When The Wind Blows

photo from middle-fork.org

My 3-year-old woke me up at 12:30 this morning in need of a drink.

Once she was settled back in, I could not sleep for another hour because the winds outside rattled our house and I was transported back to my childhood in Iowa and the tornadoes and warnings which often accompanied such strong winds.

The incessant barking of a dog somehow brought a sense of fear and foreboding that I could not shake as I lay there in bed, listening. I knew that the only way to dispel the feeling was to prove to myself that it was self-induced.

I rolled out of bed and walked to the window. Parting the blinds, I investigated the skies. No greenish-gray clouds, no swirling storm, no pelting hail. All was well.

I tiptoed to the rooms of my children, peeking in at their sleeping bodies for assurance that they were safe. They slept soundly, oblivious to the winds which kept me awake.

I peered out the front window, watching as trash cans toppled, leaves swirled past and trees bent with each gust of wind as it forcefully blew by. Powerful, yes. But nothing to be concerned about.

There was only one thing left to do. I climbed back into the warmth of my bed, positioned my pillows the way I like best and pulled the comforter up over my ears.

Eventually my heart stopped pounding and this muted version of the storm became my friend as it lulled me back to sleep.

Quality Time

First off, for some reason I feel like I need to explain that I do not have any favorite kids.

Okay, actually, that is a lie.

The truth is that different kids are my favorite at different times for different reasons. But it sure seems as if I write an awful lot about Hubba on here. This is because he is the oldest of the kids I spend all day with and the brains behind all of their shenanigans.

That said, here is another Hubba story for today.

Yesterday I was on the computer all morning. Hubba does not like days like this because he is a computer addict. Nearly every 5 minutes he would ask me, "Can I play on Lego dot com?" I kept telling him that he'd have to wait. He even resorted to asking, "Can I play on Starfall dot com? It's edja-k-shunal..." And then after a while he switched to, "Would you watch a movie with me mom? Pleeeeeeeeease?"

I started to feel bad. The poor kid just wanted to spend some time with me. So I consented. I asked which movie he'd like to watch and he chose the one movie we had gotten for the older kids. "Seriously, Hubba? We could watch Thomas or UP," I told him.

"No, let's watch the big kid movie. It's a good movie."

So, Hubba, Curly, Little O and I snuggled under blankets and started to watch. About 5 minutes into it Hubba asked me, "Do you like this movie, mom?" I told him it was good but I needed to get something in the kitchen. Usually I can get the kids preoccupied and go back to what I was working on, but no such luck today. "Pleeeeeease watch the movie with us, Mom?"

We settled in. About 15 minutes into it, I was enjoying the movie. Hubba asked again, "Do you like this movie, Mom?"

"Yes," I answered. "It's very good. Do you like it?"

"Yeah," he responded. "But I already watched it before. Can I go play the computer now?"

Can you believe that the entire watch-a-movie-with-me thing was a ploy? This boy has the most devious little mind!




And I like it.

Running

photo from ehow.com

You have a choice. You can throw in the towel, or you can use it to wipe the sweat off of your face. -Gatorade

Field trip!

I'm writing at Four Perspectives today.

Run on over and join me, won't you?

That's About The Size Of It

photo from everydayhero.com

I finally went running again (and I use that term loosely), just a couple of days ago at the indoor track of our local university. As was expected, I was feeling a bit rusty from nearly 3 months of inactivity. However, I was able to shuffle along for two full laps before I had to slow down, breathless, to a walk.

I continued this way with a walk/jog pattern for quite awhile before a lady commented to me in passing, "I can't believe I keep lapping you - you're so thin!"

Oh, yes, the common misconception. The fallacy I've dealt with my entire life: Skinny people are athletic, in great shape and SO lucky.

I am the polar opposite of overweight people. I can not gain weight; I have tried throughout my life. At the age of 14 (and on doctor's orders) I drank malteds every day for weeks and did not gain a pound. As a high school senior trying to gain weight so I could fit into a homecoming dress without shopping in the little girl's section. I ate a dozen donuts a day for 3 days and then gave up when I lost 2 pounds. I guess what I am trying to say in some roundabout way is that people shouldn't have a bias against ANY kind of people and I totally feel a connection with others I know who are struggling with weight issues.

