It's half past nine at night.

The kids have just conked out. They're doing this a lot at the moment - lying awake, piling small libraries of torn books onto their pillows, blowing raspberries at each other, and howling with laughter. When there was just one of them, late nights were emotional for everyone involved. Now that there's two of them, cackling together in their shared bedroom, it's fine. The kids are happy and the grown ups are secretly amused.

It doesn't stop us from doing our own thing.

Steve is painting tiny, angry plastic figurines at the dining table. The room smells like foam bananas.

I'm sitting here on the comfy green chair which the cats use as a scratching post, no matter how many times I sternly say their names, and tapping away at the internet for the first time in a long time. Mostly, these days, I read books. A lot of books. There are 116 unread books on my Kindle and I feel like I have to clear at least half of them before I impulse buy anything else. Even if it's 99p.

Kid's feet on steps painted rainbow colours

I feel like we're coming out of the baby days.

I mean, obviously, we are out of them. We're into the toddler days. We're out of the bit with the relentless sleep deprivation, all baby activities squeezed between naps, all big sister activities squeezed between wakings, poppered up sleepsuits and clothes horses saddled with muslins.

We're past the stage where people mark me as someone who does or does not breastfeed, does or does not sleep train, is or is not carting my child around in a carrier rather a pram today, and decides from that whether we're compatible as friends.

But, more than that: we're coming out of the bit where we're Just Parents.

I go to the cinema and I don't feel guilty. I go to my book group and I don't feel like I owe my kids an explanation. I have energy in the evenings to read. We've caught up on box sets and found time for films. Steve goes out with his friends and I barely resent him for it (I do still resent him a bit - the kids' immune systems seem to be linked to his calendar; he makes plans and they come down with colds. Every. Single. Time).

Even being around the kids feels less like looking after them now and more like hanging out with a couple of people I really, really like. They're funny and imaginative and inquisitive and sometimes they'll sit still and watch a CBeebies panto with me. We do new things together and I feel delighted that they let me.

Paper puppets made by a child

Part of this is that the kids are changing. Part of this is that Steve and I are more confident. But part of it is that time is passing. There's one more year until our eldest starts school, one and a half more years until our youngest starts nursery, and then I'll... do what, exactly?

I toss around ideas for earning money, but my brain throws up problems: it doesn't fit around school hours; it doesn't fit around term times; it doesn't pay well; it requires inconvenient training; it's a pipe dream...

The alternative - hanging around the house on my own all day, doing nothing of much significance - would soon lose its novelty. Once the mouldy shower sealant had been replaced and the porridge scrubbed out of the carpet, I'm not sure what I would do. Plus, you know: my feminist principles/Steve's level of willingness to fund my retro housewife role play/our depressing lack of money for biscuits. 

So, here I am: coming out of the stage where my children need me to be all about them, all of the time; not sure what happens next.

But I'd like to keep writing about it. 

So that's one bit of my future plan. 

Yellow alliums and blue forget-me-nots


Tomato plants
Plane at sunset
Petals picked off and scattered
Kid looking at Nuart exhibit
Colourful bracelets
Perspex seagulls in flights

  • The eldest turned four. Her birthday was over that scorching weekend we just had. Her party was in the garden and she ran through a water fountain and there were two pink cakes which we can't seem to finish. 
  • The youngest broke her leg. She had a cast on for two weeks which came off today. It didn't stop her from climbing or walking, although she bum shuffled around when she needed to move at speed. 
  • Steve has this week off and we have no plans. We're having lazy family days and I wish it was like this all the time.
  • We got a dishwasher after several environmentally savvy friends assured it was an okay thing to do. It has improved our evenings immeasurably. We also got an outdoor tap and had the hideously unsafe gas fire replaced. Basically, there's been a lot of plumbing work going on.
  • I spent an hour looking at the photo a day blog two friends and I used to do years and years and years ago (it's still live). A lot of the photos aren't great - although several of them are - and it tails off quite a bit towards the end of the year, but I do miss having some kind of collaborative project going on (suggestions welcome). Sharing some of my private photo a day pictures on here is the closest I currently get, so here you go.
What's new with you?

This Week In Pictures

Rainbow wellies
Two kids doing a puzzle
Soil on a vintage tray

It has felt like a week of being stuck indoors, waiting for tradespeople or avoiding the worst combination of weather (strong winds with heavy rain with cold temperatures) but the pictures tell a different story.

