in fact, as I write this, Noah is eating Goldfish off a metal folding chair).

Nonetheless, hopes run high. I'll go into my plans for this school year in a little more detail (probably, if I remember) but right now I'll just give you an overview of what we do. This probably won't interest you unless you homeschool but you'll just have to suck it up and wait for the next post and hope it's funny.

Jack and Kate are in first grade and kindergarten (respectively, of course). Jack could be in second but his birthday is August so I red-shirted him ( Definition here). That way, in case he gets into the system at some point, he'll be one of the older ones instead of younger. Of course, it doesn't really matter for us what 'grade' they're in. Everything is kind of tailored to whatever stage they're in (for example, Jack is doing 2-3 grade math but is only 20 lessons ahead of Katie in reading). Noah basically just lumbers around and grabs pencils and eats bits of food off the floor. It's real fun.

Homeschool Plans Fall 2012

Math

Math U See is the program we use primarily. The kids watch a lesson on the dvd (they each have their own level) and do a worksheet. Math U See has manipulatives that the kids can use to solve the problem and they really like them. I plan on using Teaching Textbooks next year for Jack as he is getting more independent and would appreciate being able to do his lesson on the computer.

We also love Life of Fred. We have the entire elementary series. The kids love reading the books and doing the problems at the end of each chapter. I can definitely see us using this series all the way through.

This morning we didn't do either of those things for math.

Instead we read this book and solved the problems in it which lead to watching a video on Fibonacci's Sequence.

There are so many cool videos on math and reasoning (Khan Academy, Donald Duck in Mathematics Land, Schoolhouse Rock,etc) it never gets boring. If one way of explanation doesn't make sense, try another.


Reading

This has been a tough issue for me the past few years. I am a natural reader. Jack is not. It bugs him to no end that rules concerning phonics don't apply for a lot of the words. So I can tell him "Two vowels go walking, the first one does the talking" and he'll accept it and apply it to every word he reads with two vowels in the middle. Oh wait - don't use that rule with 'boot' or 'steak' or 'boil.' And then he'll ask me what the point of the rule is. He likes that 2+2 always equals four and that operating a lever or pulley will follow the laws of physics and give the same result every time. So I have to tell him not to use phonics to sound out the sight words (of which there are about 220) because he'll get frustrated every time. Over the past few years, I've tried countless reading programs, read books about reading and spoken with lots of people whose opinions I respect concerning education. Should I really push this issue, requiring a lesson a day and plowing ahead because goodness sake - look at all those kindergarten students reading fluently! I have failed! I'm a terrible person, holding my kids back from enjoying novels at age 6 all because I don't know what the heck I'm doing! Or...should I take a laissez-faire approach to this? Based on numerous articles, boys especially may not be cognitively able to read well until about 8 or so. And maybe this is one of the pros to homeschooling. I can step back and say "Ok, now what do I know about this one kid? Is this is a reading disability and one that requires specialists, tools, interventions? Or is this just plain the way he is wired? Do I give him a little freedom to be who he is? Do I take into account that his glasses prescription is so strong that only one place in Jacksonville can make it - and he's only 2/3 of the strength he actually needs?" Obviously, a basic education is being able to read and write reasonably well and to do everyday math. But there is a little leeway here. A kid who is a buttoned down scientific type will probably struggle a little with something as loosey-goosey as the English language. Let's be honest here. Our language is a little whacked out sometimes.

Katie takes these rules and exceptions in stride. It doesn't bother her one bit. Sweet little Kate, she breezes through life without much of a worry. And that's a good thing (as opposed to her big brother, who - at 7 - is worried about getting into a good medical school.)

They are both at normal levels for reading. It's hard, though, not to compare your kids to others, wondering if you're doing a good job. Or at least good enough.

Anyway, I told that long rambling background story to say that we use Click N Read phonics. I tried so many reading programs but Jack would get frustrated, trying to learn all the different tricks of each program and stating that the words were so small his eyes would hurt. Finally, after thinking about it and doing so more research, I tossed the workbooks aside and tried this program. I was initially hesitant because I try to limit screen time. They don't get to watch tv on a regular basis. Anything I usually show them is almost always educational in value. Every once in awhile they get to watch a movie and it's a big deal to them. I'm the same with computers. I'm all for kids knowing how to navigate their way around one but at 5? I don't really see the value in that. Anyway, we really like this program. Every lesson incorporates blends, letter sounds, sounds at beginning or end of words, sight words, and reading sentences.

