Vanilla or Chocolate: Not Bad, Not Better; Just Different

When I was a child my birthday parties always ended with a cake and a clear gallon bucket of ice cream. The bucket always had three flavors in it, vanilla, chocolate and strawberry. The premise was that you could enjoy whichever flavor you preferred. The ice cream always started out nice and neat, but you could never have a whole scoop of one without remnants of the other flavors on it and by the end it seemed like all three flavors were completely mixed up.

It’s amazing what you can learn from a bucket of ice cream.

My 6-year-old daughter Morgan recently co-authored a book that educates and excites young people with her dad and my husband. Daddy’s Little Princess is a one of kind book that introduces real Princesses and Queens of color from around the world on an elementary level. If you ask Morgan as one reporter did, why she wrote the book she will say “My daddy always calls me Princess, but I didn’t think I could be a Princess because I didn’t see any that looked like me. I thought only “vanilla” or white people could be Princesses. When I found out that anyone could be a Princess, I wanted to let other little girls know that too.”

Awe, sounds sweet to many, but clearly a few were bothered by her “Vanilla” label and took to the comment section of her news story to say so. Which brings me to the reason for this blog post. One comment in particular said that the label “vanilla” or white people is early indoctrination. I’m guessing he meant it to be a disparaging comment, but I actually completely agree. You see the Latin word for “teach”, doctrina is the root of indoctrinate. As parents it’s our responsibility to indoctrinate or teach.

I’ve had this blog since my daughter was an infant and rarely do I give parenting advice. I wholeheartedly believe that parenting is the toughest job you can NEVER prepare for. You can read books, you can read journals, you can ask other parents what to do, but in the end we are all just trying to do the best we can. However, there are a few things we just should not and cannot do and one of those is to shy away or ignore important questions from our children.

As a Communication professional (I have a few degrees that say so) let me just say there will never be a colorblind society. If you have the gift of sight, you see color. That’s why toddlers touch each others skin and hair. Our goal should not be to be colorblind. Our goal should be to treat each other the SAME regardless of our differences. Acknowledging differences is not the problem. The problem is treating people different because of them. Yes, our skin is different, not bad, not better; just different. Yes, our hair is different, not bad, not better; just different. Yes, some children are handi-capable, not bad, not better; just different.

So when our very bright 2-year-old was in pre-k and really began to notice these differences we did what parents should do; we talked about them and since words like African American, Caucasian and Asian were a little difficult for her to grasp, words like vanilla and chocolate were easier for her to understand. The concept that vanilla ice cream and chocolate ice cream were different, but both delicious was easier for her to understand. It’s like that gallon of ice cream. But when we as adults shy away from having conversations with our children because it makes US feel uncomfortable, we are leaving our children to figure out something extremely complex on their own. That’s not fair and that’s not good parenting and when they don’t get it right we have civil discourse and racial prejudice.

So yes, both my daughter and my 4-year-old son have been “indoctrinated.” We acknowledge differences, we share information and treat everyone the same. One of my favorite parts of my daughter’s Barnes and Noble book signing was seeing all her friends, vanilla, chocolate or butter pecan all come out to support her and to learn about Princesses they had not heard of before. She was genuinely happy to see them and they were genuinely happy to support her. So, it may be easier to get caught up on the label than to deal with the reality that yes we have differences and they are not bad, not better; just different.

Visit http://www.taylormadenc.com to learn more about her book Daddy’s Little Princess

 

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Testicles and Boobies

My children are growing up and at ages 6 and 4 there’s a little bit of independence that comes with that. Although, I still wash them in the bathtub just to make sure all bases have been covered, they do bathe separately and dress themselves when they get out.

Having a boy and a girl has created balance for me. My daughter, Morgan is all things girly girl including scented lotion and pink pajamas. My son Garrett, who we refer to as Lil G, is a ladies man. I’m not just saying that, but he really knows JUST what to say. For example, today Morgan decided to tell me that Lil G has SEVERAL girlfriends. When I questioned him about it he said “no momma, just one and it’s you.” He’s smooth, so smooth in fact that between his lines and his complexion I’ve nicknamed him Hershey Kiss.