I've not been posting as much on Instagram because I've been using my "real" camera a lot more recently and I'm far too lazy to faff around transferring pictures to my phone (even though, yes, it does fancy WiFi stuff). That's kind of nice in some ways, but I still want somewhere to put some of those pictures. So here you go.

There's not much else to say.

Three Things From This Week

Fairy door

Ten Years
Steve and I celebrated our tenth anniversary by eating pizza, drinking half a bottle of red wine and sitting on the sofa, watching Brooklyn 99 together. I gave him a beautiful portrait of our family and he gave me a book called Help. We regretted the wine in the morning.

The kids and I went to the dentist. We did not take the buggy because the dentist is located in one of those tiny old buildings where the doors will barely allow my hips to pass, never mind a pushchair; presumably the original residents didn't need perambulators because they left their kids in a drawer.

Once inside, the dentist is upstairs.

So, yes, I took the littlest on the reins and trusted the three year old to maintain control of her while I was in the dentist's chair. I'm telling you this not because there's an amusingly awful conclusion to this story - it all went surprisingly smoothly, other than them both wanting to sit on my lap throughout and then desperately wanting to hang around in the waiting room afterwards so they could figure out what the toy iron was for - but because I found the whole thing incredibly stressful and want you all to praise me for my bravery.

Some fairies have moved into a very narrow wall in our garden, sticking their door and some windows to it with heavy duty outdoor Velcro (the secret to much fairy magic). The eldest is fully invested in these fairy residents and has been leaving them gifts, planting bulbs around their house and even constructing a set of steps so they can get down from the rockery without using their wings; there is a semi-permanent bucket of "yummy" weeds, sand and gutter water for them to enjoy. This is simultaneously incredibly sweet and a bit of a concern because the fairies are really, really shy and it's not looking like she's ever going to get to meet them...

Though, on the bright side, a ladybird landed on her leg yesterday, so not all tiny winged things are being elusive.

Mother's Day Revelation

I had a revelation recently which I think - I hope - is going to stop me from spending Mothering Sunday (this Sunday, for those of you who live elsewhere on the planet. Or who needed the reminder) feeling simultaneously disappointed, resentful and filled with self-loathing because of my disappointment, resentment and general inability to cherish every moment and remember how lucky I am etc.

And I'm sharing it here for those of you who might benefit from it, too.

It is this: Mothering Sunday is NOT the real Mother's Day.

Mothering Sunday is for your kids and for your partner/any grown up who's fulfilling the "wrapping a box of chocolates and buying you some tulips" role this weekend.

Mothering Sunday is about feeling proud as you present the card you've put time and effort into making. Mothering Sunday is about using breakfast in bed (which nobody who needs to change crumby sheets actually appreciates) as an excuse to bounce around and stop your mum from having a lie in. Mothering Sunday is about scrounging all the good chocolates. Mothering Sunday is about going for lunch somewhere which does milkshakes and enormous desserts and your mum not being able to tut about your sugar intake because her food's all free. Mothering Sunday is about getting your mum to watch Frozen or play Pop to the Shops for the twenty-nine millionth time under the guise of "lovely family time".

Mothering Sunday is all about the kids, and most mothers I know spend much of Mothering Sunday feeling a bit put out because they've been told it's their day, and, if it's their day, why aren't they getting to spend it in the pub/spa/mountains/peace? With an added dose of guilt because some women don't get to be mums and some people don't have mums and how can they be so damned ungrateful that they don't even appreciate sharing their day with their little bundles of caterwauling joy?!

But here's the thing: it's not your day, mums.

Your day comes before Mothering Sunday.

I had my day last Saturday. I spent the morning lounging around the house, all on my own, in absolute silence, reading a fairly decent book. I spent the afternoon eating a cafe lunch and strolling along the beach with one of my child-free friends. I had a glass of wine when the kids were in bed. It was lovely.

And I didn't have to feel any of the "I'm doing my own thing when I could be helping my kid to colour in Elsa pictures" guilt because it was non-optional non-parenting time.

In the morning, Steve took the kids into town to buy my Mothering Sunday present, so I couldn't tag along. In the afternoon, Steve and the kids made and hid my top secret Mothering Sunday card (which I guarantee will feature a drawing of a queen in a tiara and an icy blue dress), so I couldn't be in the house.

