Where Were You?

I was always the first up & at 'em in my house as a teenager. I got up at 6:00am every morning to get the first shower. I wanted the hot water. I was willing to sacrifice a little sleep for a hot, hot shower. And, in typical teenager fashion, I spent an hour & a half getting primped & ready for school. The kicker was having to take gym my senior year because I kept putting it off. Genius move.

This morning was no different. I got up & got ready. My mom was up early getting her bags packed because she was heading to Washington D.C. to meet with Diane Feinstein. #namedrop I remember the sunlight streaming in from my parents' sliding glass door in their bedroom. It was a sunny, California morning. Typically, one of the tvs was on in the house, but this morning, it was quiet in the house. Then the phone rang. It was my Grandaddy. "Where's Susan?" "She's getting ready to go to D.C. Why?" "Turn on the news." 

I remember the next few minutes like it happened this morning. Time stood still. We stood with our jaws on the floor, feeling such pity for the poor pilot who accidentally hit Tower #1. How could this have happened? It was a beautiful, clear, cloudless sky. Then, we watched, as if in slow motion, as the next plane slammed into the second tower. The weight of what had happened hit my body & I sunk to the bed. We were under attack. Our country, America, the super power, was under terrorist attack. It was one of the first times I ever felt scared of living here. We lived in a town an hour from any major cities, so we were relatively safe, but the thought that we were no longer safe was terrifying. Then we watched people, scared out of their minds, jumping. It was one of the worst things I have ever seen. I will never forget the tears streaming down my face, as these helpless people had to make the choice to burn or jump. How do you make that choice?

I don't know how I made it to school that day. The gravity of what was happening was overwhelming. My mom cannot get anywhere on time to save her life. An ironic statement because she could have been on a plane, at the airport or in D.C. if anything had changed that day. I sat in class & cried. We all did. It was weird, creepy, terrifying. Why we had school that day is beyond me. Most of our classes were spent watching the Pentagon get hit, & just waiting for L.A. to get hit because that was what was being reported. We were next.

The days following were a whirlwind. Clean-up began. You know. You watched it. In disbelief. In fear. Then GW stepped up & vowed to make them pay. And we stood together as a country, broken-hearted, ready to avenge these deaths, avenge the terror that we now felt.

Every year is a sobering reminder that we aren't invincible. Every year since is a privilege & honor to still call America our home.

Never forget. United we stand.

Where were you? I know you remember. It's like our parents remembering where they were when JFK was shot. We'll never forget the moment our bubble was popped.

a.

The Terrible, Awful, No Good Year

It's a cold, fall-like day here in Northern Colorado. This has been one of the most mild summers I've ever seen here, and it's been lovely. I didn't use the nice weather to my advantage so much this summer, but oh well. We can try again next year. With fall peaking around the corner, I cling to the hope that with the changing of the seasons, this proverbial season will change to.

This year has kicked my butt. One year ago tomorrow, my world fell apart as we sat in a cold, sterile emergency room awaiting results of an ultrasound, to which we already knew the outcome. A year ago. And you know what? I'm pretty pissed that I sit here a year later & not too much has changed. You see, I never wanted my kids to be more than 3 years apart MAX. I don't like that they won't be in high school together. I don't like that Maddie will struggle really hard with adjusting to a new sibling because she'll be almost 4. I don't like that my plan was ripped to shreds. I have a color-coordinated planner, dangit. There is not a color for unplanned detours.

The rumpus-kicking continued in April when I found I was pregnant, which should have been a joyous occasion, but I have learned that my uterus isn't as fond of this event as I'd like it to be. A week later, the pregnancy ended. I, then, watched my father-in-law get gravely ill, and battle a terrible pancreatitis attack. He was in the hospital for a couple weeks, and I did my best to get there everyday to see him and my mother-in-law. While he did recover, it was so upsetting and scary to watch. In the midst of that, we had more tests and doctors appointments to figure out what the hell was wrong with my body.

Along comes June. I start to have some weird issues in my legs, so I go see the doctor. To make this very long story short, about 2 months later of seeing neurologists and having MRIs, it's anxiety. Duh. In between MRIs, trips to Indiana to see family, & family members in the hospital, along comes chemical pregnancy #4...the week I am supposed to start fertility treatments. Can you say Xanax?

