True Confessions of a Mix-Tape Lover

Throughout my life, no gift has brought me quite the same kind of joy as a well timed mix tape. (Not including diamonds.) Knowing that my friend sat with a blank tape and record song after song with me in mind- what could be sweeter? The sound quality was usually lacking. Sometimes the very beginning of a song was missing, if they were doing it old school,recording from the radio. Of course, when those fancy two deck machines came out and you could put a tape in and record from it to a blank tape, things got much more "professional" in the mix tape world. Either way though, the combination of someone A) Giving me music, and B) Having purposefully selected songs that would be meaningful to ME was just the perfect gift!

We have a fireproof safe in the house. It contains important papers that would be a big pain to replace, such as our marriage certificate, the kids' birth certificates, and insurance documents. It also contains pictures of me from my childhood, which I can only attribute to having had our house (my parent's house)burn down twice taking with it most of our old family pictures. I definitely don't keep them for my vanity as they are not attractive. I had uncorrected teeth, and my hair ran the gamut from the "Dorothy Hamill" to the "Mullet", to the "Aquanet Overkill" styles. So, yeah, it must be the fires that keep me holding onto a few silly snapshots of my childhood. Do you know what else is in there? A mix tape. It is from my best friend from high school, Katrina. She made it for me when I went off to college (one year before her). I played it on my Walkman a lot when I missed home. It made me laugh, which made me cry sometimes. It had songs we had run onto the court to during basketball pre-game warmups, or songs that we sang at the top of our lungs in the car driving around our home town. She wrote the playlist order on the paper insert, and just seeing her handwriting made me feel less far-away. I haven't listened to that tape for a good 18 years, but I have moved it from house to house, state to state, fireproof safe to fireproof safe with me. I may never listen to it again. That really doesn't matter. Just having it enough. Just catching a glimpse of it when I rifle through that box looking for one of the kids' social security numbers is all I need for the smile.

Last week I kind of got a new mix tape. I mean, it wasn't at all a mix tape, but it was music put on a disc with me in mind. My friend Jessica and I are going to see Blake Shelton at the end of August, and she made me an "Essential Listening CD" with songs from the people opening for him, as well as ones that Blake is likely to sing at the show. It gave me that warm, fuzzy, mix-tape feeling all over again. We went to the Luke Bryan concert together, super last minute, and I felt disappointed that I hadn't properly prepared. Many of his songs caught both of us pleasantly by surprise. It was a repeated cycle of cloudy recognition. Upon the first few notes we would think it sounded familiar, and then he would get a couple lines into it and we would shout, "I love this song! I didn't know he sang this!" It was fun, but still disappointing to not be able to confidently sing every lyric. And so, with that in mind, Jessica made me a modern day mix tape. I love it because she put her time into it. I love it because it shows me how well she knows me. She gets me,and how important my pre-concert prepping is. :) She took time out of her busy life to do something nice just because it would make my day brighter.

Before she gave it to me she said, "I have something for you. It's just a tiny something-no big deal". Maybe for some people it would have been no big deal, but for a mix-tape music enthusiast like me, what could be sweeter? I better make some room in the fireproof safe.

Cool.

The Fonz was "cool". Dylan on 90210 was cool too. There are people, and characters, that ooze with cool factor. With that in mind, consider Trevor.

Trevor is not styling. His hair is usually sticking up somewhere, either in the back in true bed head fashion, or at his forehead where he was blessed with a serious cowlick. He dresses himself every day, and he almost always matches, but sometimes he doesn't. He tells on himself when he passes gas saying, "Excuse me, I tooted". Not cool, though I gotta give him props for the manners. Sometimes he falls down for no apparent reason, and Jayme says he has the Andreson head which, in our particular clan of Andresons, means its a melon. He talks an inordinate amount. I mean, really, we have had cause for concern. You may have know of The Never Ending Story as a book, or movie from the eighties. We know of the Never Ending Story as Trevor telling us...anything. It can be a lot to take.

So, is Trevor cool? Absolutely. He is not cool like the Fonz. I mean. He can't fist pound a juke box and make music play, that we know of. (He has never tried.) He is cool the way he notices little things. Like tonight when he was riding his Spiderman bike with the blue training wheels, and he was staring at the ground shouting, "Watch out roly poly!!!!!!!". I looked and saw the tiniest little pill bug by his back tire. I told him how important it is to keep his eyes on what's in front of him when he is riding his bike, and he told me that is not more important than the roly poly bug. "He lives outside, you know Mom? Outside is where we are now, so I am riding my bike in his home. I just can't ride over him." That's a cool perspective for a four year old.