My eldest didn't even resent the non-optional non-parenting time because, as far as she was concerned, I had been ushered out of the way to allow for gleeful secrecy.

And, that, mums, is Mother's Day.

Mother's Day is the day when your kids prepare for Mothering Sunday.

Things I Haven't Had Time/Motivation/Whatever To Post On My Blog

Glowing Book Reviews
  • The Surface Breaks by Louise O'Neill (The Little Mermaid gets rewritten all angry and feministy and stuff)
  • Are We All Lemmings and Snowflakes? by Holly Bourne (teenagers figure out mental health stuff; readers squirm at accurate representation of own neuroses)
  • Leap Year by Helen Russell (writer of The Year of Living Danishly spends a year trying to improve her life - not just by living in Denmark)
(I'm on Goodreads, by the way. Are you?)

Interiors Blog Pastiche
  • PARENTING: How to Style Your Living Room When It Contains A Cardboard Box the Size of Your Sofa
    ​>>> Paint the box in the Pantone Colour of the Year:​ Living Coral​. Firmly correct your children when they refer to it as "pink"​.
    >>> Fill it with scatter cushions and​ describe it as "an eco-chic pouffe".
    >>> ​If the kids keep chucking the cushions out and filling the box with tat, refer to it as "our unicorn styling nook"​.​
    >>> Turn it into a giant planter ​full of succulents.​ Sprinkle them with biodegradable glitter.

  • The youngest finally had her appointment at the allergy clinic. She was tested for nine things but only showed a reaction to egg. We are slowly reintroducing dairy. Keep your milky fingers crossed.
  • Whilst in the clinic waiting room, I successfully completed a game aimed at four year olds then had to quickly take it back to pieces before any of the staff noticed because a) I would have been mortified if they had praised me, and b) I would have been offended if they hadn't.
  • Everyone is still much happier since the eldest withdrew from nursery, but it's been bringing up all sorts of unpleasant questions for me. Whilst pondering what has been and would have been and will in the future be best for her, I've started thinking about all the ways in which my own school days failed me - the bright but extremely bored kid, stuck in a small town where nobody else seemed to like books. I've been wondering what could have been done differently to enable me to enjoy my education and/or to leave school properly prepared for study and a career. There's a bundle of regrets or resentments or disappointment of some kind wodged inside me, still, and lately I've been scaring myself with thoughts of how easily I could screw up my own kids. It's tricky, trying to keep thoughts of what would have suited me separate from thoughts of what will suit my kids, who are not tiny little carbon copies of me (I do not like strawberries; they do not like 6 Music).
  • After much procrastination, I've started up yoga again and I'm very much enjoying my ninety minutes a week of not having anybody ask me for a snack. 
  • Steve has today off work and has taken the kids out to the park so I can tackle my enormous to do list. Finishing this blog post was not on the list (though it soon will be). It's not just exercise I can avoid, you know; the dirty windows are not calling loudly enough.
  • And today is the first day of the sixth year of my photo a day project and it feels like new year to me - I'm very confused about why nobody is Instagramming about their resolutions or wishing each other well for the coming months. So let me take this chance to say: MAY YOUR NEXT TWELVE MONTHS BE AWESOME.

Some Ways In Which I Still Resemble A Preschooler

  • I believe food and drink tastes better when I'm using yellow crockery.
  • I deeply resent sensible bedtimes.
  • If it's not for sitting, standing or swinging on, I am probably sitting, standing or swinging on it.
  • I believe myself to be an amazing singer and dancer despite never having taken a lesson. Or having demonstrated any proficiency.
  • I'm not intentionally ignoring you - I just haven't registered your voice yet.
  • I hate wearing hats.
  • Also slippers, although I find it quite entertaining to dress my feet up as ducks.
  • I don't want to share my snack with you but I do want you to share your snack with me.
  • I only know what day of the week it is because they sang about it on CBeebies.
  • I find new places intimidating but am quickly won over by carousels and cake.
  • I frequently want to throw myself face down on the pavement with exhaustion.
  • I spend my life listening to family members trying to tell me what to do. I hate when they add on "NOW!"
  • I have memorised about 90% of Frozen.
  • I cry easily and frequently.
  • I don't believe in saving my sparkly clothes for best.

