Can Adults Go Back to Kindergarten?

Because I really think I need a refresher. I swore that I would do everything differently the second time around. That I would finally be "the perfect parent". Yeah, and that's going to happen REALLY SOON... Just wait for it... Ok, anytime now.

The only thing that's different this time around are the mistakes I make. (Hey, at least I'm not make the same mistakes as before! That's progress, right??)

Moving right along. It's Thursday! Go on over to Playdate and read about the timely lesson I received from reading a kid's picture book. It's never to late to learn.

C'mon. Show Mama Drama some love.

Not all Starbucks are created equal

Just back from Blog Friends Fest, and everyone is writing such lovely recap posts. I did, in fact write a nice post about it, and you can read it here. Or here. But I've got a bee in my bonnet, and I need to let it out.

Mr Earth calls me a "glommer". I glom on to insignificant, ultimately unimportant details, and my head just keeps spinning that one little tiny fact around and around. There's a lot of space in my head, and the little factoids have plenty of room to move. Heck, they could do a line dance in there. Anywho..I thought I would do a heretofore uncharacteristic purge of the glom so I could move on to mulling over the fabulous time I had this weekend.

Saturday morning, 9am.

I've been up for hours. The Little Guy is not such a big fan of sleep. I've fed him and pumped milk for his cereal. I went down to the fitness centre and used the treadmill amongst a couple of older, muscle-bound men. Strong, silent types. I wisely kept to myself and watched the early risers in the pool. I went back to the room and had a shower. I knew that I would need coffee before the session. So I took my book and myself over to the Starbucks across from the Hilton. (Note: this is why I have coolest husband in the West End - he let me have coffee and reading time BY MYSELF. He knows the way to my heart, he does.)

I haven't had breakfast yet, and I don't know what, if any, food will be at the meeting. (As it turns out, there was food and it was so expensive we should have gotten a lap dance along with it for the price..) So I check out what this Starbucks has to offer. Despite my sweet tooth, I prefer healthy-ish breakfast, so I pass by all the pastries, and opt for the only somewhat healthier muffin. They have a bran muffin, but I only like bran muffins if there's fruit in it. This one looks barren. I look around for someone to ask, but everyone is ignoring me, eventhough I'm the only one in line. Finally, a barista finishes her coffee and approaches the desk. So I ask:

"Does that bran muffin have fruit in it or is it just bran?"

"Um, I think it might have raisins in it."

Another barista comes over and says, "No, it's just plain. No raisins."

"Oh, um, er..." I reply, my face scrunching in indecision.

The second barista opens the case and starts taking out a bran muffin.

"Oh, I'm not sure what I want yet thanks." Why she couldn't see that, I don't know.

She throws the muffin back down in the bin, slams the case shut and walks away. A little taken aback, I quickly choose a banana muffin and a Grande NonFat Bold Misto.

The other barista says, "That'll be $7.01."

I stare at her blanky. "How much was the Misto?"

"$3.25."

"How much was the muffin?"

"$2.95."

I stare confusedly. This is the same order I get every weekend after my run. I only take a five dollar bill with me, and I usually have change left over.

The sulky barista comes back from her tantrum and volunteers, "This is not a corporate Starbucks."

I turn to the other barista to clarify, "So it's more expensive."

"Pretty much," she offers sheepishly.

I was floored. I've never heard of a renegade Starbucks with the ability to charge whatever they so desire. They are a Starbucks. They are using the logo. As far as I'm concerned, they are therefore bound by practices of all Starbucks. Aren't they?

Of course, I had already ordered and the drink was made, so it was too late to walk away. I coughed up the money reluctantly, and went to sit down to enjoy my VERY EXPENSIVE coffee and a muffin. Be sure that I was going to eat every last crumb and drain the cup to the dregs. But it left a bad taste in my mouth.

We were going to stop at Starbucks on our way out of town, but opted for Tim Hortons instead. If you're in Niagara and want a coffee, I suggest you do the same. Unless you've got money to burn.

We're BA-ACK...!

And man, am I ever tired. And the house is a mess. And I have to do a LOT of laundry. But it was well worth the worrying, packing, stressing and overspending. What a great bunch of bloggy buddies I have. I wrote about it over at Playdate because Ford sponsored our little road trip....