It's cool how Trevor sees everyone as his best friend. When I ask him who his friends are at school he says, "Everyone is my friend. I love everyone." Sometimes he tells me stories about Regan not playing with him, or Dylan making a mean face at him. I get sad, but he just smiles. "It's OK, I just love them anyway". So cool to be able to love like that.

Trevor's imagination is cool. At bedtime tonight Taryn put his stuffed animal monkey up under the back of his shirt where it became trapped. Trevor did two things. First, he laughed uncontrollably at how "tickly" it felt, and second he said, "Thanks for the jet-pack, Taryn", and proceeded to blast around his bed until I could body slam him onto the mattress for bedtime. As a side note, he is currently sleeping with a panda in the front of his shirt and the monkey in the back, just because he never tried sleeping like that before. Cool.

I think Trevor is as cool as any kid I have ever known. He is brave enough to try new things, and honest when he makes a mistake. He is obedient, and smart with just the right amount of mischief mixed in. You know, enough to make him a fun little guy to be around, but not so much that we have to keep him on a leash in the airport. He makes great facial expressions to make his stories come alive, and since the stories are, well, never ending, the expressions help. I could go on and on, and I would like to think that all mothers could. We are raising cool kids. Cool in all different ways, by all different definitions of the word. They ooze with passion, drama, love, talents, quietness, humor, or thoughtfulness beyond measure...all of which make them each cool in their own way.

In real life "cool" doesn't wear a leather jacket or drive a convertible. Cool is Trevor, just being who he is.

Richie who?

Have you heard of Richie Sambora?

Your answer probably depends who you are, how old you are, what your musical inclinations are, and maybe even just how familiar you are with celebrity goings on. I first heard of him back in 1986 when I started listening to a little rock band called Bon Jovi. Don't worry, this isn't going to be yet another blog with me gushing over Bon Jovi. (Not exactly.) Richie always seemed like a nice guy from Jersey. He wasn't polished; he was Polish, from a hard working family. Nothing but respect there. :) I have always heard that he was handsome, though I could have never noticed that being myself blinded by the light of Jon Bon Jovi.

Even though I took no particular interest in details of his life, I have always generally liked the guy. I like watching him interact with Jon on the stage. When I go to concerts I like to sit on "his side", on Jon's right hand side, so I can have a good view of him rocking out! He has amazing talent. His guitar playing speaks for itself, and I have always known he did a lot of the song writing with Jon, but not long ago I realized that the man can also sing. I don't mean just that he can make "wah wah" sounds in a talk box for Living on a Prayer. Not even just background vocals. The man can S-ING! I don't remember which concert I was at, maybe the Lost Highway tour, but I remember he sang "I'll Be There For You" solo during a wardrobe change for Jon. It was beautiful. Maybe I could focus better since Jon had left the stage, I don't know. :) But I do remember wondering how I had been a BonJovi fan all those years and never really appreciated the scope of Richie's talent.

When Richie went to rehab back in 2011, I was depressed to have to see the concert ( I think it was the Bon Jovi Live Tour) with a "sub" guitarist, Phil X. "Sub" was supposed to mean substitute, but to me it meant sub-par. Phil X (what kind of name is that anyway?) was no Richard Stephen Sambora. I was glad the tour continued, but it was different without Richie. No interaction to smile at between the two front men, no solos to surprise me, and no hat. Richie pulls off the hat like no other. I dealt with it like a champ, but it wasn't the same.

Fast forward the present day. Bon Jovi is on the second leg of a mega world tour for their current CD. They are keeping a schedule that makes me tired just reading it, never mind living it! They are impressing people with 3 hour shows, and a sound that has only gotten sweeter with time. And they are once again doing it all without Richie. Where is he? We don't know. He just dropped out mid tour citing "personal reasons". The band is in their 30th Anniversary year and he quit touring with no explanation to his fans. I, personally, was hoping it was rehab because I can handle rehab, but then they would have just told us like they did in 2007 and 2011. This seemed more serious because no one's talking. People love to yammer on when there's nothing to say, but when there is a lot to say everyone suddenly has nothing to say. I was patient, but as time kept passing I wanted answers. I didn't want answers because Richie's personal life matters to me; I wanted answers because the BAND matters to me. And because despite the money, fame, and Richie's player-esque manner that makes me a little skeeved out by him; I still see a good guy in him.