So, you can imagine how out of whack, hormonal, emotional, on edge, & generally ANXIOUS I've been feeling. And that's just what hit me: anxiety. In a major, ugly way. You see, I struggled with anxiety attacks (thank you genetic family history) from the time I was 17, and took anti-anxiety medication. I had been off of them for 2 years, & was doing fabulously. Hadn't had an anxiety attack in years. And bam! I am having them everyday. When they started to get bad just after the FOURTH chemical pregnancy, I texted my sister-in-law and told her that I was "just fine. It's been 2 days. I need to move on & get over it." Way to give yourself some grace, sister. 

Shortly after this poop storm of emotion, I get a hysterical call from the same sister-in-law, that my brother-in-law had had a gran mal seizure & drove his car into a building. Aaaaand, downward spiral.

Again, to truncate my long-windedness, no one but my husband, my mom, & my mother-in-law had any idea that I was in a sweaty-palmed, anxiety-ridden nightmare every single day for weeks before I threw in the towel & decided to get help. I was petrified to admit it. I felt weak, stupid, worthless, ashamed, embarrassed, vulnerable, etc. Everything you can think of, I felt it & believed it about myself. It took me a month to admit it to my 2 closest girlfriends in the world. I was so ashamed. They have it altogether, you see. And this proved that I wasn't good enough to be their friend because I was a psychopath, hot mess who had anxiety attacks that I couldn't control. I had shut myself off to the world. I didn't go out much unless I was with my husband or my mother-in-law. I was afraid and ashamed.

Seven weeks later, I'm doing better. Not great, but better. A wise person told me a few weeks ago that it is freeing to share this with people because this is part of my testimony that God will use. Right now, I can't see the forest for the trees. I can't see good in this.

BUT, I had another kind of tookus-kicking the other day:

Now, I obviously don't hate my life. This year has been a doozy, but I don't hate it. A lot of good has happened in this year, but it has wiped me out more than any other year. But slap me upside my head if this image didn't put life into perspective for me. Anxiety is the pits. You feel scared, overwhelmed, SWEATY, anxious, weepy & so ashamed almost all day long. Your only relief is when you're sleeping. But there is help for it. And that's where I can be grateful. I still slept in my cushy bed every night, watching tv with my husband. I still had clean, running water. I still had every luxury I needed at any second of the day.  

Maybe there isn't a pretty resolution to this, but that's because the story isn't over yet. Maybe I'll have resolution; maybe I won't. Or maybe the whole point of this was so that I share who I really am, all my flaws out there like a big, red zit on the end of my nose, so that someone else will know they aren't alone & they are just as crazy normal as the rest of us.

xoxo,

a.

Granny

This gloomy, rainy, sad day is perfectly fitting for what today marked. Today, my Granny passed away. I got word that she was gone, & minutes later, the sky got dark & the rain began to beat down. While heaven may be rejoicing that she's finally home, the world lost one of the greatest people ever to grace it with her presence. Granny was a one-of-a-kind, gentle, tender, darling, Pollyanna, & her void is felt greatly by friends & family who desperately loved her.

As a kid, we lived thousands of mile away from each other, but I never doubted that Granny adored my sister & I as much as the cousins who were close to her. She loved hearing from us, filling her in on the details of school & church, & making plans for our next visit. Some of my best memories were spent in Nashville during the sticky, humid summers. Granny made Nashville for me. It's Southern charm & hospitality have won me over, & I hope to move there someday, but I truly believe that what made me love it so much was Granny.

As we got to Granny's house, we'd walk up the stairs from the garage into the hallway, turning into our room with 2 twin beds, both decorated with matching red-flowered bedspreads. My sister & I spent many afternoons "playing office" at the desk with an assortment of pens & paper leftover from Grandaddy's work. At night, Granny would tuck each of us in, making sure the light was on in the closet next to us. She would kiss us goodnight, walk to the doorway, &, with a beaming smile on her face, would say, "Remember, if you need anything, just yell Graaaaaannnyyyyy!"

In the morning, after being awoken several times during the night by the sound of the train just on the other side of their property, the sunlight would come streaming into our bedroom, & we'd tiptoe down the hallway, through the living room, to a sliding door that closed off the kitchen. Before you opened it, pausing just in front of the door, you could hear the bustle on the other side: laundry running, the muffled tv, the crinkling of a newspaper, & the ding of the toaster oven. Upon opening the door, you were greeted with a "Good morning, suga'!" from Grandaddy & then a squeeze & a kiss from Granny. She'd get us settled into a chair & make us an English muffin with peanut butter & jelly, which to this day, I still love.