Well not only do these kids have quite the personality, they also happen to be quite funny. Tonight when Lil G got out the bathtub he runs to his room and grabs the men’s lotion he took from my husband’s side of the bed and begins to moisturize. He slows down almost to a crawl when he gets below his waist and pays more attention to his genitalia. And the rest is straight comedy:

Lil G – “What’s this ball thing below my penis?”

Me – “Go ask your daddy”

Morgan – “It’s your scrotum and it holds pee.”

Me – “Morgan you don’t have a penis and you’re wrong so please let him go ask daddy.”

Daddy – “They’re testicles son.”

Morgan – “What are testicles?”

Daddy – (trying not to laugh) “They’re something cool that hang from our bodies.”

Morgan – “That’s not fair, we don’t have anything cool hanging from our bodies.”

Daddy – “When you get you older you will.”

Pause….

Morgan – “Are you talking about boobies.”

Me: (laughing hysterically)

15 minutes later just when I thought we were done…

Morgan – “What if mine don’t grow when I get older.”

Daddy – (laughing) “Then you can go to the boobie store.”

Lil G – (serious) “There’s no such thing as a boobie store.”

Morgan – “How do you know, you have a penis.” (rolling her neck)

Lil G – Now smiling “because I just do.”

Morgan – “Well what if they run out of boobies by the time I need some?”

Me – “Okay Lights OUT. It’s Definitely Time for Bed.”

So now I know exactly what Bill Cosby meant “Kids say the darndest things. Oh, the joys of parenting.

Winning

 

 

I’ve always been pretty competitive. I mean who doesn’t like to win. The older I’ve gotten or I guess I should say the more mature; winning has taken a back seat and most times I just want to finish what I’ve started. I wouldn’t say this out loud, but my 5 year-old daughter is a lot like me. She likes to win. I mean she really likes to win, if you want her to do something, make it a competition and she’s guaranteed to put forth an effort. Problem is, she can’t stand to lose. I mean she despises it. So we work hard with her on explaining sportsmanship and the idea that winning isn’t necessarily everything.

And for the record, no I’m not the parent who loses all the time to make her feel better. If she wants to beat me, she better be prepared to “earn” it. The reality is the world does not guarantee you a win, it says you can play, but to win you’ve got to put in some hard work and dedication. But when my daughter loses she pouts, she repeatedly says “I didn’t win.” Losing creates the feeling of disappointment and no one wants to feel disappointed. But what if we always thought we won? What if, even as adults we always thought we won, even if we didn’t?

My 2-year-old son is amazing. Every morning when I free him from his car seat to go into daycare, he challenges me to a race to the door. I must admit I started this competition out of desperation. He was moving entirely too slow one day, but I didn’t know it would become a part of our daily routine. Now he always lines up at the same crack in the sidewalk and looks at me and proudly announces “on the mark, get set, go.” Then he jogs, a little quicker than a walk but definitely not a full on run. He never leaves me behind when I’m in heels and a short skirt. He never falls. He never rushes when I pass him. He finds his own pace and he jogs. And when he arrives at the door, he always says the exact same thing “I win.”

Usually I can’t help but laugh because he does this in every competition, especially with his sister. She’ll challenge him to something and she’ll try her best and no matter what place he comes in he always says the same thing “ I win.” The other night my husband challenged them both to a race to the top of the stairs to get ready for bath time.

“On the mark, get set, go,” he announced. They were off to the races and running up one step at a time. When my daughter arrived first, she jumped up and down and shouted, “I won, I won. Brother you lose, I won.” By this point he was climbing the last step and grinning from ear to ear and guess what he said? You guessed it “I didn’t lose sissy, I win. I always win.”

Wow, I couldn’t help but smile. His confidence wasn’t broken, he wasn’t sad. He wasn’t crying and he definitely was not disappointed. In his mind he’s always a winner and God Bless him, because as long as he thinks it….it is so.

 

Sex Tape Trumps Baby

I pride myself on not watching a whole lot of television and definitely not reality television. To me, it’s always an indication that I have too much time on my hands or I am totally avoiding something I know I need to be doing. With that said, I also pride myself on knowing a little bit about everything, at least enough to engage in conversation at a water cooler.

This week the world is a buzz about the MiMi Faust Sex tape. For those who are unaware, MiMi is a regular on reality show Love and Hip Hop Atlanta. No she’s not a recorded hip hop artist and no she is not an aspiring Hip Hop MC. The father of her toddler daughter is Stevie J, a producer in the industry.