For a while I followed the discussions on Twitter, and kind of stalked Richie's Facebook page (and maybe even the Twitter posts of his teenaged daughter, Ava) looking for clues. I wanted signs that he would rejoin the tour, and that he wasn't leaving the band. Then, little by little, I stopped caring. I stopped caring because the sad truth is that actions speak louder than words. He may have sung the most beautiful version of "I'll be There For You" that night in concert, but I'm looking now, and he's NOT there. He's not there and all indications are that it is a simple choice, and not a life necessity.

Someday I hope he clears this up, and I hope that when he does I care enough to listen. I probably will. We Bon Jovi fans tend to "Never Say Goodbye". :)

Spaghetti Squash, BAM!

Theoretically, I love vegetables. In real life, vegetables give me the chills. Not in a good way, but in a literal shaking as a negative physical response to their taste. I will not go into details, but feel free to find my blog "Vegetable Chills" if you want to read more about that. Jayme does not get the vegetable chills, but that is only because he does not give his body a chance. With the exception of raw spinach,which I mix with lettuce in his salads, vegetables are not allowed in. This is what made his newest decision most interesting!

Recently, Jayme decided he wanted to follow the Paleo diet. For those of you thinking, "Paleo as in Paleozoic era? Must be some sort of caveman diet." I know. That was my first thought too. And, you are exactly right. It is great because it takes eating back to nature. A person following a Paleo diet eats unprocessed foods. Things should be organic, and should be eaten the way they grow. Even meats should be natural. Beef, for example, must come from cows eating grass only, since that's what they eat in the fields. Fruits, vegetables, and raw nuts (meaning not salted or roasted, etc.) make up the snacks. And, here's the kicker, a Paleo dieter eats more vegetables than fruit.

Now, I pride myself in my supportiveness of my sweet husband. I am happy that Jayme wants to rehab his typical American, processed food diet, and there are many ways that I can see it being a great fit for him. He loves fruit, meat, and nuts, but "a Paleo dieter eats more vegetables than fruits", and Jayme allowing vegetables to breach his system might be a stretch. I pointed this out, but he insisted that he wanted to TRY, so I promised to try too.

Last night for dinner, I officially tried. I found a recipe from PaleOMG for spaghetti squash & meatball muffin cups. 25 minutes prep. 20 minutes to bake. I could totally handle it!
Jayme saw me fighting to cut the squash and voiced his concerns, stating that "trying" never meant squash. I just kept going. I finally split that squash, made a mental note that it smelled ridiculously like a pumpkin, baked it, rolled some grass fed beef meatballs, and simmered them in plain tomato sauce that I added a bunch of spices to. When the smelly old squash finished baking, I used a fork to get all the threads out. I suppose the threads are supposed to resemble spaghetti, hence the name, but I promise you that I was not fooled. I put the squash threads in the muffin tins, placed a cooked meatball in the center, poured a little egg white on top of each one and then covered with extra sauce. The whole time I was smelling a pumpkin smell that I did not approve of anywhere near my meatballs, but I powered through.

I baked that bad boy until the timer beeped, removed the squashy muffins from their tins, and served some up for my Paleo dieting husband. Thankfully, the pumpkin smell was gone by now, so I served myself some too. I sprinkled some Parmesan cheese on top, and closed my eyes to keep the vegetable chills at bay. Then I took my first bite, and umm, let me just say it was delicious! Mind you, I had to keep the amount of meat, sauce, cheese, and squash well balanced on my fork for it to taste good, but it DID taste good. I ate four of the squash muffins and Jayme ate five. We were full, we were nourished, and we DID it! We both ate our vegetables, and enjoyed them!

Spaghetti Squash, BAM! We owned you!

The Best Plan Ever!!

Today, during lunch, Taryn told Trevor that when he goes to college he doesn't get to live with Mommy anymore. He promptly burst into tears and declared his hatred for college.

As an educator, I hope that my children choose higher education, but if they find something else to passionately pursue and dedicate their lives too, that's fine too. Just so long as they are legally able to support themselves and be fulfilled in their careers.