We also use Bob books and Spelling City. We play games with sight word flash cards where the person has to jump up and say the word when they see it. Or they'll take their clipboards to the couch and write the words I say. Sometimes they'll copy sentences or words on primer paper.

Since I pretty much took a whole day to cover just reading and math, I'll have to make a part 2 for everything else. I'll try not to blather on so much.

Republicrats

In honor of the upcoming election, I thought I'd put a political twist on my post.  If you are really passionate about politics and are loyal to a specific party, don't read this post. Really. You're just going to get your blood pressure all high as you rant and rave and I don't want to be responsible for that.

Try as I might, I have a hard time caring too much about politics and elections.  If the person I vote for wins, my response will be something like "Oh, well, that's good, I suppose." If the other person wins, my response will be something like "Eh."  It still ticks me off a bit that we have just two people to choose from. Two. (I know there are technically more than two but we all know it is an illusion of choice. Truth is tough sometimes, Mr. Perot).  Here is a list of things that have more choices:

1. Which cereal to have for breakfast
2. Amount of yoga pants I own (black with foldover, black with pink band around top, black with no foldover, you get the picture)
3. Size of catheter for IVs (If you tell me you're allergic to Tylenol and Motrin and can only have Morphine, you will get the largest size IV I can fit)
4. Number of pacifiers that Noah has

Side note: The other day at CVS Noah started to get fussy and cry. Quite unusual because he is easy-going (being the third kid, it's probably more like resigned). I asked him if he wanted a binky and he started to reach into my purse to get one. Of course, there is not one there. So I went to the baby aisle and found a two pack of the brand he uses. All that's left is pink. Noah is wailing. With not a moment of hesitation, I rip open the package and pop one in his mouth. Noah is a big guy for 14 months. He runs full tilt most of the time, crashing into things. He carries plastic baby bowling pins around and bangs the wall and laughs hysterically. Some of his nicknames are: Noah the ark, Bam-Bam, Bear, etc. You get the idea. Let me tell you - he rocks those pink binkies. He owns them. Darn right, this pacifier is pink. What of it?

Back to politics, I'm sad to say. Like a lot of people, I've looked into the different political parties and affiliated myself with one. Yet on election day the choices look like this:

Choice #1 - millionaire with nice teeth
Choice #2 - millionaire with nice teeth

Similarly, each party's stance on the other party is basically the same. The Republicans think that the Democrats are running this country into the ground and will tax the snot out of you and they eat baby kittens for breakfast. The Democrats think the Republicans are running this country into the ground and will tax the snot out of you and they eat baby kittens for breakfast.

The funny thing is that I'm Facebook friends with two people of starkly opposite political views. Especially as election day draws near, my feed looks positively bipolar sometimes as their statuses get more and more rabid. One person is just the quintessential Democrat - labor unions, gay marriage, pro-choice. The other would happily leave her husband for Rush Limbaugh, if he showed the slightest hint of interest. Or knew she was alive, even. Although I have my opinions, few things give me greater pleasure than jesting with these types of people. To such a Republican I might say something like "You know, Obama has a really nice smile. That's reason enough for me to vote for him." And to the Democrat, I might throw out a sentence like "The name Mitt has a really comforting ring to it, doesn't it? Like he's going to cradle us all in a big oven mitt of security." Or I might outline my plan of choosing a candidate based solely on how interesting I find their bumper stickers. Look! Patriotic colors and a catchy phrase that exudes optimism! Consider my vote cast.

Another thing that gives me joy in life is seeing the bumper sticker "Stand up for America! Be American!" on a Toyota. Also, I was in the store earlier this week and was next to a couple discussing a product. The man had on a muscle shirt, had dirt on his hands like a mechanic and was nursing a wad of tobacco in his cheek. I overheard him say "But look at the calorie count on this one. And the sodium - it's almost a whole daily allowance!"

It's election year. Find your joy.

Salvation in Suburbia

Some people have fantastic salvation stories. They are filled with angst and joy, sadness and hope. There is often a moment of epiphany, a light-bulb realization of who God is and His purpose for their lives.