Yes, I know my regular readers, are like is she really talking about a sex tape? Yes and I will tell you why. Eva Jordan, her daughter is around the same age as my 5-year-old daughter and I am horrified that this Chocolate Mother didn’t think about her baby and her legacy or thought so little of it to degrade herself with a sex tape. And to add insult to injury, it’s with a different man, Nikko Smith, who she is not married to.

I am far from a Holy roller and I believe that what two adult people within the confines of their bedroom preferably marriage do, is truly their business. But MiMi was not the victim of a sexual escapade that was mistakenly videotaped and leaked by an ex-lover. This was orchestrated and released by her camp. As I watched the clip, I just kept saying “what about her baby.”

I am legitimately concerned for the welfare of her child and apparently so is Steve J. who is now seeking custody of their daughter. Now, I’m no Stevie J. fan, in fact, I thought his character on the show was despicable. But as a momma I’m having a hard time with this. My daughter idolizes me. She loves her daddy, but she watches and emulates everything I do. She watches me put on make-up, she walks in my shoes, she watches how I interact with people and especially my husband. She asks a ton of questions and she depends on me to teach her how to be. As mothers we have a responsibility beyond our own personal needs and goals. As mothers we don’t get to dwell on the “what about me” or “when do I get to be happy” syndromes. It’s so not about us. And in the words of Eminem “We only get one shot.” I’m really going to need for us to do better.

Oh, and did I mention Ms. Faust is starting a children’s clothing line? Really? What is it going to consist of baby leather strap ups, fishnets and whips and chains? Now for a 40+ single mother, I must admit she looks good, but I couldn’t help but wonder the pain that this 30 seconds, minutes or even days will cause Eva in the long run.

 

Where’s the Sandman?

On any given morning around 4 a.m. my eyes open and I know that my long lost friend sleep has abandoned me yet again. I used to lie dormant, praying to go back to sleep, tossing and turning trying to figure out how I was going to function the next day. Some time last year, I embraced these early morning wakeups as a time of peace and stillness. I don’t set my alarm clock but when I wake, I get up. I trek downstairs in the dark, make myself a big cup of hot tea and find something to work on for the next three hours. Since I now get up, I’ve put the anxiety of not sleeping to bed. It just doesn’t bother me. So I fall asleep just fine, just haven’t mastered staying sleep.

My husband is my polar opposite in the sleep department. He has trouble falling asleep. He’s a night owl and usually doesn’t shut his eyes until about 2 a.m. Unbeknown to us and unintentionally, we usually, silently pass each other in the night.

It’s one thing for the of us to walk around sleep deprived, but a few months ago sleep also left my baby girl’s bed. She has never been great at soothing herself to sleep and recently has struggled to stay sleep for more than four hours at a time. So we did what any loving parents would do. We panicked. I made a diary of everything she ate, in hopes of finding the culprit. We continued our nightly routine and incorporated toddler Tai Chi after bath before prayer. We scented her room with lavender oil. We dimmed the lights. We tried melatonin. We even tried letting her sleep with the dog although his snores quickly proved to be too much. I was really starting to stress over it. I was reading everything I could on how to help a toddler sleep. I made an appointment with her pediatrician. We even had a parent teacher conference with her teacher to report her sleep issues and check up on her school “attitude.”

But one early morning last week something happened. I got out of bed about 3:58 a.m and by 4:36 a.m. I had already cleaned the kitchen and was about to start writing and I heard a soft voice say “mommy” I replied with a quiet yes and she made her way down the steps in the dark. When she came in the kitchen I am sure she expected me say what I also say “go back to bed, your body needs to rest, lay there quietly and think happy thoughts until you fall back to sleep.”

Instead, I asked her what was wrong. “Mommy I can’t sleep. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t sleep” she said. So I gave her a hug and I told her I understand and that sometimes that happens to me too and I offered her some tea. She smiled and accepted.

As we sat on the couch cuddled up with a warm cup of chamomile, we didn’t talk much, the lights were out and we watched the sunrise through the blinds. I empathized with her struggle and thought about my own. And that’s when she said it. “Momma, this is the best time of my life. I will remember this forever. Just you and me watching the sun come up with a cup of tea.”

I couldn’t help but smile and hug her even tighter. And while my quest to help her get the rest I know she so desperately needs won’t stop I recognize that at 5 years old she cherishes moments with me, even the sleepy ones and for now….that’s enough.