I could hear Trevor yelling to Taryn about how bad college is in the background, but in the front of my mind I was a little bit over-analyzing the anti-college sentiments that he might be learning. I started rambling ideas to calm him down so he could finish his lunch without choking. I explained how he will be grown up by that time, and how it isn't something he should decide now. It didn't help, and he kept on with his declarations against going to college promising that it was NEVER happening, EVER.

Then, things took a happy turn. I simply told Trev that he didn't have to move away to go to college, and that he could still live at home if he wants to. He got quiet for a minute, and I knew his little four year old mind was devising a plan. After a big bite of his peanut butter sandwich he filled me in. He will go to college, but only if I drive him there, hold his hand during class, and let him climb on my lap whenever he wants to.

I could not be any more serious when I say that this is the BEST plan I have ever heard. I walked over to him, kissed his crumb covered cheeks, and we shook on it. :)

Regrets

My biggest regret in life is not going to grad school. I know, I know, it's not too late. It certainly feels too late. We are already paying for college AND grade school for two kids, and I am working full time. I go browsing the internet for online master's degrees in guidance counseling frequently enough that I am now avoiding emails and cell phone calls from at least six universities that I had to give my information to in order to see anything about their programs. I am sure that they are confused since I went looking for THEM as to why I am now off the grid and refusing to talk to them. I have faith that they will figure it out soon enough.

Regrets are interesting. Some people get paralyzed by regrets. They live in the misery of all of the things they wish they hadn't done, or in wondering how things would have been different "if only". Don't get me wrong, I completely understand. Some regrets are huge. People live with choices that caused them to lose their families, miss seeing their kids grow up, or hurt other people. They are haunted by wondering if doing something different could have saved a loved one from some terrible thing. My choice to not go to grad school only hurt me, and its kind of a luxury anyway. Hurting other people, that would be a whole other story. Have you seen the commercial of the guy who killed three kids texting "I love you" to his wife while driving? Nauseatingly enormous regret.

Anyway, despite my lack of big earth shaking regrets, I do have lots of little every day regrets. I already regret that I didn't have breakfast today. I am feeling hungry and cranky and I think an egg would have helped. I regret comparing my arguing children to birds in a cockfight yesterday. How rude! I regret telling Taryn, and I quote myself here, "Stop joking, and stop smiling." Except for being coffin side at a funeral, that is always terrible advice. Especially for my SEVEN year old. I cannot even stand myself sometimes.

I have decided that regrets are like a potato, po-tah-to kind of deal. We might have the huge ones that follow us through life like Eeyore's own personal dark cloud follows him. But we also might have the millions of little ones. Some of us regret a wild life that was filled with too many chances, while others might regret always playing it safe. Some people partied too much in college, and it took them 8 years to graduate. Others of us studied too much in college, only to end up NOT going to grad school anyway- so what was it all for? OK, that last one might have been about me. The point is, either way, none of us get it perfectly right all the time. Some stay at home moms regret not pursuing their career passions, while working moms regret missing their kids' first steps. Even kids have regrets. Trevor cried like a maniac the other day because of regret. I asked him to go put his shoes on. He didn't want to, so I offered to time him. (Side note:I will terribly miss when timing them no longer makes them run off and do what I asked). He passed up on the chance to be timed because he didn't want to get off the computer, but when I turned it off anyway, and still sent him after his shoes he cried like a maniac. "I want to be timed. I want to be timed." Poor kid. Regrets can be hard to face.

Maybe all we can do is learn from our regrets, and keep adjusting our lives like the tuner on the old radios, back and forth, back and forth, until we find that balance we can live with. This morning when I asked Trevor to get his shoes while I timed him, he jumped at the chance. He learned from yesterday's regret. Tomorrow, I will eat that egg. I too, have learned. :) It may be impossible for the big regrets to ever go away, but maybe we can give them a purpose. We can let other people can learn from our regrets instead of keeping them hidden to fester and torment us way down deep in their hiding places. I am sure that is the whole point of that heartbreaking commercial about texting while driving. I have learned from that man's enormous regret, and I will not text and drive. I am thankful that I don't have to learn the lesson first hand. Second hand is always better when it comes to painful lessons. Prayers for wisdom help too, and for forgiveness, and an ability to forgive myself. That is usually the hardest part. And if regrets can be fixed- I say fix them. Like if your biggest regret is not going to grad school, for example. :)

Kids for Sale

I love my kids.
Today I wanted to sell them to the highest bidder.
How many times can I tell Taryn to keep her hands off her brother?
How many times can I tell Trevor to use his words and stop crying.
Don't try and guess. I don't have an answer. No way I could
keep counting and repeating myself at the same time. I'm no magician.