  • I believe in the existence of cold temperatures.
  • I really fancy a nap.

GARDEN: Starting Over, January 2019

Lawn where lawn is not supposed to be

That lawn? That lawn is not supposed to be there. That lawn is supposed to be a flowerbed.

I think it's fair to say that our garden has got away from us a bit. Where there used to be the carefully primped and protected floral display of our predecessors, we have weeds and wilderness.

And not an artful, pretty, Instagrammable, we're-being-good-to-the-bees sort of weeds and wilderness.

Just a mess.


At first, I blamed pregnancy. And then I blamed having a very small child who liked hurling herself down the concrete steps into our neighbours' garden whenever I wasn't looking and who was also quite fond of trampling across the crocuses. 

Then I got pregnant again. And then I had another small child who likes to do the same. 

And, of course, the garden is not just my responsibility but every time Steve was around to dig or sow or trim or mow, it poured with rain.

And so we lost control.

I say that. There are successes hiding in these pictures, underneath the weeds. 

There are the remnants of the first sweet peas I've ever kept alive long enough to flower and there are hibernating hydrangeas which I planted a couple of years ago and there are the straggling skeletons of my beloved nasturtiums, which keep on reseeding themselves with absolutely no input from me.

Trashed greenhouse

There are the wonky raised beds in which Steve and our three year old grew massive pumpkins and jumbo radishes and unloved lettuces, Also, those green plastic circles are slug collars and we would highly recommend them for keeping the slithery pests off your crops without chemicals. 

And our herb garden is doing fairly well. If you like everything to taste of either rosemary or mint. 

Herb garden

But, over all, we felt like we had reached crisis point. That our garden was past salvaging. That we could not conceivably find the time or the energy or, frankly, the motivation to dig out all of those weeds and scrape off all of that moss and hack back all of the monstrous geraniums by ourselves (plus, how do you do that with one small brown bin and no vehicle for dump trips?).

So, at the start of January, we paid a nice fellow - also called Steve - to dig almost everything out of the flowerbeds and to shove the lawn back into its designated rectangle. He even (more or less literally) threw in some paving slabs he had left over from a previous job. Nice fellow, as I said.

And the garden looked more like this:

So neat.
Trimmed lawn

The minimalist in me quite likes all that blank, smooth space, but I appreciate it wouldn't take the weeds long to recolonise it and we don't want to fill it with concrete. Also, half the point of a garden - to me - is to have something bright and pretty to photograph (the other half is the low effort parenting it provides). So I spent quite a bit of time and a little bit of money ordering lots and lots of perennial plants in the January sales. 

I prioritised low maintenance plants which are attractive to pollinators and have, entirely accidentally, ended up with a display which will be completely pink and blue. There's a joke in there about genders and different sorts of nurseries, but my toddler has a cold and I'm far too tired to phrase it well.

Anyway, the plants will be arriving in dribs and drabs between - eh - last week and April. 

So far, I've received two potentillas, one ceanothus and two bare roots erigerons (one of which is sprouting madly). And they're all currently resident on our stairs because suddenly our garden looks like this: 

Thick snow


Impractical for digging, though.

But in one early success: the kids and I put out loads of food for the birds on Friday afternoon and we have spent great chunks of this weekend watching out of the window as blackbirds, wood pigeons (I think - as far as I know, wood pigeons are just the ones which don't look scrawny because of a city centre diet of chips, right?), redwings, robins and one intrepid starling have revelled in the feast.

Can Mystical Woo Woo Get My Kids To Sleep Better?

[SPOILER: Of course it can't. Don't be daft. I'm just trying to lure you into reading my ramblings.]

Do you all know about cosmic ordering? Apparently Noel Edmonds is a big fan, and who am I to question the success-generating magic of the man behind Mr Blobby?

I'm a blogger, that's who - we're either here to wow the world with our [thoroughly unresearched] opinions or we're here to get free mascara, and I'm a forty year old woman who still doesn't know what foundation is for, so... yeah... leap to your own conclusions.

Anyway, as far as I'm aware, cosmic ordering means writing your loftiest goals on your hand in biro so that the Mystical Universe can read them and make them happen. Which I know sounds like a completely rational approach to life - much better than, say, putting in a lot of effort - but I tried this out when I was thirteen and I'm still not married to Jordan Knight from New Kids On The Block so take it from me: it's nonsense.