I was a little hesitant about going to the Blog Friends Fest. Not only am I incredibly shy in large groups, but I didn't know how everything would work out bringing the baby along. A weekend of drunken debauchery with a baby on the hip is sooo Britney.

Over eight months and he still won't take a bottle come hell or high water. Sigh. It's just as well - I'm not sure that I could leave him for a whole weekend right now. Luckily for me, I was able to call in the reserves.

Keep reading..

So Long, Farewell

We're off to the Blog Friends Fest in Niagara Falls this weekend. I'm so nervous I could puke. When participating in group activities, I either blurt out atrocious oddities, or can't think of anything to say - at all. If you see a faux redhead carrying a twenty pound baby, please take pity on me. Offer to carry the baby. (Hey, he's really heavy!)

Actually, I'm so worried about whether or not I packed everything, that I don't have time to be nervous...yet. I think I may have overpacked (stop rolling your eyes, Mr Earth..) Lucky for us, the fine people at Ford offered to sponsor BFF and the family gets to drive to the Falls in a Ford Flex. It has a refrigerator! It has a built in DVD player and satellite radio! You can unlock the door without the key! I may never leave. And when the Boy finds out that there's a TV in the car, his head is going to explode from the excitement.

Check in with Playdate to hear about the trip.

I want to join the Evil League of Evil..

Hey, it's Thursday! That means I'm over here:





(BTW, doesn't Motherbumper make the purtiest buttons? You rock, MB!)

For anyone - like me - who's already bored with the lack of good television during the summer, I think you're really gonna like this post...



Here's the thing: I love summer. I really do. I love the sunshine. I love watching the wind blowing through the leaves. I love that I don't have to hunt around for hole-free socks in the morning. What I don't love about summer is the dearth of good television available. Yeah, sure, there's TV on DVD (how parents of small children survive without this, I'm not sure), but we jumped on that bandwagon ages ago, and we're running out of shows to watch. I'm starting to get the shakes. Thanks to Joss Whedon, though, I can cure my summertime blues and satisfy my lust for *MORE! SHINY! NEW!* programming...on the Internet.



Keep reading here..

Mr Sandman Send me a Dream

What happened to the "Hundred Days of Hell" theory anyways? You know the one - the whole sleep deprivation sucks for about three months, and then things start to work themselves out? Well people, we're on Month 8 now, and there is no rest for the weary here at Casa Earth. If you're wondering why I don't post more often - or why all my posts are pictures without text - it is because I am TOO TIRED TO THINK. I know, I know, my life is horrible....wah, wah...suck it up.

Despite the fact that the Little Guy stopped wanting to breastfeed through the night ages ago, he is still up about four times or more screaming and having to be put back to sleep. If you give him the soother and rock him in your arms, he will go back to sleep, but he may be up for twenty minutes, or he may be up for an hour or more. Mr Earth and I take turns soothing the savage beast, and it's taking it's toll. We muddle through as best we can, but how long can people survive on about four hours of (interrupted) sleep before they start to go a little nutty? I've always said that I can handle just about anything if I get a good night's sleep. I can't seem to handle ANYTHING without sleep. I'm crabby. I'm snappish. I'm mean. I don't like hanging out with me, and I can't see why anyone else would want to, either.

I know I could keep dealing with the lack of sleep, as long as there is, in fact, an end in sight. But in the wee small hours of the night, I feel like I will end up with a teenager that needs to be rocked back to sleep several times a night. He certainly feels as heavy as a teenager sometimes. And a minute can take a VERY LONG TIME when you're staring into the darkness wishing you were in the comfort of your own bed.

Can someone please remind me that this will pass? I could really use that right now.

An Affair to Remember

I'm really having a hard time putting it into words, it all comes out a-jumble. A senseless smattering of sounds that is infused with a multitude of emotions, but makes no sense to anyone else but me. I simply can't get enough of him. My eyes light up when I see him. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't do anything but watch him. His smile makes my heart soar, and I can do nothing but echo his grin, beaming from ear to ear. I want to do everything he does. My legs won't move the way I want them to, and I flail about in despair. I resign myself to sitting, and staring. When he comes near, I reach out with both hands and cup his face indelicately. I want more. A shirt collar or a lock of hair eludes my grasp, as the will-o-the-wisp floats just beyond my reach once again. If only he knew how much I long to be with him, to share every single moment - every smile, every laugh, every joke - perhaps he would be less inclined to leave me behind. Perhaps if he understood how much I admire his love of life, he would sit still long enough for me to catch him. As it is, I will have to satisfy myself with moments. Waiting for the day that my legs will finally obey me and we can run together wherever the wind takes us.