For those of us raised in church, there is usually no such moment. It is a steady progression from Sunday to Sunday. One moment you're marching along to 'Father Abraham Had Many Sons' and the next you're donning a white baptismal robe. It is a logical conclusion, an ends to a mean.

To my intermittent sadness, my story is one of those. I have no early memories apart from church, from Sunday School and VBS, from the story of the Gospel - told with felt figures on a storybook and in the droning words of preachers. We were told that Jesus came to redeem us, to pay for our sins, to save us.

The question was, saved from what?

My parents had, and have, a wonderful marriage. Case in point, when I was about 10, my parents disagreed with each other on how long to microwave peas. Calling it an argument would be hyperbole. There were no raised voices, no smashing of plates against the floor in rage, no slamming of doors. And yet my sisters and I huddled together on the top step, convinced our parents were on the brink of divorce. My older sister gathered us two younger kids beside her like an overprotective mother hen. We stared into the abyss of our impending future. Who would we live with? Would we be split up and forced to take sides for the holidays? Would we ever see each other again?

And then we were called to dinner, where we happily ate the perfectly microwaved peas.

That is the closest I came to crisis as a child. Perhaps there was a broken snap bracelet or two that resulted in tears. 

Ridiculous.

This question of salvation has bothered me on and off for as long as I can remember. People with childhoods of horror, of teen years and adulthoods shaped by terrible decisions can drive a stake in the landscape of their lives. Right here - here is the moment I was saved. Here is the moment I was changed and my life was never the same. A way out of the pit.  Hope, purpose, redemption - salvation in a life that was lost. 

I was baptized one Sunday morning when I was eight. In a church I knew, in front of people I trusted. We celebrated with doughnuts and went about our daily lives. I didn't say "Thank God. No more crack cocaine for me, no sir!"

We church kids can be cynical, jaded. We've heard the 'good news' so much it becomes redundant. It's boring even. 'Yes, I know I'm a wretch, thank you. Geez, will this guy ever stop blathering on? We won't get a table by the fire at Cracker Barrel.'  Every Easter it's 'Jesus died on the cross for us - up from the grave He arose - He's Alive! He's Alive! - blah, blah, blah. Are there any more Peeps left?'  Heads so filled with bible facts and catchy songs that we cannot see the truth right in front of us. Those are the tough youth group kids. The ones from broken homes? From horrible childhoods? They are so desperate for love and attention that they know a good thing when they've found it. Finally, a place to belong. An escape from the cycle of divorce, teen pregnancy and hopelessness. Someone has their back, at long last. But us church kids? Stuffed with knowledge, we raise our hands at church camp, eager to proclaim that we found the verse - we know that parable! There is a danger there. We can coast through this childhood and fall apart at the first professor who challenges our belief, scoffs at our outdated worldview - cut your mother's apron strings! Join the world of the intelligent, the realists, the ones who haven't been brainwashed ("You're deluding yourself" said a professor). We either cast aside the truth (I know, I know - what is truth? Truth for whom? And all that jazz...) or we just get so caught up in the religious trappings and so puffed up with knowledge that love has no place. Sometimes the ones who don't seem to need to be saved end up needing it the most.

And so the question is again, saved from what?

Of course, even the most dull saved story is salvation in its fullest. Saved from damnation, saved an eternity without God - sanctified in the matchless name of Christ who bore the crushing weight of my Godlessness on His shoulders. Not dull at all. And yet my life did not change that I could see. I could not see the course I might have taken, and the new life stretched out before me. And yet here are moments I glimpse a life without Him. A life spent without meaning. Chasing things that cannot fill me in the desperate hope that they will. Perhaps broken relationships, children borne out of a bottomless desire to be loved? An addiction to something fake in the search of something real? A life of more and more yet never enough. The truth hits me over and over again.

I was saved. Absolutely and completely.

Saved from me.

'It wasn’t so long ago that we ourselves were stupid and stubborn, dupes of sin, ordered every which way by our glands, going around with a chip on our shoulder, hated and hating back. But when God, our kind and loving Savior God, stepped in, he saved us from all that. It was all his doing; we had nothing to do with it. He gave us a good bath, and we came out of it new people, washed inside and out by the Holy Spirit. Our Savior Jesus poured out new life so generously. God’s gift has restored our relationship with him and given us back our lives. And there’s more life to come—an eternity of life! You can count on this.'