After breakfast came my favorite part of every Nashville visit. Granny would get dressed in one of her many polyester jumpsuits, & make her way into the dining room where the sunlight came pouring in through the wall-length windows. She'd smile & say that she needed lots of light to "draw her eyebrows on." I'd watch her slowly & methodically, apply each item of makeup in her case. She'd finish it up with her bright pink Revlon lipstick, & spritz herself with Red Door by Elizabeth Arden. It is probably my favorite smell in this entire world. I bought a small purse size bottle of Red Door about a year ago to keep with  me. I keep it in my bathroom drawer, & pull it out when I am missing her. I pulled it out today after I heard the sad news, & have been wearing it to feel her close. Once Granny had her eyebrows on, the sponge curlers had been pulled out, her hair had been perfectly teased & sprayed with half a bottle of Aquanet, we were ready to head out for shopping. It was always shopping. She was good at it. We'd pick a few outfits, Mom would tell us to pick our favorite, & Granny would insist that we get them all...just as long as we didn't tell Grandaddy. We'd hop in the giant Mercury & head out to the next store, all the while rifling through Granny's "pocketbook" for peanut butter candies & orange crackers with peanut butter to tide us over before inevitably heading to Krystal's for lunch. Granny jabbered every second we were all together. She was always so "tickled" to have us there, squeezed us every second she could, & had a smile on her face every moment of everyday that we visited.

My mind is flooded with a million memories of Granny today: the way she would say "you all" instead of "y'all" because it was more dignified, the softness of her skin, the cornbread with herbs in it, the small bottles of Dr. Pepper that she carried wherever she went, the creaks in the house, the smell of her perfume, the way she'd call us her little darlins, the panty hose she wore everyday of her life, the way she'd unwrap Hostess packets for her poker team on the Friday nights that she had to "bake." I could go on & on about the little things that made Granny so special. She had the sweetest quirks - they made up this darling, wonderful, loving, kind-hearted, tiny woman who made a huge impact on the people in her life. She loved everyone, never met a stranger, & blessed every person's heart she ever encountered.

I miss my Granny very much tonight, but my heart is happy knowing that she is in heaven with Jesus tonight. She is in the arms of her Mama & Daddy, & her sweetheart tonight, & I know that's right where she wanted to be. Someday I'll see her again, & I know I'll be greeted with a  giant hug & a "Well, hey, suga'!"

Goodnight, Granny. You are leaving behind a huge hole, but I am so thankful for every single memory I have of you. I will see you again someday. All my love.

The Story of Our Third: Guest Post, Gloria

I am so excited to get to share another story with you that is not my own, but another Mama's story of love & loss. I love that people feel comfortable sharing their stories & want others to know that this is more common than we may have realized.

I met Gloria in high school. We were always friends, but never close. Gloria was our class genius, valedictorian. She was ALWAYS kind, always polite, always patient. Just a really sweet, genuine person. We graduated, I moved, she moved, but Facebook reunited us as friends. As I shared our story of grief & loss, emails & messages flooded my inbox with stories of loss from friends whom I had lost contact with, but who felt a safety in telling someone removed from their personal situation. Again, I'm honored to have been that person. Gloria was one of those who felt compelled to share with me, & then compelled to share with others. She shared her story on her new blog the other day, but I invite you to read her story here.

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2013, almost from the very beginning, has been such a monumental year for our family. So much has happened, yet I lacked the words or confidence to share our story until now. How do I publicly talk about something that is often kept a secret? So I started writing. Writing about my thoughts and struggles has helped me process all that has happened. 

When I had a miscarriage in January of 2013, I realized the story of this baby’s life on earth was over. No more unique pregnancy cravings, no feelings of somersaults or kicks, no gender reveal ultrasound…and the hardest part: no first embrace and kiss in the delivery room. I had only known I was pregnant for ten days, and already I had grown a mama’s sized heart for this little one. 