This brief interaction with some lady I didn't know reminded me of a blog post I read awhile ago where a friend talks about how difficult it was for her to start going to a gym because she's overweight. One of the comments she received said something about "stupid skinny people" at gyms and it really, really bothered me. It even bothered me that it bothered me, but you know what? I don't like labels. Or ignorance. It got to a point where I finally composed a response to her comment and posted it on my private blog just to make myself feel better.

Well, one of my goals for this year is to put myself out there some, to not hide behind the sunshine and roses that I usually write about. So... (*deep breath*) you want to read it? I'll admit that I did edit some of it out but the heart of it is still there.

Dear Commenter A.R.,

First off, you’re awesome for making time to get to the gym. I can never seem to prioritize well enough to get around to it. I am so out-of-shape it’s not even funny. I need to get serious about my health.

On to my purpose here. It made me a little sad, and a little frustrated when I read your comment which repeatedly referred to thin people who exercise as 'stupid skinny people'.

So, here it goes: We’re not all stupid. Even us skinny people have issues. I am probably more out of shape than most of the people you see in a day and I have struggled my entire life with being UNDER weight. (I know, poor me, being too skinny. I get that all the time, it’s why I don’t usually say anything.)

I am what most people would call a skinny person and I can’t help but wonder how nice it would be to find a top that fits – even sort of – in the WOMEN’S section. I am darn near close to 40 years old and I have never been able to shop in the Women’s clothing section. Does that make me less of a woman? Size-wise, I guess you could say YES. I don’t like shopping in the junior’s section because I look like one of those ladies who is still living in the past and can’t accept that she’s an adult now and needs to dress like one. I choose to not wear shorts or capri pants because I can’t stand all of the comments I get on my “chicken legs”. And that is just scratching the surface in the clothing department.

Any time I bring up the fact that I need to start exercising I get a few eye rolls along with comments about how I just need to eat more. No one wants to exercise with me because I’m skinny. How do you think that feels? I could go on and on, but I won’t.

You hate being overweight? Being skinny isn’t exactly a walk in the park, either. We all have our issues. Let’s just treat each other as equals and look beyond size. Please?

I'll tell you what... if you don’t call me stupid, I won’t call you ignorant.

-Gerb

That pretty much sums it up for me. My point of view is definitely not typical, but it is what it is. How about we all just look at each other as human beings? Even better, as children of God?

Okay, I'm done. Thanks for tolerating my little rant.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go get my running shoes on.

People Are People

This is what people see when they approach the back of our vehicle. My brother-in-law sells these stickers and put them on there for us. I'll admit that I used to be a part of the group who thought they were... I don't know, braggy? Ultra-mormon? But now I LOVE them. Mostly because they make for some interesting parking lot conversations and encounters on the road.

Almost every person who sees these stickers proclaiming that 2 parents have 9 children wants to see the person who is driving. They'll speed up, look at me (or Allen) and then slow back down or zip on by. I've become accustomed to this and will often wave or even offer a friendly salute - only because I know it makes them feel a bit awkward that I'm on to them... and I'm all about getting people out of their comfort zones. In the summer I even like to have the kids roll down their windows and we bust some amazing synchronized dance moves or head bangin' as other vehicles pass, gawking.

A few times, I have been surprised. Once a man matched my speed on the freeway (pet peeve) until I looked over at his vehicle so that he could hold up 9 fingers followed by a finger pointing at me and a questioning look. I offered a thumbs-up with a quick head-nod before he sped off, smiling and shaking his head.

On our recent trip home from California an equally large vehicle, also filled to capacity with a whole passel of kids, pulled alongside us. The driver gave Allen a generous smile and a double-thumbs-up and then sped off.

Just about every time I walk out of a StuffMart or grocery store there is someone standing behind my vehicle, counting stickers. When they realize it is my car, the counters will either ask where I got the stickers or if I really have 9 kids. Not because they honestly care to know, but because they feel as if they have to say something.

Once I even caught a girl taking a picture of the back window with her phone. I pretended to walk past, then stopped and said, "That's a LOT of people on that window!"

"Yeah," she said, "I'm totally going to post this on my blog. Can you believe it?! How do they fit all those kids in there?"

"Well," I told her, "we have a custom seat for 3 in the cargo area and we don't often travel all together so it actually works out really well."

Her eyes widened just slightly before she said, "I was just kidding about putting the picture on my blog."

