The following story is true. It is not made up in any way shape or form. It is 100% fact, though I am the only witness to it.
Tonight as I was driving home from work, I became very aware of the car in front of me. I cannot for the life of me say why, but I thought to myself that the car stood out as though it were one of the most real things I had ever seen. There was nothing special about it — just a small white car. I couldn’t tell you the make or anything like that. Just this white car, and it seemed almost more real than life in some way.
And then I noticed the license plate, and it made me smile
3777 AHA
The numerologist in me sprang forth. 3 – that’s the trinity. And 7 – the number of days of creation, and in trinitarian form no less! But the priceless part is the “A HA!” as I read it. The great Eureka of God. THERE HE IS!
A small, otherwise nondescripit car that seemed more real in the moment than life itself was in fact, God’s car. And God lives in Cherokee County Georgia.
As I followed God’s car, a lot of thoughts started pouring through my mind:
Well God, are you going to lead me home? My wife is very sick and may be in labor — if you go elsewhere than to where my wife is, should I follow? God — you’re pulling away!! Come back! (I hit the accelerator)
As God’s car and I started to go different ways on the Interstate, it suddenly occurred to me that I did not know the make of the car and that I might even have a chance to see the face of God (or at least God’s driver). So I tried to veer closer one last time to get all of this, but I could not. And each time I thought I was in place to sneak a peak of the driver, all I would see was shadows or a car would pull up between us.
Well, all of this amused me a great deal for the rest of the drive home. I started thinking about blogging this unique and seemingly silly story. I tried to figure out what the punchline would be, but God is truly mysterious and providential: for as I pulled off the exit ramp of the interstate and came to a stop at a red light, I saw a silver toyota camry in front of me with the license plate “ALALUYA”. That was it for me. I grinned ear to ear the rest of the way home. I’ve got no meaning to take from it except that maybe God likes to play friendly games with me 
But it’s a tale worth telling!
(For the record, Lisa had full editorail privileges over this blog entry)
Well, this post is a follow-on to a number of things.
First, there was my Moral Imperatives post, which was inspired by AYOR discussion but mostly a discussion I had with my wife about my behavior.
Second, My wife’s introductory escapades into the Rumor Forum
So… what’s to say? Well not a whole lot. Quite frankly, it is none of your business. But my wife made it your business for many of you that will read this by “bringing it before the church” as it were. So, I’ll make my confession, provide some context, and wrap it up.
My Confession
Yup… I’m a creature of comfort and ease. I’m not really any different from most people in this respect: I like to do what it is I have to do and then do I want to do the rest of the time. The problem with this is that my wife has expectations that (1) I have not realized and (2) do not share. I need to work harder on recognizing our differences and reconciling the best I can.
The Context
There’s a lot of things that I do do (think of a poop joke now!). Lisa largely just doesn’t see them because she already expects them. There are even things (especially when it comes to the computers and yard work) that I do that Lisa thinks I’m wasting time on — but they need to be done otherwise I know she’ll complain about the long-term result later. The rub comes when Lisa wants something I do not want.
And the fruits of this rub really started a couple of months ago when Lisa decided she wanted to change how we do things around here. We’ve tried this before, and it failed before. Plus she was wanting to make all of these changes in a post-Thanksgiving framework which was ridiculous (and I’m unapologetic in saying so). It was ridiculous because our time was already filled with weekends of shopping and festivities and church activities and… the list goes one. Post-New Year, I knew it wouldn’t be much better.
So I told her then that it wouldn’t work. We could not make and do all the changes she wanted. I told her at best we might be able to do half, but even then I thought it was stretching it. Lisa balked at this. (In hindsight I realize now that) she got depressed about my trust and faith in her, and it just grew with the passage of time. My assessment was not about trust or faith in her… it was simple practicality.
So this brings us to 2 weeks ago. My moral imperatives post. The essential moral imperative that I realized that I was lacking after talking with Lisa is that I do not make her priorities my priorities. I think this is a very man thing to do. For example, I don’t care that my priorities are not her priorities… that doesn’t keep me from them. I assume the same on her part. But my not “caring” about her priorities does keep Lisa from seeking them out — or at least makes it harder for her on an emotional level.