 

 

 

Potty Time

If it doesn’t make money, it doesn’t make sense or something like that. Well, if that is true I don’t make sense a lot. I never started this blog with the intention of endorsing products or giving advice. Rarely will you hear me provide a “must have” list. And although I won’t get a dime I have got to share with you our family’s newest secret weapon. It’s called the potty watch and I tell you, it’s one of those inventions that you sit back and say….”why didn’t I think of that.”

The potty watch is a miniature timekeeper for toddler wrists, shaped like a potty that counts down pee time and alarms the child with cute little tunes when it’s time to go. If you are toilet training, it’s the best $9.99 you will ever spend. When you think about it, it’s an investment that will save you hundreds of dollars in pull-ups.

Don’t buy it on Amazon; theirs was defective. My husband got ours at Babies R’ Us. Now, he’s a gadget guy and I must say I didn’t have the same enthusiasm he had in his new purchase, until I an entire week went by without any accidents. My son is 32 months…okay, he’s 2 and a half and he has had quite a few successful potty training moments, but I wouldn’t have said he’s potty trained. That is, until the potty watch. In fact, I had just about given up on the idea and thought I’d try again when he turns three. After all, he’s a boy right? No rush. Well, I’ll tell you the rush. A box of pull-ups closes in on $50, you heard me right, $50 bucks. That’s a lot of money to piss away.

Secondly, I was growing increasingly irritated by him chasing me down in the house with a wet diaper in hand that he wanted changed. What nerve. A few minutes late and dollars short, I’d say. Lastly, did I mention a box of pull-ups is close to $50 bucks? It was definitely time to push this milestone along a little bit.

So why does it work? First, he thinks he’s grown up cause he has a “special” watch just for him. Then, it serves as a reminder to go and we make him go each time. Ours is set on every 60 minutes, the maximum setting and it’s amazing that his little bladder has yet to fail its mission. I mean a busy toddler has way too much to think about to remember to go to the bathroom. Plus, it reminds me to tell him to go handle his business.

Now, no product is perfect and you can’t have but so many expectations for $9.99. So don’t expect the toddler watch to keep time, it doesn’t. It’s just a stopwatch. It lets him know how many minutes or seconds until his next potty visit. And don’t expect it to shut off at nap time or bedtime, cause it doesn’t. That means we strategically place it downstairs so it doesn’t wake us up during the night, because the toddler tunes just don’t stop. Yes, that’s a little irritating and I can’t say that I have figured out how to wean the use of the potty watch. I’m just not there yet. I mean will he be in 1^st grade with a must have watch that sings London Bridges every hour? I hope not. But for now, we are a full week in with just one accident and dry pull-ups when he wakes up and I’d consider that $9.99 well spent.

Smell the Flowers, Blow Out the Candle

In the hustle and bustle of this thing called life we get caught up. Sometimes we get caught up doing and forget to just be, live and enjoy the moment. The last few weeks have been a blur to me. I have been working hard to build a business. That means late nights, early mornings and more travel than I anticipated. Luckily, I have an awesome support system and children that will tell me if I am slipping. The other day I picked up my soon to be 5 year-old from school and was busy reading emails as she entered the car. When she got in, she followed, the routine, she strapped herself in, I listened for the click and she started to tell me about her day. But during her story, I checked out. I was trying to respond to a time sensitive matter I had just read in an email. And that’s when I heard it “mommy, I’m trying to talk to you. If I say it’s about a book will you listen?” Ouch, now for those new to the blog, I am a Publisher so books mean a whole lot. But books are not my everything, not even close and here was my daughter exclaiming that I would certainly listen if it had to do with books. Can you say reality check?

That was on a Tuesday, and I was supposed to leave for the third weekend in a row that Friday to go sell books. I never made it, I stayed home with my family and I have no regrets. Now I also have to mention that prior to my daughter’s sharp words my husband had also strongly recommended I slow down. I mean our lives were spiraling out of control, our schedules were conflicting, my house was a mess, my babies were eating way too much take out, I hadn’t been to the gym and the list was growing by the second of things I never wanted to happen while chasing something I felt I needed. And since, I would never talk about you, I will talk about me.