                                                                                                         Titus 3:3-8

                                                                                                         The Message

Math and Popularity

Oh statistics.

Things would be so much easier if the teacher didn't seem to assume that we all enjoy the class. She makes little quips like "Real statisticians would never actually use the standard deviation of the median. It's too unpredictable." Then she'll chuckle and shake her head, like we're all sharing an inside joke. Those wacky statisticians!

I keep telling myself inane platitudes like "I love this class." and "Statistics is the best!" but I know I'm lying so it's not really working.

Language is really my thing, not numbers. During class, my fingers itch to reach into my purse and pull out my Kindle. Open a book. Where things are safe and happy.

The teacher launched into a tutorial of our TI-83 calculators and one of the students was having trouble finding whatever Greek function we were supposed to be locating. The guy behind me snickered "This is so easy. I mean, I took calculus."

And yet here you are, taking a night class at a community college. Professor.

Because of such shenanigans, I observe the other students and wonder about them. Community college is interesting because there are so many different types of people. Unlike the large state college I attended right out of high school, which contained mostly people 18-22 who liked a good frat party. And by good, I mean ridiculous and slightly pathetic.

Anyway, one of the girls that sits close to me in class is one of those physically perfect people. Her nails are perfectly shaped and matched, her hair falls in attractive tendrils around her lightly bronzed face. She has one of those big weird purses, with the name of the designer slashed obnoxiously all over the purse in primary letters. But it's outrageously expensive, so people forgive its ugliness.

If I was 17, I might have been slightly jealous of this girl. Maybe I would've even rushed home to exfoliate my face and paint my stubby nails the same coral shade. But today I thought 'Wow, her sandals are sure sparkly...I wonder if I have any gum in my purse?"

After class I struck up a conversation about statistics (we were walking next to each other down the hall and it seemed like the right thing to do). She's finishing up her prerequisites for nursing school so we talked about that for awhile. She was fabulously nice as well, which always strikes me as slightly unfair. If someone is very attractive and their personality is either dull or unbearably egotistical, it's a always a small comfort. If you're heavy on the looks, you should be dumber than a box of rocks and/or have a terrible personality. Otherwise it's not fair to average persons like myself. We are the renegades, sailing through life on neither looks nor brains. If I happen to get into a conversation with someone about natural talent and bring up the obvious (that I have none), people are always quick to disagree with me - like I'm fishing for compliments and need them to buoy up my esteem. "That's not true," they say, furtively groping for compliments, "you do so many things." Which is true. Here is a list of my talents:

-I know all the words to 'American Pie' by Don McLean. It does get a little iffy on the part about Helter Skelter, though.

-My hitch hiker's thumb is nearly perfect and I can touch my thumbs to my wrists.

So there you go. It's a wonder my head isn't huge.

Roughin' it in a Superpower

The other day I was out in the pool floating around and reading a book. All was well until I realized that I forgot to put my water in an insulated cup, causing the condensation to get all over my hands when I picked it up. Then my pages would get damp from the cup. While I'm getting all huffy from this indignation, I noticed a little frog on the side of the pool. So I put down my book get out of the float, causing the pool water to run into my cup. Irritation. I had to scrounge around for a little plastic toy shovel to scoop the frog out and after all that, it was hardly even worth the effort to get back in the pool. Thanks a lot for almost drowning and ruining my float, frog.


These sorts of incidences are what are called 'First World Problems.'

I have traveled to a couple Third World countries, but that is a post for a different time.

For the time being, let's take a moment and discuss how absurd our struggles are sometimes.

On Tuesday I went to the grocery store (Jack and Kate have homeschool PE those afternoons so I go shopping with Noah. It's almost like a vacation. I think about how stressful it was to go grocery shopping with one child when Jack was a baby. The diaper bag, the little sanitary grocery cart covers, the pacifiers and toys. Come on. Nowadays I might give the cart handles a quick swipe if they're available, otherwise we  throw caution to the flu-ridden wind. Noah's not even wearing pants most of the time, let alone carting around an educational toy.)

Anyway, while at the store I saw that my favorite brand of peanut butter was sold out, causing my to get a different brand. The only thing left in that brand was crunchy. Which makes me shudder. Don't even try to tell me that's peanut butter. PB is supposed to be creamy and smooth and wonderful. Butter is in the name, for goodness' sake! No one thinks of butter as having great huge chunks of stuff in it.