And yet... I kind of get it now that I'm parent.

Every evening, I pick up my phone and I press the "Do Not Disturb" icon; I add on an extra seven hours and I read the little message which pops up saying "Do Not Disturb: until 6:57am"; and I think: "That means you, children."

I think those actual words, every night: "That means you, children."

And a part of me - despite all evidence to the contrary; despite months and months of broken nights - firmly believes that setting my mobile phone to "Do Not Disturb" will stop my kids from waking up.

So far, I've had no success.


Usually my three year old sleeps for a solid twelve hours, but my one year old wakes up at midnight, 3am, 5am and is up for the day at half seven. On those nights when my one year old sleeps through - what triggers this?! what is the magic step I'm taking but not properly noticing? has Noel Edmonds written a book which will explain it to me? - my three year old will wake up multiple times "needing tucked in" or claiming that the water which she never, ever touches isn't fresh.

Dialling in a cosmic order doesn't work.

I've said it before, but I don't think anything does. I don't think there's any one white-noise-and-orange-light emitting contraption or any one non-negotiable nap schedule or any one bath-book-boob/bottle routine which works for every kid, all of the time. What helped my first get to sleep irritates my second; what helps my second get to sleep enraged my first. One wanted held for naps and one doesn't want to be touched. One didn't sleep through until she dropped her last nap at eighteen months and the other slept through as the tiniest of babies but ditched the decent nights as soon as she started to wean.

This time around, I'm not looking for a simple solution.

Except for my phone, obviously.

And time.

Time is not a quick fix, but I do think it is a fix. I think my youngest will get to doing decent nights when she's ready (which, obviously, I'm hoping will be tonight. Or, failing that, tomorrow), and I'm trying not to let myself get too worked up about it.

Which is easier, for me, second time around, because I recognise the phases.

I recognise the nap transitions when there's no such thing as a schedule. This time they're easier because I'll bung her in the buggy, stick to our original plans and simply hope for the best, as opposed to cancelling everything and rocking my child for several hours, whilst crying.

I recognise the developmental leaps when each bedtime takes several thousand decades. This time they're easier because I'll let off steam by wandering through to the kitchen and telling Steve what ridiculous position our eldest is sleeping in and which nursery rhyme our youngest appears to be butchering at full volume in lieu of nodding off, as opposed to squatting by my child's bed, scared to leave the room in case she cries (side note: sometimes a good cry can be cathartic for me and sometimes a good cry can be cathartic for my kids and sometimes a good time for that cry is when their mind's buzzing so much that they can't get to sleep. Which doesn't mean stomping off and leaving them to cry it out - just that you don't have to completely freak out if there are tears at bedtime; they may actually be kind of helpful).

I recognise that those periods when bedtimes and night wakings and wake up times and naps all completely change, all at once, are actually periods of progress, rather than a carefully masterminded plot to break me. I know my youngest's wake ups and naps have suddenly become earlier (painfully earlier) because she's started going to sleep at her designated bedtime, and that it's no coincidence that her overnight sleep's been better this past week, too - I know that this is her body clock shifting out of "I wake up at half past seven and everything is set by that" to "I go to sleep at half past seven and everything is set by that". Which is good. Kind of. And doesn't mean I need to go on Amazon at 3am and order every book with the words "gentle" and "sleep" in its description.

But just because it's easier this time doesn't mean it's easy.

So I'm going to keep whispering "That means you, children" to myself every evening as I switch my phone to silent.

Some Changes At The Start Of The Year

Toppled toy

Well, I'm back at this URL, for a start. Turns out I missed it. So: hi. Hope you didn't all remove it from your feed readers when I said I was going elsewhere!

Anyway, it's the start of the year (did you know?), and I was trying to explain to my three year old what that means - why it matters that we've stopped writing an eight and started writing a nine and why she really should agree to take down the calendar which expired five days ago even if it is now covered in stickers and scribbles.

The best answer I've got is that it's a good time to think about what makes you happiest in life and what you would like to do more of. Which, I guess, despite my ongoing dismissal of resolutions, is just a fashionably mindful/grateful/positive way of going about making resolutions.

As it happens, I've been a bit frazzled recently for fairly standard lack of sleep/excess of Instagram/audible neighbours reasons; in the midst of irrational crying fits, I've realised I need to make a few changes to my mindset and my habits to counter that.