First, I have to give you the back story. Since being married I have wanted three kids, not right then or all at one time, but in the next ten years- three kids. My husband, Mel, tends not to plan this far ahead, he is way better at enjoying each stage of life as it comes, and not thinking much about the next one. Simply put, we balance each other out and give each other a needed perspective. So, when Micah (my second) was born, I waited to see if the workload and demands of two would change my desire for a third child. It took me a few months, but I became just as assured that I wanted three kids. Not surprisingly, my husband was perfectly content with two kids. We had a problem, and decided that we both would start praying “God change my heart or change his/her heart.”

January 3rd 2013- two pink lines on two different pregnancy tests. For those of you who don’t know what that means…I was pregnant! I won’t go into much detail about this part, but I was actually quite surprised that this was possible. Then feelings of doubt and insecurity set in - this is not when I planned to get pregnant; Micah wasn't even one yet, I’d have three kids 3 ½ and under! I stopped panicking for a second…maybe this was God’s answer to prayer - a baby in His timing, not ours. But then I wondered…what would Mel think? Feelings of doubt and insecurity crept in again, would he blame me for this? Would he think I tricked him? When he got home from work, I showed him the pregnancy tests and braced myself for whatever raw emotion he might show. He said “Wow,” studied my face, and immediately embraced me and said, “How amazing that God answered our prayer in this way.” Ladies, I found a gem. 

Upon finding out this wonderful news, we talked about how we would handle the surprise of it all and when we would share the news. We decided that we were going to choose actions that drew us closer as a couple. We were going share the news with very few close friends/family before sharing the news with the rest of the world right around 13 weeks or so….just like with our two boys. I think we both felt energized that this would be our last pregnancy and we wanted to experience it the best way possible. A few days later, I got my first cravings…sourdough toast with peanut butter and honey with green apple on the side, yum! Oh, and steak! This was my third and I knew better than to evaluate every craving- I just ate what I felt my body NEEDED DESPERATELY.  I have two boys and most of my first trimester cravings were completely different with each of them. Also, I experienced waves of nausea, just as to be expected, this happened at almost five weeks exactly with my other two. 

With my first pregnancy, I struggled with an intense fear of miscarriage. I was sure it was going to happen to me. This was my first lesson that there are so many things beyond my control as parent, and I all I could do was pray. With my second, I handled the feelings of anxiety better, but I amazed at how vulnerable my heart felt all over again. With this pregnancy, I decided that I was going to take every thought captive. Those feelings of how was I going to manage it all with three young children…I would turn those thoughts into prayers for God to sustain me. The thoughts of having a different plan as to when to get pregnant again….I would thank God that His plan is better than mine. The fear that I might lose this baby…I would thank God for this life that I had NO reason to believe I would lose. Sometimes I would have to do this hourly, sometimes every five minutes, but the feeling I was left with - OVERWHELMING excitement!!! I was going to have three kids!!! Naturally, I started looking on Pinterest and Etsy to become inspired as to how I would announce this baby. One week into this pregnancy I had meals in the freezer (for first trimester morning sickness and exhaustion), “Big” and “Biggest” brother tshirt decals ordered (one that would go one a onesie, I couldn't believe that I was going to be that person!), and weekly pregnancy photo stickers ordered. I also bought three pairs of sandals to announce our late summer (September 10th) baby. If you really know me, all of this preparation doesn't surprise you. At five weeks pregnant I scheduled my first doctor’s appointment and for good measure, our gender reveal ultrasound (I called too late to schedule Joel’s, my first, and vowed to never make the same mistake again). I was going to prove that I was not fearful of a loss by acting as though it would not happen.

At five weeks, four days pregnant, something felt different. The nausea that I had felt so strongly just a few days ago seemed to be subsiding. And that first trimester exhaustion that is UNMISTAKABLE? Yeah, hadn't felt it yet. Again, I decided that I was going to take these thoughts captive…every pregnancy is different. 

At five weeks five days, everything changed. I woke up bleeding and I knew. I could barely talk without sobbing that day. The advice the nurse gave me was to calm down, that we didn't know for sure if I had lost the baby already. I hoped she was right, but she wasn't  There is more to this story, but that’s another topic. 

This was the story of the struggles and joys during the life of our third baby. Our miracle, answer to prayer, and precious baby number three. You might think I was foolish to love, plan for, and schedule appointments this early into my pregnancy. You might even ask if those things made the grief worse…quite the opposite, because of those actions and my decision to take every thought captive, with God’s help, I enjoyed EVERY day I knew I was pregnant, and felt NO regret when this little life was over.