Forced to buy another brand of food - First World problem.

Your cell phone is only getting 3G when 4G is available. This causes slightly lower data uploading. Critical when your large screen tv and tablet are on the other side of the house and you only have your smart phone with you. Those episodes of Ice Road Truckers won't watch themselves.

First world problem.

Sometimes you go to a gas station and realize there's no little metal thing under the handle.  Instead of being able to put that little metal thing down so the gas pumps itself while you put your credit card back in your wallet, you're instead made to stand there and pump your own gas. Like a peasant.

First World problem.

Or when the air conditioner is so strong you have to go put on a cardigan.

Or you look in the fridge to get the carrots for a recipe and see that you only have baby carrots, not the big ones. Which wouldn't normally be a problem except you have to grate these carrots. So there you are, grating each tiny carrot for about 5 seconds, before it gets too small and your fingers hurt from the grater and then you're left with a pile of tiny, half-grated baby carrots.

Like this:

It's world class dining in this place, people.

So many problems. It's a wonder we survive in this cruel, cruel, world.

S'more chocolate, please.

Today was a bad day. It started out so well, too, which makes it even worse. My hopes were so high. Those are the worst kind of bad days.

We got all our homeschooling done by 10:15. Two math programs, Latin, the Fall of Rome (and a concurrent discussion about Constantinople), reading and writing. I was giving myself all kinds of mental high fives. Fantastic job, me.

I told the kids they basically have the rest of the day to swim, play outside, to just enjoy the fact that I am their mother. There was the little matter of a messy room but that is easily remedied. Told the kids to clean up before their day of ecstasy and went about my business of the next round of adoption paperwork. After an hour of mounting frustration, calling different companies and departments of health and never once speaking to a person, no matter how often I pressed '1,' I went to call the kids to lunch. The room looks like a rabid weasel has been set loose. Perhaps two weasels. Both rabid. I told the kids to clean up, this time lowering the level of nice. Warnings were repeatedly given on not messing up one's room.

Lunch, quiet time.

Side note: It's hardly ever actually quiet time. There is a note of irony every time I say that phrase.

During quiet time, Kate came out to ask me a question (a necessary one, as they always are during times of rest or sleep). She went back in and closed the door loudly. Noah's room is right next to theirs so I went in just to tell her about the door acoustics. The floor is covered with toys and clothes. The door will hardly open as Jack has towered books and toys behind it. Sometimes I think of how, when Jack was tested a few months ago, he scored highest in listening comprehension. Ironically, I said "What?" several times after being told this. It still confounds me.

After a long, frustrated tirade on obeying and such (even after their eyes glaze over, I still rant on. I can't help myself), I went back to my adoption paperwork. Here are some highlights:

An employment verification documentation was signed in one state and notarized in another. It's a fail.

Our marriage certificate from NY state is $30. It will take about 3 months to get here. Of course, we can expedite for a mere $45 - it will only take a month! My, so fast! Our birth certificates are each $10, and each have it's own long, complicated form to fill out.

Wait for it.

After we get the certificates, we send them back to whichever state they came from and for $15 each form, they get sealed. Then we send them to Tallahassee, where they get sealed again for $15. Then they go to the Chinese Embassy in NY, where they get sealed again for a fee. Then in China they each get stamped and verified. For a fee, of course.

If that doesn't make you want to stuff chocolate in your face, I don't know what will.

Side note: Thank goodness I had chocolate. My mom, who I love (not just because she brings me food), brought some over the other day. She told me it was to make s'mores. Which I did, just without the graham crackers. Or marshmallows. Or fire. Thanks for the s'mores, mom!

So there I was, downing chocolate bars and feeling my yoga pants get tighter (which really helps with the bad mood, by the way. Being too fat for yoga pants is no way to be).

To cap off the day, I had statistics class tonight. Let me tell you something. Nothing cements a bad day like sitting in a community college classroom taking notes on bar graphs. The teacher is passionate about statistics, going on little rants about surveys bias and whatnot. I never realized that statistics could be so sinister. She makes it sound as if they're in an office somewhere, plotting to mislead people over population data. "Excellent," they cackle with delight, "distort the graph using irregular widths!" And she was emphatic about not using pie graphs. Apparently, they are riddled with deceit.



You know what? With my s'mores and my pie chart, I'm feeling a little better.