My sage advice slides off of them like they are made of Teflon.
I want them to be made of fly paper.
This advice is good. It would keep them from hearing me yell.
We all want to stop hearing me yell. Especially me.

I want them to play together...until they play together.
Then I want to banish them to their own rooms for the rest of forever.
How hard is it to get along? They love each other.
They are both fun,nice kids.
It should be like easy math.
1 nice kid + 1 nice kid + love + toys = FUN!
Should be like that. It wasn't. It was evil geometry proofs instead.
Are there kids in there playing or is that an illegal cockfight?

I can handle it.
My brain knows that.
My lungs don't.Breathing is hard. My eyes don't. They see red.
I don't think I have the patience for this.
I don't think I can say the right things. What do you say to frenzied birds in a cockfight?

Time-out is useless. Unless its for me. I definitely need a time-out.
Time out of the house, to be specific.
Counting the hours til bedtime. That makes me feel awful.
What kind of mom am I?

I know the answer.
The regular kind.
The kind with real kids. Good, bad, and in between.
But, those kids, even on this way awful, crazy day
found time to tell me they could never live
without me.

I'm holding onto that. The one moment in my day where my kids were more like kids than wild game hens.

Please God, give me back my little angels tomorrow.
I would be much obliged.

DREAM

When I was pregnant with Taryn, and I was painting things to decorate her nursery, one thing I did was to purchase the wooden letters D-R-E-A-M and paint them pink and white. I strung them on some wire and hung the word, DREAM over her crib. There was green ribbon decorating it in random places, and I hung it from two pink nails, loosely, so that it was in the shape of a smile, with the ends higher than the middle. Her room is painted green with pink accessories and white trim, so it tied in all of the colors nicely. That seemed really important back when I was about to have my first baby, but now seems like the last thing I should have been thinking about! I remember being hugely pregnant with Taryn, and sitting in her nursery with my mind spinning with anxious anticipation of what my first little baby would be like. I would sit in what would be her rocking chair, look at that word on her wall, and dream about who this little person would be.

After Taryn was born I spent long nights in her room, as all mother's do. Whether it was rocking her in the chair, half-sleeping through her midnight feedings, or reading stories and cuddling, "DREAM" always made me smile. To me, then, it was mostly a hope for sweet dreams at night for her...and me. Oh how vaguely I remembered sleeping deeply enough, and long enough to dream.

Time has passed, and Taryn has long since left her crib, her rocking chair, and her midnight feedings behind (woohoo!), but DREAM still hangs on her wall. When she started reading last year, she read it to me one night at bedtime. "D-R-E-A-M, dream. Why does my wall say dream Mom?" I thought the answer would be simple, but as I began explaining I realized how much I have have tied up in that single syllable. In the simplest sense, I do want her to dream, and dream sweetly, every time she lays down to sleep. But I also pray for her a life of one dream after another. A heart that believes in her possibility and potential so much that she always has big, brave, dreams to chase. I hope that many of her dreams come true, and I hope that some of them don't. There is nothing worse than someone who has not known enough disappointment in life. I hope that she dares to dream even when she fails, because the successful people are the ones who keep dreaming. I pray that Taryn's life is directed by her dreams, and that her dreams are inspired by positive influences and people in her life, as well as her intrinsic gifts and talents. That was a lot to tell her that night at bedtime, but I tried. In six year old words. She just smiled, and said she liked it. I was glad.

At about the time that Taryn turned seven, we did a little bit of a mini makeover in her room. She got new bedding that was a little more grown up, and a coordinating painting for the wall. There was one other coordinating decoration, an art hanging display, with wooden shapes on it that went with her bedding. It was strung on string and was almost the exact length of DREAM. I would have hung perfectly in its place, in the shape of a smile, and was a little more grown up than the little word that I have smiled at all these years. I thought Taryn would love it. It went with her room, and she would think it was awesome to hang her art and pictures on her wall. It was on sale last time I was at the store, and I had it in my cart. I realized though, standing in aisle at Target with tears starting to blur my vision, that I am not ready to part with DREAM yet. It's just wood, and paint, but it symbolizes one of the most enduring longings that my heart has held for my kids.