"It's okay," I told her. "I was planning to do the same thing myself."

And look... I did.

Regarding Laundromats

Because our clothes dryer's motor decided to make a dramatic exit the week of Christmas, (Dear Dryer, Nice timing, jerk. Sincerely, Gerb) I have recently become well acquainted with our local laundromats. It had been well over 16 years since I had the opportunity of laundering my family's clothing surrounded by strangers and I wasn't sure of where to go.

The first place I tried was like being in a foreign country right within a couple of miles of home. To summarize, I had children getting into my purse, eating my snacks and rummaging through my baskets while their parents sat nearby giving me threatening looks. When I went out to my car to lock my personal items in the trunk, I returned to find the mother of the previously mentioned children going through my clothes in the washing machines. (I promise you, I am not making this stuff up.) When I tried to ask the kids to stop or their mother to explain what in the world she thought she was doing, I was met with blank stares. The joke was on me... no one there spoke English. Needless to say, I did not return to this location.

My next attempt was in a place equally close to home but in a different direction. This place was definitely an improvement but it had the feel of a cowboy bar in the backwoods somewhere with a distinctive smell of chewing tobacco and some twangy music playing overhead... and me without my iPod. I firmly believe that I endured some sort of torture, having nothing to listen to except for the drone of washers and dryers along with sad songs about beer, trucks and boots. A homeless man wandered in, set his knapsack and bedding beneath a bench in the corner and checked all of the vending machines for forgotten change before locking himself in the bathroom for the remainder of the time I was there. I decided not to return here, either.

Allen suggested I try the place we frequented as college students way-back-when. I was skeptical about the location still being a laundromat but I was happy to give it a shot. As I approached the building I noticed that everything around it had changed but the laundromat was still there. Suffice it to say that this is the place I have returned to every time since. Clean facilities, new machines, wireless internet and a comfortable atmosphere made it worth the extra drive.

There are some things to be said for laundromats in general.

First of all, it is awesome to get 8 loads of laundry done in a two-hour time span. It is also fun to people-watch and enjoy some treats all to myself (except at that first place) as the washloads are running. I'm sure it must have saved us some money on our gas and water bill for the last few weeks as well.

However...

It is no fun to load up the clothing and linens of 11 people and cart it into a self-serve laundry, basket by basket. There is also nothing glamorous about folding that amount of laundry in a short amount of time, keeping track of which dryers hold your items, or trying to hide your unmentionables from the people who surround you.

In the end it all comes down to this:

I'm definitely going to appreciate having a working dryer at home again.

Bigger Is Not Always Better

My 5-year-old, Hubba, has been a train-lover for as long as I can remember. This last Christmas he got an amazing train layout for someone his age, complete with bridges, a crane station, sound effects and a remote control with forward and reverse action. Every time we set it up on the kitchen table he is glued to it for hours on end, re-building the layout of the track and watching the engine chug uphill with random items placed in the freight cars it pulls from behind. There is only one problem with this little slice of train heaven and that is his 20-month-old brother, O.

Have you ever seen the movie Lilo and Stitch? Remember how Stitch can not stand to be still? How he goes crazy when he is not destroying something? That would be O. When Hubba's trains are out O's main objective is to discover a way to get onto the table and maniacally throw train pieces to the floor.

A few days back, this was the struggle I was dealing with. Frantic screams of Mom, he's getting on the table!! from Hubba were becoming draining. I was trying to organize my kitchen cupboards and somewhere around the 4th plea to remove O from the table I found my solution: a tiny wind-up train with a small, circular track which I had purchased for a quarter at a secondhand store last summer. The original plan was to place it on Hubba's birthday cake last October but it had been forgotten in the back of the cupboard.

I placed the small track on one side of the table and while winding the train told O, "This is your train. That is Hubba's train. Okay?" and then set the wind-up engine down on the track. He squealed with delight as the train made its way around the tiny circle and was fascinated by this new distraction. Perfect.

As I got back to organizing O let out a frustrated cry. I turned to see Hubba playing with O's little train. "I want this train," he told me. "Sure," I answered, feeling clever, "then O can just have your train set. Okay?"

"Okay," he replied, winding the cheap train and watching it circle the minuscule track.

"Hubba," I reasoned, "you want to give O your big train set with the bridges and remote controller?"