When my husband mentioned his concerns to me I cried. I cried because it all seemed just too much to bear, too many bags to carry through the airport of life. I felt tired just thinking about doing all that needed to be done. I felt defeated. I felt like in winning a business, I was actually losing a family structure I worked hard to create. I felt like I had let down those that meant the most. So when my toddler felt the need to sas me, I was reminded of my priorities and it’s at that moment I knew I needed to stop and smell the flowers and blow out the candle. In other words…breathe.

So I canceled everything on my ever so hectic schedule for Saturday and Sunday and began getting my life back. That meant meditation, organization, prayer and good old family time. We all slept in on Sunday and the weather was great so after breakfast our family went to the park; our now toddler babies rode their bikes and I walked briskly behind them. My husband brought out a t-ball set and we introduced the game and played with our babies until everyone was tired.

I know it seems simple right? It was and it was also necessary. I am proud of my accomplishments in business, but I am more proud of my family. Team Taylor is my priority and my children and husband miss me when I am not there. So, I am grateful for new days serving as new beginnings. I am grateful for allowing my family to check me when I am out of sorts and I am ever so grateful that I listened. Ya’ll know I don’t like to give advice so I will just make a suggestion; stop, smell the flowers and blow out the candle….in other words, just breathe. Live, laugh, and be.

 

Table for Four

 

For a number of reasons, but mostly ease our children transitioned from high chair to a toddler table smack dab in the middle of the living room in front the television. Since I would never talk about you, I will talk about me. I relished in the idea of being able to eat while my food was somewhat hot. They are learning independence I told myself. They are learning to feed themselves. They are learning how to share their space. I said a whole bunch of things to make it seem right to have them strategically placed in front the boob tube a synonym for idiot box.

Well the older they got the less likely they became to actually sit down and eat their food. Grazers I called them, after prayer they would take a bite, run a little; take a bite and play a little. Dinner became an all night affair and I was frustrated as I watched my hot home cooked meals turn to ice waiting for the mood to hit them to eat. Usually their plates were still full at bath time and bedtime snacks became their dinner.

So a change had to come and it came in the most traditional of senses…it’s amazing what eating at a dinner table did for our family. Okay so I admit that my kitchen table had become a catchall. It caught all the dirty dishes that didn’t make it to the sink. It caught all the coats, all the mail, all the keys…everything but a dinner setting.

Day 1 went something like this:

 “Why we have to eat in here,” Morgan said. “What about my show, I can’t see the T.V.”  We laughed and announced that from now on we were eating at the table for dinner. We explained that it’s important for us to talk to each other and to let our food digest by eating slowly. We followed up with reminders about table manners and having to ask to be excused from the table. And our children looked at us like we had lost our mind.

By the end of the week the conversation went like this:

“I like eating at the table,” Morgan said. “How come?” I asked. “Because we get to talk about each other’s day and tell stories,” she said. “So what do you want to talk about tonight,” her dad asked? “I want you to tell me a story she said. After a short pause my husband said “I have a true story to tell you about someone special that died this week, his name is Nelson Mandela.”

After a five-minute brief explanation of apartheid and Mandela’s life, my daughter interrupted and said “so he was like Martin Luther King.” Not a bad analogy for a 4-year-old hearing about Mandela for the first time. So we explained the differences and moved on to the next conversation, which happened to be about dessert. But I was happy, I was pleased that eating at the kitchen table encouraged our family. It helped us initiate conversation. It helped our children focus on eating and family time instead of looking for the next instant gratification through song, color and images on the “boob” tube.  Welcome, welcome, welcome to the dinner table.

Runway Diva

The last few weeks are all a blur. My baby girl, my mini-me is more like me than not and I guess that’s why she has little to no fear about jamming every available extracurricular activity on both of our schedules. Since it’s hard to teach an old dame new tricks I already had an overextended calendar of my own. But she saw a flyer for a local pageant and immediately wanted in and a friend of mine was volunteering for a fashion show and again she was eager to sign up.

Now understand although she has never wavered from her desire to be “in the TV” she has no formal training. Other than ballet classes for the last few years she’s just observed and at just 4-years-old, I am certainly not pressed. In fact, I have a lot of admiration for her being able to articulate one of her goals, but a TON of apprehension about her going full steam ahead into “the industry.” An industry filled with the child exploitation and a host of other undesirables.  I know, I know how did I go from her competing in a toddler pageant and volunteering in a local fashion show to her being in “the industry?” Easy because we have so much favor over our lives that I have no doubt if we pursue it….it will be. So I did what every momma is drawn to do upon first learning you are carrying a life…. I prayed. I prayed for guidance, the spirit of discernment and patience among other things. 