Let it be soon, brother.

Fringe Après Kids

When buying a house, the Husband and I decided that we wanted to stay in Toronto, rather than moving out to the 'burbs. A lot of factors went into that decision, the most obvious being that we work downtown, and didn't want a long commute. Beyond that, we both do theatre, and the majority of the gigs - the good ones, that is - are in the city. But we also knew that we wanted to raise our (eventual) kids with easy access to all the arts and culture the metropolis has to offer. We didn't want every trip to the museum or the theatre to be a Major Outing.

Ha, ha. Enter two kids and EVERY trip is a Major Outing. Heck, just getting out the door sometimes is difficult enough. So imagine my surprise and delight when a bright shiny flyer fell into my lap as I was perusing The Little Paper one day.

Keep reading..

Robustious Periwig-Pated Fellow

For Wordless Wednesday *

*brownie points for the person who can identify the origin of the title

It's gonna be legen...wait for it...dary.

Last night we had our first "official" rehearsal. Well, technically, it wasn't a rehearsal at all - just a meet and greet and a read-thru of the play. I think that the director was concerned that since rehearsals don't actually start for FIVE MONTHS, that everyone would go their separate ways and forget about the fact that they'd been cast in a show. It is a good idea to get everyone excited about the project, so that they don't find something else "better" to do. (I'm all about "quotations" these days, even when they're not really necessary...).

They were going to schedule it for 7pm. I was like, uh, NO, I have an 8mth old baby who won't take a bottle and that is exactly the time that he wants to go to bed. In fact, "bedtime" (those damned quotations again) usually is a drawn out process that lasts until 8:30pm. They told me to bring him, but, yeah.....NO. I don't want a screaming baby at the rehearsal, and I doubt that anyone else did either. So they agreed to move the rehearsal to 8pm. Good! I thought. So, when I roll in at 8:15pm, I won't be too late. THEN they had the BRILLIANT (apparently, I'm liking CAPS too) idea to make everyone else come for 7:30pm, so that we would be ready to go at exactly 8pm. Of course, I was late. The read-thru didn't start till 8:27pm. I know, I looked at the stage manager's notes.

It went pretty well, all told. I think that it's going to be a strong show. Knock on wood. The girl who plays the lead is much better than I thought at the audition. Her only downside that I can see is that she is very real. Normally, that's the best thing that you can be, in my opinion, but on stage you need to compromise a tiny bit of the reality to make it dynamic and interesting. All told, though, it's not a bad fault to have and hopefully one that she can overcome easily. I bet she's awesome on film.

The dad is interesting. GREAT look. At times, I almost thought he looked like Anthony Hopkins, who played his role in the movie. He read the lines rather slower than I would like (I'm sleep deprived, and I really wanted to get home to my bed), but I think it's because he was really trying to invest some meaning in them, even at such a preliminary rehearsal.

The guy who plays Hal was quite good at first impression. I'd like to see what he does with the role to improve it.

As for me, well, I realized just how much of the play that I'm NOT in. Read-thrus are tough for the smaller characters. I have some great scenes, though, that I'm really excited to do. AND, when we start rehearsing for realz, I'll just be back at work with two small kids at home. I think a role that doesn't require me to be at every rehearsal will fit just perfectly into my life, and give me a chance to get my acting chops back up to snuff.

Bring Your Good Times..

Happy Canada Day from Casa Earth!

PROOF I can still be me..

So, I'm over at Playdate today and I have some Big Exciting News!!



(Please keep in mind that my life revolves around TV and chocolate, so my idea of Big and Exciting may not be exactly the same as yours...)



But still -- Go! Read!

Bend it Like the Boy

With the Boy only in daycare part time, I decided to sign him up for an activity. Normally, in the summer months, I say let the park be our playground, but I was a little overwhelmed by the amount of hours we had to fill, and frankly, I thought it was a good idea to have some motivation to get out of the house. The Boy is quite a homebody, and perfectly happy to spend the day playing cars and Lego in our dungeon, um, I mean, basement family room. Me, I like to get out of the house. And it's hard to get out of the house with two small children who nap at different times, and won't nap in the stroller. Really hard. Enter Soccer 101.