                         

 

Davis Benjamin: Guest Post, Aubrey

It has been a joy to to meet & connect with other mamas who share in the joy of mamahood with me. Equally, it has been a joy to connect with mamas who have experienced deep, heart-wrenching sorrow. I feel privileged to be someone they feel they can share with. This story touches me because it's every parents' worst nightmare, but I have the pleasure of knowing that Aubrey's story has a happy ending.

It is in these moments that we can connect & love other people with our own tragedy.The tragedy would be in not allowing these moments to shape us, mold us, & allow our stories to touch someone else's grieving heart, letting them know that, this, too, shall, pass.

Thank you, Aubrey for sharing. You are a treasure.

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Staring at the cursor blinking at me, trying to figure out how to start this story…I guess I’ll start from the very beginning so it makes more sense.


I was 17, and I was a bit of a rebel.  I pretty much did everything I wasn't supposed to do.  It was the summer after I graduated high school (yes, I graduated a year early) and I met a boy and he was in college (I actually had met him before I even graduated).  It was your typical 17-year-old relationship that was in a constant state of on and off - your feelings are much more than they really are.  You generally don’t follow what’s in your head or what you know is right.  Well, like most young relationships, this one ended and didn't     end pleasantly (that’s a whole other story).

I remember the day I found out I was pregnant pretty vividly.  I was at my best friend, Lori’s, apartment, calculating things in my head.  I remember telling her that I hadn't had my period for almost 2 months (yes, state of denial….).  She did what any best friend would do and dragged my butt to the grocery store and buy a pregnancy test.  I took it as soon as we got back.  My stomach was turning as I waited those 5 minutes already knowing what the results would be.  Glancing at the test it showed positive and I swallowed.  17 and pregnant.

Being 17, and obviously in denial, I proceeded to take another test.  Obviously that one was wrong, there’s no way I was this young and pregnant.  It’s not supposed to happen to me.  Second test: positive. Third test: positive. Fourth test: inconclusive.  Yep! That last one is the one I chose to believe.  So, I stayed in my state of denial a few more weeks, truly believing my period was going to show up any day.  When I didn't, I remember taking another test at my friend Cara’s house, and it was positive.  That was the day I knew I couldn't turn back, and at this point, I had to be almost 12 weeks pregnant.

I knew I had to tell the guy, so I called him and told him we needed to talk.  We chose to meet at a 7-Eleven parking lot early one morning.  I remember the look on his face when I told him: fear.  He then told me that he had friends who have had abortions, and I could talk to them if I wanted to.  I just looked at him, astonished.  Abortion was the one thing that never crossed my mind, so I told him there was no way I was doing that.  He said that it was my decision, but if I decided to keep the baby, he wanted nothing to do with me - this was going to be our last conversation.  An abortion was definitely NOT what I was going to do, so that was it. Done.

My second problem was telling my mom.  I waited and waited.  My mom called me one day, and started the conversation, saying she had a dream and my stomach dropped.  She said she had a dream that I was pregnant and asked if I was.  I paused and quietly said yes.  She told me to go to the doctor immediately because I still hadn't gone and I was already in my second trimester.  I made an appointment that day with my doctor whom I had seen since I was 5 years old.  As I walked into the office, I didn't feel well at all, feeling like I was going to disappoint my doctor too.  Thinking I was going to be questioned, “how could I let this happen?  Why would I let this happen?” Of course, my appointment was nothing like that.  My doctor was very understanding, and proceeded to talk to me about options.  That was when I decided on adoption.  I knew I wasn't ready to care for a baby at this point in my life, so adoption was the only choice.

Adoption is hard.  I didn't even know where to begin, so I started with the phone book.  Yeah...this is 1999, so Google hadn't taken over the world as it has now.  I picked the first adoption agency in the phone book,called them, and set up an appointment. I didn't know what to expect as I sat in the waiting room of the agency.  It was a small building, the people were nice to me as soon as I entered.  I was overwhelmed when they gave me a huge binder full of pictures and stories of people looking to adopt.  Every story touched your heart, and it was incredibly hard to choose.  I narrowed it down to 2 families, one who already had 2 adopted children, and one who hadn't adopted yet.  After a couple of weeks of debating, I chose the family who hadn't adopted yet.  They seemed very caring and seemed to enjoy life from the pictures and stories I had.