"Yeah," he answered, winding the dime-store train again, "he can have it."

Don't you hate when they call your bluff?

The whole thing brought this comparison to mind: how often do we have something that is wonderful and amazing only to see that someone else has something we don't have... and then our focus changes. Suddenly what we have is not good enough and we want something else; something we don't have and think that we want or even need. When this happens it can be difficult to recognize and appreciate how happy we really already are.

I'm not only talking about possessions like gadgets and cars and houses and stuff, but about things like people and happiness and time and silence... and the list goes on and on. Why is it so easy to get in that mindset of the-grass-is-always-greener-somewhere-else and so difficult to see what amazing things and blessings we DO have and to just be thankful?

I can't even begin to count how many times in my own life I have found myself looking at another person's things, their place in life, even something as simple as the number of comments on their blog (you know it's true... they're like blog-applause!) and wishing that that were me. I realize that I need to stop recognizing the things I don't have and start counting my blessings instead. THAT is where true happiness lies.

I think that the idea I am trying to express is well defined in a quote by Epictetus:

He is a wise man who does not grieve
for the things which he has not,
but rejoices for those which he has.

Still, try explaining that whole concept to a 5-year-old...

Train Trouble

Have you ever wanted something you didn't have?

(I'm not sure if anyone could honestly answer no to that.)

Hubba thought he had the best train set on this planet until...




What?

You want to read the rest of the story?

I hear that the grass is much greener over at Four Perspectives today.

Click on over to see how everything worked out.

Donut Dilemma

Many mornings I choose to forgo a shower simply because I never know what will happen with my littlest 3 munchkins when they have the house to themselves. However, this morning Little O was still in bed and Curly and Hubba seemed preoccupied with Legos so I decided to go for it. I locked the special 'Hubba lock' we installed on the door (even though he's got it all figured out) and went for the shower.

When I stepped out of the shower I almost immediately noticed something was wrong... it was too quiet. If you've ever been around toddlers then you know that silence = trouble. I called for Hubba and Curly but they would not respond. I checked the doors; all were still locked. At least that was a good sign. Then I walked into the kitchen and saw this:
Those little hooligans had gotten into the chocolate waxy donuts and EATEN EVERY ONE! I opened the box of crumb donuts... one left. Little O, who was now awake, held his chubby hand out to me, gave me a cheesy grin and said, "Me?" I can't resist my Little O, so I handed it over. I sighed. Those boxes were still at least half full! But alas, no donuts left for me. Such is life. I reminded myself that I don't really like those boxed donuts anyway and called for Curly and Hubba again. This time they came bounding up the stairs.

"What, Mom?" Hubba asked innocently, arriving first.

"What happened to my donuts?" I asked. "Did you guys eat them all?"

"Nope," he told me.

Curly came up the stairs behind him. Looking like this:

GUILTY!

"Curly, did you eat all the donuts?"

(guilty look) "Nuh-uh."

"Curly, are you telling me the truth? You didn't eat all the donuts?"

(She looks at Hubba, the ring-leader. He shakes his head no.) "Nuh-uh."

"Hubba," I ask, pointing. "What is that on Curly's mouth?"

"Chock-a-lick donuts," he answers me, confidently.

"And you're telling me that you guys didn't eat all the donuts?"

"Nope. We din-it eat them all... there's one crumb donut still. Go look in the box."

I had to turn my back so they wouldn't see me smiling over the pure genius of their devious little plan. And then Hubba had the gall to ask, "Can I have that last donut?"

I am raising rascals.

He Will Always Be Life In The Snow

What in the world does this picture of Allen have to do with this post? Wait for it...

Because I love music it pains me to hear lyrics which are sung incorrectly.

My oldest brother, Toby, will forever be etched in my memory as a destroyer of songs. Give him a perfectly good song and he can sing it in a way that you never dreamed possible.

I pleaded and reasoned with him numerous times but I could never get him to sing the lyrics the right way. Why? Because he was right, of course, being the oldest brother. This was in the days before internet, before looking up song lyrics with the click of a button. It was a case of his-word-against-mine and he wasn't one to admit defeat easily.

One lyric that he was adamant about was: "Every Time You Go Away, you take a piece of meat with you."

Huh?

"Toby," I would rationalize, "why would someone take a piece of meat with them every time they go away? It just doesn't make sense. The lyric is 'take a piece of ME with you.'"