In order to reconcile the problem, I told Lisa that I needed to be managed. We had a firm understanding then of what I meant, but I think the language we were using (“manage”) was ultimately poor. What I really meant was accountability. What we agreed to was that if Lisa wanted something to get done that I probably would not otherwise care about, it would need to be explicity delegated and held accountable to and for. Up until now, Lisa just mentions stuff by the by and I get to it if I remember it. We’ll even sit down and talk about things, but if in the end things are not explicitly made “my things”, I won’t make them important/priorities. This is the source of all our recent frustration. We need a better system of communication and accounting. And I thought we had come to that.
So, the next day following our moral imperatives discussion, Lisa gave me a list of things she would like for me to take care and that she would not otherwise be able to handle due to her condition (being pregnant). I promised it would be done this past weekend (giving me, essentially, the weekend to do it all). But, Saturday morning, my uncle’s wife went into pre-term labor and had to have a C-Section. My father, brother, grandmother, Josh, and I went to be with them. This pretty much ruined all chance for me to get to my work done. I was completely distraught about this, and Lisa and I talked about it. I thought things were cool. …but I guess not.
Wrapping It Up
So, the rest of you probably know how the story goes from here. For those of you who don’t, all the needed links are provided above. Needless to say, there was a lot of talking after Lisa’s bid for… I don’t know what you’d call it. Attention? Humiliation? Assassination? I don’t know. I honestly don’t think she was thinking all that much… I think she was just going with her heart. I feel pretty bad that she was feeling so depressed, but I feel like I had not had time to make good on my promises either. It was all around frustrating… but… obviously I’ve screwed up somewhere along the way. I keep finding myself chasing my tail on this point: I’ve messed up, I’m trying to change, I haven’t had time, which makes it look like I’ve messed up.
And I guess I’d like to pass along a few tidbits of “wisdom” that I picked up along the way:
(1) talk to PEOPLE before you start ranting in public. I mean, yeah, I was a little embarassed at the thought of what Lisa had done. I was concerned about how people would react to both Lisa and me. But ultimately, I don’t think this is the right place for Lisa to be dialoguing these kinds of issues. Call Adriene first… at least then you can say something like: “So, I’m thinking about making a post to the forums…” (and hopefully Adriene will try to talk you down and get at the issues)
(2) Guys, listen to what your wife is saying, not what she’s speaking. I tend to be very careful to speak what I mean. My wife has a whole body language to communicate what she means. I’m generally not mindful of it.
(3) Everybody has their “things”, and you should, too. Computers are my “thing”. The Rumor Forum and my time on it is not what Lisa really gets upset about. If I were not here, I’d be doing something else on a computer or a game system. It’s been the case since we were married and has been a constant sore spot for Lisa. Ultimately, I think Lisa does agree that I spend a lot of quality time with her and Josh. It’s just times like lately when she has a lot on her mind (and I’m not participating in it) that she really resents my past-times. I really did not see yesterday coming in light of our talk from 2 weeks ago. It was a complete surprise. I wish she would have talked to me first. But oh well… what’s done is done. I’ve actually had a few good laughs from it.
Finally, thanks for being good to her. The Good Lord kept some of the “Thou Shalt”-ers away from her thankfully, and they were the ones I was worried about once I realized what was going on. I appreciate you all talking to her and not jumping to my side or defense.
Now, you all know much more than you should or need. Carry on with other rumors 
(For the record, Lisa had full editorail privileges over this blog entry)
:sigh:
This isn’t just a saga of getting to St. John’s. This is a saga of having one succesful and extended romantic get a way.
and it all starts the day after my wedding three and a half years ago.
I had hired a limo service to take us from the hotel to the airport for our flight to St. Thomas (in the not-so-Virgin Islands, if you didn’t know). We get there, we get our bags unloaded, and we’re waiting in line for the curb side check-in. After 10 minutes, we’re at the rep to present our bags. We’re told to go meet an airline representative inside. oookay… so we go meet the person inside, where we are told that somehow volcanic ash from ….some where… had settled in over Virgin Island airspace. No aircraft in or out of the Virgin Islands for at least another 3 days. We were told we needed to go to the customer service desk to make arrangements.