Now, I have no illusions that the Boy is going to be a soccer star, or even learn how to play the game properly. As far as I was concerned, if he spent the 45 minutes running around and picking flowers, at least we were out of the house. The first level is for kids 3.5-4.5, and the Boy is just shy of the age group. I decided to chance it because I didn't want to wait till next year, when he would be almost too old for the group. Plus, on Monday mornings, there were only four other kids signed up anyways. Generally, the class has about 25-30 kids. Best choice I made, it seems. He got more personal attention, and I just know that he would have been lost in a large class. Groups tend to overwhelm him, and make my spotlight-hungry child rather shy.

In seven weeks, they had three different teachers on a rotation. Dave, the serious one who plays by the rules. Andrew, the coraller and good motivator. And Rich, the funny guy who got the kids playing soccer by laughing and making jokes. Dave, although absolutely polite and nice, was not a huge fan of the Boy, you could tell. The Boy is young and highly distractible, and requires more work that some of the other kids who follow instruction better. I was not a big fan of Dave, if you can't tell. I would have been over the moon if it was Rich teaching the class each week. He kept the Boy engaged and motivated and laughing. It was the best I've ever seen him. Who did the Boy like? Dave. (Sigh. He gets that from me. I'm always desperate to impress the people who don't like me..)

Despite an initial refusal to get his clothes dirty, and countless "water breaks", the classes went pretty well, and I was surprised at how much the Boy could do. He ran while kicking the ball, put his foot on the ball, learnt jumping jacks (Star! Pencil! Star! Pencil!), and had a pretty good time for a sedentary bloke.

What was most endearing to me was what he couldn't do, though. They played a game where they had to stand with their foot on the ball, and only move when the coach's back was turned. The Boy just ran straight for the finish line. And consequently got sent back to the starting line. At least he's focused. When he was in goal, he made a point of standing with his legs wide open in a bridge so that the ball could pass through easily. He's very generous, my kid is. He constantly took the balls back to the ball bag, even in the middle of the class. They were dirty. He was being helpful.

It's things like this that made the class worth it for me. My kid plays by his own rules, and I love him all the more for it.

This is Your Brain on Motherhood

Can you spot the similarities? How about the differences?

**For those wondering who the weirdo is on the cover of the TV Guide, they're doing an American Idol type thing to find the next Maria for Toronto's upcoming Sound of Music called How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria.

Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?

Hey, I'm over at Playdate today talking about...what else...myself? (I'm so vain, I probably think this blog is about me).

Well, actually I'm talking about my irrational phobia of people dressed up as mascots or other large costumed characters. I have issues people! Help a girl out. Have a read here.

I also have a particular song stuck in my head and I CAN'T GET RID OF IT. Can you guess what it is??

The Strange Case of Dr Chuckle and Mr Cried

Dear Colleagues,

I feel compelled to write you concerning a most wondrous strange phenomenon. I have, these past 40 months, made the intimate acquaintance of a patient of mine, Dr Chuckle. Dr Chuckle, to all opinion, is a jolly good sort of fellow. What he lacks in stature, he more than makes up for in mirth and compassion. It would not be unheard of for the two of us to while an afternoon playing games and singing songs. I have of late, however, noticed a remarkable change in his demeanor. Come dusk, and the time lay his head upon his pillow and fall into a peaceful and rejuvenating sleep, he morphs into a most undesirable character: Mr Cried. He wails and screams and curses the heavens till I know not what to do. "I HAVE TO PEE!" he cries. And then sits in the water closet but will not relieve himself. "I WANT TO WEAR SOCKS!" he belts. But he will not don a pair, nor will he deign to have someone cover his feet. "I WANT MUMMY!" he bellows. Or, if his mater is present, he calls for his pater. Nothing can be done to assuage him. No answer is correct. I had noted that this dubious change took place at the same time as my estimed colleague, Mr Earth, was called away on dramatic business. I thought the absence of Dr Chuckle's preferred playmate was at fault. However, Mr Earth has since returned from said business, and the antics of Mr Cried have multiplied, not diminished. Come morning, all is as before, and if I confront Dr Chuckle concerning his behaviour, he denies any knowledge of the events. Occasionally, he will issue an insincere apology, with no light of comprehension in his eyes. It is a most distressing transformation in an otherwise utterly congenial patient. I am loathe to allow this behaviour to continue, for fear of joining him on the dark side, reduced to tears and woe myself. Estimed colleagues, be warned. While Dr Chuckle is a most admirable sort, approach him with care should evening fall.