Then he would come back with, "What does that mean? Take a piece of the guy with her? So, is she like an axe murderer or something? Is this a song about dismemberment?"

Which, actually, I'll have to admit he's got a point with that one. But meat? No.

And don't even get me started on his rendition of Groove Tonight. Did anyone else think they said, 'stethoscope' instead of 'let this groove'? What does a stethoscope have to do with getting your groove on?

One day when I was singing Losing My Religion Toby would not stop laughing. "What is so funny?" I finally asked, annoyed. So he sang back to me what he thought I was singing: "Let's pee in the corner... let's pee in the spotlight..." I just told him that one was right so he could sing it that way around his friends. I mean, who am I to tell my older brother that he's wrong?

It could be that it just runs in the family. My dad always requested that we play Madonna's Material Girl. We eventually figured out that by reading our lips as we sang along he thought we were singing about his favorite cereal and that Madonna was professing "I'm a Cheerio girl".

One of my favorites, though, has to be the misunderstood lyric that I caught my own husband singing. You know the song Endless Love? (If you click on that link please make a game of counting the grammatical atrocities in the video.) One day it began to play over the car radio and, as is standard, we were singing along. At the end of the chorus when it says, "You will always be...my endless love," I heard him sing "you will always be...life in the snow." "Life in the snow?" I asked. "Yeah, that's what they say. Life in the snow." I put that in context for him, reminded him of the title to the song and he immediately realized his error. You know what the best part is? That song's been around forEVER and that's how he always sang it. I can't help but remind him of that every so often. Life in the snow! (giggle)

Anyway, I know it's not only my family; I think misunderstood lyrics are as common as sliced bread. And one thing's for sure... as long as songs exist, there will continue to be people who annihilate the lyrics.

And I will be here to correct them.

You've Got Mail

photo from flickr.com

I have always loved getting mail. One of my earliest memories is of a card I got in the mail for my 2nd birthday. It was from my Grandma and Grandpa Royce and it included a dollar bill with a note telling me that I should have daddy take me to buy any kind of ice cream that I wanted. I'm not sure if this was the beginning of my love affair with mail but there are many times since that I have waited longingly for the mail to arrive.

When I was a teenager it always made my day to receive letters from my cousin in Sacramento or my friends in Washington or Montana. To increase my chances of receiving mail I wrote numerous letters to others in hopes that they would be reciprocated. Each letter I have ever sent has felt like a gift - a part of myself. Each envelope contained news of my life, my thoughts, feelings and ideas - on paper which I meticulously decorated with a treasured set of markers stored in a bright yellow box. As I would add the stamp to each letter and send it off from the blue mailbox on the corner there was a sense of excitement in knowing that a small part of myself would be traveling to these places so many miles away... and receiving a letter was always equally as thrilling.

The only thing that can even compare to the happiness of receiving a letter is the thrill of receiving a package. Can any words adequately describe the happy tummy-tickling feeling you get when a package arrives with your name on it?

I didn't think so.

When I receive a box or padded envelope in my mailbox or on my doorstep I can hardly contain myself - I am enveloped in that feeling of a child on Christmas morning and have to resist the urge to immediately tear into it and discover what treasure it contains. The best sort of package is the kind that arrives, unexpected, from a friend. It is like receiving a little piece of heaven at your door to discover that someone has not only been thinking of you but that they acted on it by putting together a package for you - just because.

Heaven, I say.

Not only do I get mail from the mailbox in my front yard these days, I have another mailbox I can check more often - the one on my computer. Because times have changed it is much more likely now that I will receive a treasured letter in my email inbox than one packaged in an envelope with a stamp in the corner. I often become excited when any length of time has passed since I have checked my email - simply the anticipation that there could be a message waiting there for me is exciting. I log in, watch as the computer uploads my information and quickly scan through my inbox for the treasures among the junk. When I see a friend's name on the left side of my screen, I play something of a game with myself. I make myself weed through all of the other mail first and then reward myself with the words of a dear friend when my task is complete.

Regardless of how it gets here or what form it takes, mail is something that always has - and always will - make me smile.

I. Love. Mail.

You've Got Mail

I LOVE this cartoon from nataliedee.com

I have always loved mail. You'll notice I use the word love there, and not just like.