Well, I call my travel agent instead and cancel the whole thing because I just started my new job, I had just got on my assigned program like the week before, and this week of vacation was a very inflexible and big favor. If I was going to be vacationing/honeymooning it was going to be that week or not for another 6 months.
So, St. Thomas (and really, St. John which is why we were going) was cancelled. I had to call my brand-new father-in-law to come pick us up from the airport. AND I got to spend my second day of blissful marriage across the hall from my in-laws. I love my wife, but marriage was sucking.
The next day, I was determined to LEAVE. We decided that we’d spend the week visiting the islands off the Georgia coast. This was the best idea for the money and time we had. I made reservations with an Embassy Suites in Brunswick, GA. I was told the hotel was wonderful, beautiful, that I would love it’s location. We get there, and it attached to a mall. It has two main entrances. One from the outside, and one from the mall. From the mall entrance, you stand across from a K-Mart, like a 4 screen movie theatre, and a brief jaunt away from the foodcourt. :sigh:
So, our week at the islands… could have been better. It rained nearly the whole time, there were actually tornado warnings while we were out and about, and the only nice day we had was filled with mosquitos. The highlight was that my wife got to see armadillos, which, seriously, she gets really excited about.
5 months later we got pregnant. I did a last ditch effort shortly thereafter to try to have a romantic getaway, but Lisa had a cold and her first-term morning sickness was in full swing. So, yes, while the trip I arranged was nice, nausea really kills the whole mood of the trip.
The next trip we had after that was a huge move from Virginia back home to Georgia. That was fun, but in no way romantic or relaxing. Moving an 8 month pregnant woman is… an adventure with lots of pee stops.
So, for our second anniversary, we did a Bed and Breakfast ran by David and Denis. That’s DENIS not DENISE — which I thought it was. Huh, I was pretty surprised when we got there and I realized this place was ran by two gay guys. :sigh: oh well, they were pretty low key about it all, cooked awesome food, and made good conversation. And the jetted tub was awesome. This B&B is in Dahlonega, GA which is home to a number of wineries. We did two of the wineries in the span of an hour and a half. God bless country roads. So, that was fun, but we learned an important lesson on this trip. Wine kicks lactation production into high gear… which, can also kill moods.
Well, now we come to the event we had been waiting nearly a year for. The event that would redeem us from the vacationing fiascos, blunders, and acts of God we had suffered. The Cruise of Love.
The Cruise of Love is something I had named once we started planning it. Most of our circle of friends were going on this cruise. All of them had begun thinking about getting pregnant. This was going to be a HUGE fun-fest with all of us together. AND it was going to be our (Lisa and me) first extended romantic get-a-way. In short, our second shot at a honeymoon.
But then… the hurricanes started showing up. “Luckily” Charlie struck a week and a half before our trip, so we thought we were golden. But then Frances showed up, and we began to fear she would rain on our parade. She did, in fact, rain on our parade. I think Adriene has chronicled the cruise fiasco enough for me to not go into detail. Besides, this thread is going long enough. In short, Frances ruined it. My wife was utterly depressed. And Royal Carribean sucks. Our second shot going to the not-so-Virgin Islands (and St. Thomas and St. John) dashed. And, btw, that was over 3 months ago… and we just got our refund.
So… since then we visited the Biltmore House in Asheville, NC. I got to do the wine tasting, but as my wife is due to deliver in February, she got to have no such fun. It was overall a pleasant experience, but still not exactly what we were hoping for.
So, in short, we stink at vacationing. If you want to camp then I’m your man. I have only 1 bad camping story (actually, it’s a hiking story) to tell and none since I’ve been married.
Alright, so I started doing some Link management tonight. I’m little sad that I can’t organize/sort the order of the Link Categories, but oh well… not a huge loss. I particularly like adding the tooltip descriptions. I enjoyed thinking those up. Part of me is conflicted on Steve’s description… I really like it, but I think he deserves more, too.