Meanwhile, there have been Big Things happening around me (most of which, I'm afraid, aren't my stories to share) and that's meant a few changes around here and a bit of weighing up my priorities.

All of which is a very big preamble for a very little list.

Some Things Which Have Changed In My Life Recently


Yes, I just wrote "self-care". I could either embrace the cliche or I could try to fool you into thinking I was original by calling it something else. But it's self-care really.

Self-care, for me, means going to my book group roughly every six weeks, going to the cinema with a friend roughly once a month, ignoring my deeply ingrained (and thus far unfounded) fear of rejection and asking if friends fancy a hot drink and a yap, and keeping up with my photo a day project.

Self-care, for me, also means reading a lot of books but - between tricky bedtimes, an intimidatingly large backlog of box sets, and the existence of the internet - I haven't been making enough time for that. So I have designated three evenings a week as Reading Nights (/Steve's hobby nights). One week in, I feel calmer already.

I've also started to actually use my Goodreads account because: is it proper relaxation if you aren't obsessively tracking it in some way?!

No More Nursery

My three year old stopped going to nursery at the end of November. We thought she might just be needing a short break, but the longer she's away from it the more determined she is not to return - and the entire family is happier as a result.

I can't really go into her reasons, but suffice it to say: I think she's made the right decision. I've had to be very careful with myself about this - I prefer her being at home; I prefer life not be dictated by her nursery timetable; I prefer getting to do arts and crafts with her; I prefer having my calm, happy child back; I needed to be very clear that I was letting her make this decision and that I wasn't trying to push her into it in any way.

But she has made the decision herself.

And it's quite exciting, getting to come up with a whole new rhythm for our weeks together.

Our Home

Over the summer, we got new neighbours in the rental flat downstairs. They're nice but they're just that tiny bit too audible, and we're not enjoying having to listen to their TV every evening.

We also hate trying to get the kids to keep the noise down. One year olds and three year olds should not have to worry about being too loud or too excited or too energetic.

So we have given a lot of thought to moving.

It would be tricky right now - the market around here is in a big slump; we know people whose lovely homes have been for sale for over a year without a single viewing - but if we could sell, we could scrape together just enough to buy a detached house. A very small detached house. Smaller than our current enormous flat. With much higher council tax. And in a blander, less convenient area. Small, expensive, bland and inconvenient - BUT WITH NO ADJOINING NEIGHBOURS. We've been sorely tempted to try.

But, before we spend a lot of money on something our hearts aren't truly in, we're spending lot of money on very, very, very thick underlay instead. We're going to try solving the problem before we run away from it.

We're also throwing a bit of cash at sorting out the things which really do need sorted out, regardless of whether we stay or go. I want to learn to love living in our beautiful home again.

Which Brings Me To: The Garden

One of the things we're chucking money at sorting out. The flowerbeds have become so overgrown with dandelions and couch grass and willow herb and misc. other weeds that we've admitted defeat: we've lost the battle; we can't salvage what's already there.

We don't have the time or the will to dig it all out ourselves, so we've got a gardener coming round next week to haul everything out and bung in a load of fresh top soil. And I am so, so, so, so, so excited (totally needs teenage diary levels of "so", plus three or four underlines and some doodled stars) about choosing a ton of new bulbs and perennials and starting our garden afresh. Gone will be the tasteful but boring plants our predecessors chose, and in will go a garish riot of colour (don't tell Steve).


  • My first wisdom tooth popped through on Christmas Eve. I can now vouch for teething being 100% a real thing. So. Much. Pain.
  • My one year old got her first molar the same week and my three year old's first adult molars are making their presence felt. Steve's mouth has never looked so smug.
  • My three year old has started listing three happy things at the end of every day. It's mostly a way of postponing putting on her pyjamas, but I'm glad she's learning to practise positive thinking so early on.
  • And we've started doing the milk ladder with our one year old (despite not having heard from any professionals about her allergies yet). We can now confirm: she can eat Digestive biscuits without any adverse reaction. She can also ram her fingers into her sister's yoghurt pot and have a good suck of them without anything terrible happening, so we're feeling pretty optimistic - cross your fingers, please!
  • Oh, and I turned 40 last month, which sounded significant but didn't feel it at all.

So that's what's new with us right now. What's going on with you?