Summer Lovin'

I couldn't wait for Wordless Wednesday, so I'm instituting Mute Mondays For the Impatient. (Oops, I think I just messed up the mute part..)

French Braids

My earliest memories of my grandmother involve a lot of pain. Physical pain. Sitting at our discarded teak dining table in the basement while she french braided my hair. She showed no mercy. My face felt like it was being stretched to it's limit. Tears flowed freely. But the end result was more than worth it. Two perfect french braids on each side of my head. Flawless. And unlikely to come loose. Once done, I would keep them in for at least a couple of days because I loved them so much. And because I needed time to forget the pain to see the beauty.

Somehow along the way, as is the way with little girls, I figured out how to do these braids myself. It took a lot of practice. My arms felt like they might fall off, but I did it. I could never figure out how to do it other people, but I didn't have anyone on which to practice. Doll hair is not the same. My brother's hair wasn't long enough. Not that he would have allowed it. So I just kept braiding my own hair.

It's a delicate art. Separating the hair so that each side has the proper amount. Making sure that the hair is just wet enough, but not too much. The secret to good sturdy braids is either wet hair, or unclean hair. Myself, I go with wet. You have to comb or finger through each piece so that it lies smoothly in the braid. That's the annoying part. It's not hard, it just takes time and patience. I find that much in life can be approach the same way. Slow and steady wins the race. If you speed up, you may end up having to do it all again.

I wore my hair in braids for my very first role in a play, The Wizard of Oz. Sigh. No, I wasn't Dorothy. I read for the part, but I didn't have enough experience and lost out. I was a Farm Girl, Girl from Oz, and Rock Sitter Extraordinaire. Much of my preparation for the show was putting my hair in braids.

My hair was in braids the first time that the eventually-would-be-Mr-Earth gave me a compliment. We were sitting at dance rehearsal for Godspell, and I had worn my hair in braids to keep it off my face. He told me how he loved it when girls wore their hair in braids, but that his current girlfriend couldn't do it because her hair was too short. I wore my hair in braids for many, many rehearsals and somehow convinced the director that my hair NEEDED to be in braids because it was crucial to the character. I also wore them a lot during our courtship for reasons that will remain unspoken...

Now, as a mother, I still wear my hair in braids. Usually on hot, humid days when I know that no other hairstyle will hold up. It never ceases to amaze me the number of people who comment on my hair when I do. Random strangers. "Wow, did you do that yourself?" "Is that hard to do?" To me, they're not something amazing and unusual, but just a natural part of my person. They're never as perfect as I would like them to be. I always see the mistakes that I made. The stray hairs that didn't quite make it into the whole. The fact that I only did them because my hair would not cooperate otherwise.

What IS amazing about them, people don't see. The history. My first play. My love for my husband. And a tiny, fiery woman who was the only person I know who could make them perfect. Painfully perfect. Someday, I'll get there too.

The Childcare Diaries, Pt 1

I realized the other day that somehow, amidst snowstorms and sleepless nights, the Little Guy has grown to a whopping 7 months old. I am over halfway through my mat leave. And I started to get a little panicky. You see, we have no childcare lined up for him when I go back to work in November. The Boy's daycare does prioritize siblings, and we can almost certainly get him in there. However, the daycare starts at 18 months. They can legally accept two 16 month old children, but that's it. If those two spaces are already taken, too bad. So, we have absolutely nothing for at least four - possibly six - months. If I take an unpaid leave from work (which I doubt they would allow anyways), then I can't afford the daycare, which means we lose the Boy's spot. Ack!

You'd think I wouldn't be this stupid...again. We didn't get the Boy on any daycare list till he was three months. I wouldn't do it while he was in utero because I was too superstitious. The first three months of his life were so filled with doctor visits that it simply slipped my mind. By the time we got around to it in March, it was way too late. In this part of town, if you get on a list when you're three months pregnant, you're probably too late. I swore I wouldn't make this mistake with the second baby.