My pregnancy, for the most part, was very uneventful.  I found out I was having a boy, and the family I chose was very excited.  I had chosen an open adoption, so as soon as I picked the family we started to get to know each other.  They lived in Denver, so I would go and visit them every 2 weeks.  My mom and dad even came with me to have dinner with them.  They were just incredible people!

I was due February 22, 2000.  That day came and went. This baby seemed to want to camp out forever!  I remember swearing to my friends that I didn't I want to have this baby on Leap day (since it was a leap year) because the poor child would have to choose which day to have his birthday on.

February 28th was the beginning of a very scary day.  I woke up that day just crying, not knowing why, just bawling.  I chalked it up to crazy pregnancy hormones and thinking this baby was never going to come.  Late afternoon rolled around, and I realized I hadn't felt the baby move all day. I started to feel nervous, so I called my mom.  My mom was at work, but she told me to stay calm and call my doctor.  The doctor told me to drink some juice, lay on my left side for an hour, and I should feel about 10 movements so I did just that.  After an hour I felt one movement.

Something just didn't feel right. So, as soon as my mom got home from work she took me to urgent care.  As soon as we got there, I was hooked up to machines to do some monitoring.  The doctor was pregnant too.  We found out from the monitors that I was having a few contractions (I had no idea I was), and with each contraction the baby’s heart rate was dropping just a little.  The doctor didn't like that, so she made the call that she would feel a lot more comfortable if I went to the hospital tonight.  I panicked, but she tried to calm my nerves by telling me it was normal for a bit of a heart rate dip with the contractions. She just wanted me to get a little monitoring than what was available.

Off my mom and I went to the hospital.  I was nervous, I feared labor, and I was pretty sure that the baby would be coming that night.  Once we got to the hospital, they hooked me up to more machines.  My mom started making all the necessary phone calls to keep people up to date - my dad, the adoptive parents and my best friend, Lori, who showed up at the hospital within a half hour.  My regular doctor was not on call that night, which would have made me feel much better.  The doctor on call was awesome though (he will be known as Dr. F).  They continued to monitor me for about 2 hours, and the results were the same, but seemed to be getting worse.  Dr. F came in after seeing a drastic dip in the heart rate saying we would have to start inducing me because this baby was ready to come out.  They hooked up the Pitocen and we waited.  They watched the monitor for 10 minutes and as soon as the drug started the baby’s heart rate dropped below 30.

This is where everything got extremely fuzzy for me.  I remember the doctor and nurses start pulling out the cords from the wall and begin to wheel me away.  They said they needed to do an emergency C-section, and had to get me to the operating room immediately.  As soon as I was rolled into the operating room, they completely knocked me out.  Apparently, they had the baby out in under 30 seconds, but I didn't wake up for about an hour.

When I finally started to wake up, my mom was there in the recovery room waiting for me.  She told me that the baby didn't make it, and I just started to cry.  She knew something was wrong because she waited to hear cries as soon as they wheeled me into the operating room and they never came.  Once I calmed down,  the nurse’s asked me if I wanted to see him.  Yes. I knew I wanted to see baby Davis so they brought him to me.  He was perfect and cold.  I held him, staring at his beautiful face that was a little bruised from where they tried to resuscitate him.  I could see my mouth, I could see my eyes.  He looked like he was sleeping peacefully, an angel.

Davis Benjamin became an angel that night, February 29th at 12:39 am. He never took a breath.  We found out later that I had caught a viral infection (probably the flu) that went straight to Davis’s heart.  There would have been nothing that could have saved him.  I felt horrible for the parents who were going to adopt Davis, but what a support system they became.  They were there at the hospital, and then at his funeral a week later.  I felt bad for the doctor on call that day - it was the first baby he had ever lost.  He was incredibly supportive, visited me everyday in the hospital, even called me a couple times once I got home to make sure I was still doing alright physically but mostly emotionally.

That’s the story of Davis Benjamin, who was too beautiful for this earth. I’m blessed to still be a part of the adoptive parents lives, who have now adopted 2 beautiful children. I’m blessed to have my daughter now and have another baby on the way, though I panic through my whole pregnancies. Thank goodness for my husband who keeps me grounded during my panicking. Thanks Andrea for making me ugly cry during the whole time I was writing this!