I'm talking about being a kid who would lay (or is it lie?) by the front door in the afternoon, waiting for the mail slot to open and letters to fall to the floor.

I'm saying I was a teenager who watched in anticipation from the balcony of our apartment for Fred, our mailman to arrive. Yes, we were on a first-name basis. He called me 'Miss Ga-berta', as in, "Miss Ga-berta, are you feelin' lucky today, young lady?" Then he'd root around in his sack and proclaim, "I have in my hand one bona-fide letter addressed to none other than you, yourself! Shall we celebrate?" And then he'd sing, "I got sunshiiiiiiiine, on a cloudy day! When it's cold outsiiiiiide, I got a letter for you today!" Man, do I miss that guy.

(side note: Fred = best mailman, ever.)

I'm telling you that when I moved 3 states away from home I planned my work schedule around the time the mail would arrive so that I could get to it before any of my roommates. Psychotic? Maybe. But the truth of it is just that...

I. Love. Mail.

Want to read more about it? I thought you'd never ask.

Please join me at Four Perspectives today. You can think of it as a letter from me to you.

The Power Of Like

"Mom, WAKE up!" Curly pleaded with me repeatedly the other morning.

She continued to speak to me in her cute little 3-year-old voice as I continued to pretend I was still asleep, hoping she would let me snooze just a bit longer.

"It is DAY so it's time to waked UP, Mom!" she tried reasoning with me.

I groaned and rolled to face her. "Why do you want me to wake up, Curly? Why can't I just sleep a bit longer?"

"P-cuz I like you, Mom," she answered. How adorable is that?!

I smiled, dragged myself out of the bed and jumped to my feet in front of her with my arms stretched high above my head. "I'm UP!" I proclaimed with an expression of joy which was nothing close to what I felt. And that is where she discovered the power in liking me.

Since then, she has used it as her reasoning for every other thing she does. "I'm following you p-cuz I like you," she told me with a smile as she shadowed me throughout the day. When it came time for dinner, she insisted on the seat beside mine. "I want to sit by Mom p-cuz I like her!" she scolded Hubba. He moved.


I wonder if this would work for me like it's been working for her?


(picture me at a Godiva Chocolatier...)

Godiva Lady: How can I help you?

Me: I'd like 5 pounds of your finest milk chocolate covered nuts, please. For free.

Godiva Lady: Huh?

Me: (smiling sweetly) P-cuz I like you.

Godiva Lady: (pushes the button under the counter to summon security)


Okay, maybe not. But it sure is cute when Curly says it.


I'm certain she's going to grow out of this stage in a blink... but for now, I'm going to enjoy it.

P-cuz it sure is nice to be liked.

Life Is A Highway

Yesterday we made the long trip back home from our annual visit to sunny southern California. As we drove and the scenery changed from the Joshua Trees of the high desert to the bright lights of Las Vegas; from the crimson cliffs of southern Utah to the snow-covered mountains closer to home, I realized that these road trips are a lot like life.

Sometimes the roads are free and clear with no obstacles or distractions, but other times we get mired in traffic and chaos and we have to make a choice. We can patient and wait until we pass through it all or we can become angry and frustrated about the surrounding chaos - even though it is something beyond our control.

Often we will notice that the traffic is stopped on the other side of the road. This makes us thankful that we are traveling in a different direction just then.

There are times where we may become lost and unsure of where to go. We can choose to stop and ask for directions or try to make our own path to our destination but either way we are usually able to eventually get to where we are going. Some paths are more difficult to travel but offer a much better view while other times the road will be easy to navigate.

We may encounter ground-shaking storms or patches of ice which require us to slow down for a bit or maybe even to stop altogether in search of shelter. Other times we will enjoy perfect weather; sunshine with just enough cloud-cover to offer warmth and protection at the same time and road conditions which are near perfect.

When we start to run out of gas it is an opportunity to pull over, stretch our weary bodies and fill up our tanks again. The road is always there, but we don't have to rush to get back to it; we can take our sweet time, take pictures, and resume our road-trip when we feel ready.

Some journeys are long and seem almost never-ending, other trips are much too short, but the excursion is always worthwhile for the people we meet, the experiences we gain, the memories we make and the beautiful scenery we take in along the way.

And regardless of the length of our drive or the things we encounter, the journey is all worth it when we reach our destination in the end.