Well, here I am. Me. The planner. The person who generally has eight alternate plans, just in case the first seven plans go awry. And yet, for some reason unbeknownst even to myself, I am choosing to fly by the seat of my pants, hoping that the childcare situation will somehow magically "work out". Smart, right? Uh...no.
So what are my options?

Homecare? A good one can be just as hard to find as daycare, and it means that I have to drop off two kids in two separate locations. I never got to work on time doing only one drop off. With two, I'm pretty much screwed.

Nanny? I have some concerns that I have not yet been able to allay. Case in point - I was sitting in the park the other day watching the Boy's soccer class and playing with the Little Guy in my lap. We were sitting on one side of a picnic bench and three Nannies and their charges were sitting on the other side. They were talking animatedly to each other (not the kids) in a foreign language. They were sharing tupperwares of freshly made food with each other (not the kids). One kid sat in a stroller chomping on a piece of Wonderbread. Finally, the kids decided to devise their own amusement and played some kind of chase game in a small spot in front of my side of the table. They were happily playing and not running off. The nannies took notice and told them that they had to play on the other side of the table where they could see them. Why they simply couldn't turn their heads to watch them, I don't know.

Now I'm not saying that all nannies are like that. I certainly hope not. But I must say that in my neck of the woods I have seen a lot of that kind of thing going on. I'm not saying that the kids are in any kind of danger, or are not loved. I'm just saying that the kind of care being provided is not what I expect for my money. I can ignore my kids at home for free, thankyouverymuch.

So, if we were to go the nanny route - which would definitely make the workaday mornings much easier - we'd have to find someone pretty special. But how do you know what goes on when you're not there? (And no, I'm not the nanny-cam type of person. If I don't trust my nanny, I'd rather find someone else instead of spying. I'm not condeming those who choose this approach, it's just not me.)

A very wise friend had an excellent idea. When searching for a nanny, she put out a very honest and specific add detailing exactly what she was looking for, figuring that if she put off some people, well they weren't the One anyways. And she found the perfect person. I could do that. But what would the ad say? Let's give it a go:

If you like pina coladas, and getting caught in rain,
If you're not into yoga, if you have half a brain,

Wait a minute, that can't be right. Nannies shouldn't drink, and they should definitely be prepared for a rain storm. I also hope that they would promote fitness-oriented activities. I sincerely hope that they have a whole brain. To put it frankly, I'm the only one in this scenario who's allowed to have less than a whole brain. No, this is not going to work.

How about this:

Wanted: a nanny for two adorable children.
If you want this choice position
Have a cheery disposition
Rosy cheeks, no warts!
Play games, all sort
You must be kind, you must be witty
Very sweet and fairly pretty
Take them on outings, give them treats
Sing songs, bring sweets
Never be cross or cruel
Never give them castor oil or gruel

Well this is entirely in the wrong direction. Perhaps I should make up my own ad, instead of plagirizing songs. Although Mary Poppins and Maria von Trapp are good examples of the kind of nanny I'm looking for. Well, they could be a bit less cheerful perhaps. I'm old and bitter. But I want that kind of involvement. How could you not with these two faces to look after?



Back to the drawing board, I guess.

Don Music (Or Why I Should Never Be a Contestant on "Don't Forget the Lyrics")

OK, so I haven't posted in a while. Somebody should do a study to determine the extent of the link between how busy you are versus how much you post. In theory, since I AM busy, I would have more to post about, not less. I actually do have lots to say, but am finding it difficult to find the time to say it. It goes in fits and starts. I'm also not getting out to many of your blogs either. My reader says I have 273 new posts in the pot. Yikes-orama! On top of that, when I do read (usually while feeding the Little Guy), I can't comment because the baby gives me the Evil Eye every time I start typing and promptly stops eating in a most nip-crushing way. Have I mentioned he just got two teeth? Ouch.

I did manage to squeeze in my regular Thursday Playdate post. I'm sharing many embarassing moments when I have misheard the lyrics to popular songs. I'm such a knob. In fact, I even made a NEW and STOOPID mistake in the post itself because I'm not embarrassed enough by my geekiness. Don Music ain't got nothing on me. Stop by and have a read. Throw some tomatoes if you like. I won't mind. Red is definitely my colour..