When she arrived for her very first fashion show rehearsal, she was the youngest in attendance and obviously intimidated. I thought to myself; yes, my prayers have been answered and I tried my best to back out gracefully. “Morgan, you don’t have to do this. If you are uncomfortable and not ready we can easily walk away right now, it’s not a problem. Do you want to leave? I asked and she replied “no,” adamantly. “Well, mommy will love you no matter what,” I said convincingly. “If you want, we can just buy tickets and watch the fashion show,” I continued. “No mommy, I just want to watch for a while, but I want to do this. I don’t want to leave. I can do this,” she said talking to herself out loud.

 With a crew full of angels and the support of a great self-esteem building fashion show coach she was prancing down the runway within minutes. She did it, and she knew it and from that moment on, she was determined to prove she belonged. I can’t lie, I was impressed and I was also very proud, not by her attempt to sashay, but at her tenacious attitude and unwavering spirit. Her ability to work through fear will undoubtedly pay off and I am just prayerful the good Lord will see fit to keep me around long enough to see it.

The night of the fashion show was like many of her milestone moments, full of family and friends, some of whom drove for over 50 miles after working all day to watch her debut. I am hopeful she never takes that kind of support system or people for granted and I am hopeful she will be better and do better than I ever could. Congratulations Morgan on your first “official” fashion show, now if I can just make it through this toddler pageant.

 

Hallows Eve

When I was a kid growing up in Upstate, NY I celebrated Halloween. Every year my brother and I would spend days trying to figure out what we would wear and how many pillow cases we would fill with candy. We didn’t have money to buy costumes, so it pretty much depended on what we could find in our parents closet. You know the old school costumes like hobos, clowns, 70s dancers. We had a few years it was too cold to stay out long and then there were years that we probably traveled way too far from home on foot with our housing project friends. I don’t remember my last year trick or treating and I don’t remember if the thrill just wore off or if my mom put a stop to it.  But I do remember in the mid 80s times changed. All of a sudden my mom spent time going through our bags and made sure to discard the open pieces, anything homemade or anything that otherwise looked suspicious.

And that was the beginning of my change in attitude about Halloween. When you know better, you do better right? I mean at least that’s how it’s suppose to be. Now there are a thousand different interpretations of Hallows Eve, some say it’s a devils holiday, some say it has Pagan roots and others believe it derived from a Christianized feast. But all agree that it is a time dedicated to remembering the dead and as for our home, we decided pre-babies that we don’t celebrate Halloween. I mean there a lot of things I USED to do that I no longer believe in. It’s called life, and learning and maturing.

Seems simple enough EXCEPT we live in Greenville, traditionally home to the largest Halloween celebrations east of I-95 in our state. Halloween is a big deal around here. It’s not uncommon to pass several adults in costumes on street corners promoting costume stores, which this year opened around Labor Day. Costumes are EVERYWHERE. I’m not sure how many Halloween images my children see daily this time of year, but I am certain it increases every year.

In the past church fall festivals or allowing my daughter to pass out candy at our home and keep what’s left seemed to work, but this year seems really difficult. Fewer churches are having activities and Halloween Party invites keep coming. At four and half she’s smart, feisty and analytical. She challenges everything and simply saying we don’t celebrate Halloween is not enough.

“Mommy, I’m sad,” she said. “All my friends keep asking me what I’m going to be on Halloween.” I reply “I’m sorry you are sad about that, but we don’t celebrate Halloween and we shouldn’t change our beliefs to fit in with other people. Your friends will still be your friends after Oct. 31^st.” For five minutes we go back and forth about this day. It fizzles out because it’s time to pick up her brother from day care, but I know it will come up again….and again….and again.

As a parent, I believe diversity is power. I think having people with different backgrounds and beliefs makes us stronger, in that I wish our society wasn’t so over enthralled with one custom that it makes it virtually impossible for those who feel differently to co-exist. So I’m not sure what the Taylor home will do next year or the year after that or the year after that, but I do know this year, we’re packing up and getting the heck out of dodge, just to avoid the craze.