I know that nothing would change if DREAM came down. I would still pray for the same things, and talk to Taryn about the importance of her dreams. I just decided that for as long as I can see it there, and it can make me and Taryn smile, there it will stay. Her art looks just fine on the fridge. :)

That Sucks.

My sister hates the expression, "that sucks". She still calls sucks the 'S' word. And even now, as I am approaching 38 years old I have to apologize to her before or after I say it because I know that she is not happy to hear me incorporate that word choice into my conversations with her.

Even though I don't declare things to be "sucky" all that often, in an attempt to use more descriptive and sister-pleasing vocabulary words, I must say that I am an expert on "suckiness".

I have lived an absolutely blessed life. My parents are still married after 44 years. My maternal grandparents who have lived with my parents since I was 11 are still alive at 97 and 90 years old. My sister, Chrissy, is my best friend and is always there for me, and my brother is one of the greatest guys I have ever been around. He is talented, handsome, and almost as funny as me. I have a hilarious husband, Jayme, and was lucky enough to find him at a young age and be in the process of growing old with him. My kids are healthy and happy, and Jayme and I both have jobs that allow us to make ends meet with a little extra for fun times. There is no room for me to complain or to say that I know pain, but I do know "suckiness". (Sorry, Chrissy).

For me "suckiness" is only seeing my parents and grandparents once a year. My grandparents have long outgrown their comfort with traveling, and my parents, as their main caregivers are not able to leave them for long enough to make the trip down to FL to see us. For a family of four to fly from Orlando to Maine is quite expensive, and with full time jobs we just can't get away all that often. I love to hug them, laugh with them, watch Wheel of Fortune with them, and see the twinkle in their eyes. And I hate saying goodbye. There is nothing good about it. Life is fragile and fleeting. We are never promised tomorrow, and every goodbye could be our last. It is true every day of my life, but since I see my Maine family so scarcely, I feel like it is more possible with them. Quite frankly, saying goodbye, and not knowing when you will see someone again is "sucky".

"Suckiness" is my salary. I am blessed. I do something I love. I teach at a private school and I get to teach kids Math, Science, and Bible. I love it! I love working with kids, and they humble me every day. I have been a tiny little part of hundreds of life stories, and they are a part of mine. Each student I have taught has added something to my life, and I have the hope that I have added something good to theirs. However, it sucks that I make so little money and have no pension. The fact that I don't get regular raises, or have a salary that can compare with the public schools in the area is just plain sad. I will have to work until I die since I have no retirement. That is "sucky".

"Suckiness" is lizards in my house. I am not a fan. I find them gross and ugly and would be happy for them to live off in the distance somewhere, but when they get too close it sucks. Taryn stomped one accidentally on the patio when she was two. Blood and guts exploded from it all over her foot. I had to clean that up! That sucked. Snakes in the house sucks too...I have had them IN MY KITCHEN twice and on my patio countless times. Wild reptiles in my house pushes me to my limit.

I have an idea for an invention, the Groovy Movie Cootie Cover. I have no idea how to make it a reality, and my husband thinks there is no market for it. That sucks. I would love to be on QVC peddling my Groovy Movie Cootie Cover nationwide. An in ability to pursue my dreams sucks. Whether it be an invention to keep small children from getting folded up inside of movie seats, or writing professionally, in just about any capacity, not living out a realistic dream is kind of "sucky".

The thing is that my list of stuff that sucks is nothing special. We all have could have a list like mine. We have friends we miss, jobs that might not completely meet our ideal standards, kids that might be challenging our parental wisdom, arthritis, and persistent gray hair. Life is never going to be perfect on this imperfect planet. We can be real about our suck factors, and even occasionally commiserate with our friends, but let it be in balance with the acknowledgement of our many blessings. People know true pain in this world. Sickness, starvation, war. Life is really bad for some. However, if it is not really bad for you, don't try to force your way into that club. "Suckiness" is just that. It is a tremor in a world of earthquakes, and a windy day in a world of tornadoes. "Suckiness" is how you know your life is really pretty good.