I’d like to have my tagline/description formatted a little more like the blog title, but I haven’t had time to try to figure that out. I’m guessing it’s got to do with style sheets, and I’ve got zero experience with that. Woohoo, something else to do instead of everything else I should be doing.
If you’d like me to link to your blog, just lemme know. This is just my first cut off of people I read a lot; if I didn’t include you, it’s probably because you haven’t posted to your blog in like a decade or so or I’m a putz(sp?). :shrugs:
In other news, I’ve got a few titles I’m working on:
Where The Fight Is
A Rich Man With No Home
…and there’s a few other things inspired from Steve’s blog that I want to get to.
Oh, and how could I forget? The Princess has linked to me
(And I learned what backtracking is all about in the process!)
In discussing Moral Imperatives tonight at AYOR, I was informed by my wife that I was lacking some serious moral imperatives. We had a long talk about that, and I agree with her. Conforming yourself to moral imperatives that you don’t readily know sucks, but we’ve made a date to discuss how to change my behavior.
“Suck(s)” has been my word lately. I have a moral imperative that says I shouldn’t like it so much nor be using it as often as I do.
I learned what moral imperative means tonight. It’s not as dangerous or highfalutin as it sounds. It just means “a behavior that must be abided by” (in my own words).
This concludes my blog-entry for the night. I got to say absolutely nothing that I had planned on saying. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow.
Sheesh. After two of perhaps the funniest stories I’ve had to tell, Lisa had to go drop THAT bomb on me. Well, anyways… things are on a good footing again with me and the missuss. She even kissed me today and told me how much she loved me. This is a nice turn from feeling like I suck like a bottom feeder.
So, I need to lighten the mood of this blog in the process, especially in consideration of what I plan on blogging over the next month so. So first, a story.
Last night and today I watched A River Runs Through It. If I’m watching it alone, I’ll cry like a baby. If someone is with me, I can’t cry. There’s very few times when I cry with people around. I don’t know why. Crying alone is so… lonely.
ANYWAYS! So, the movie reminds me a lot of my life with my father and my brother. I don’t have anywhere near the sadness of Norman’s loss, but I do share in his exuberant joy and love for his brother and father. So, I will tell a tale of my brother and me.
This particular story is fitting for today. Today, ice covers everything outside. Trees, trashcans, mailboxes: all encased in a quarter inch or more of ice. And, if you hadn’t guessed, it is cold.
I spent many a cold day wandering the wood behind my parents house with my brother. And on the best and coldest of days, the lake would freeze. But with this particular story, the lake did not freeze because it was drained, and instead we had frozen mud.
Being boys, we could not resist the lure of a frozen muddy lake. Much of it was frozen mud puddles, and so we felt like quite the daredevils walking out on this frozen mud-puddle ice. We were perhaps 20 feet out into the lake before we heard what we had not expected to hear. In the south, you only get to hear this sound for a second because the ice does not freeze thick, and before we knew it was the sound of cracking, we had fallen through. We were up to our knees and thighs in freezing mud.
We probably spent two hours trying to get ourselves out. I can remember how the mud formed up like a cement cast around your leg; the cold making your leg go numb. Though I cannot remember it exactly, I believe we worked on getting one leg free at a time: first I would help Michael get a leg out and take a step, then we would get my leg out and take a step, and so on.
It was exhausting, and by the time we were free of the lake, we were so tired we practically crawled home. Our parents met us at the steps behind the house where we were trying to remove our boots. This was a real task because they were a little small to begin with and now they were also filled with mud. I can remember feeling exhausted, frustrated, and finally downright desperate. I cried with anger and anguish; I think my dad was laughing silently. I was ready to cut myself free of the boots when, somehow, my dad was able to magically pull them off.
Our parents were angry with us to be sure, but they did not lecture us that day about the follies of playing on a frozen lake. It was clear we had learned our lesson I think. But I’ll never forget that day, either. How in a desperate situation, one where I could have likely died had I been there alone, I had my brother at my side helping me home, and parents waiting for us to bring us inside. That’s not the way it is for everyone, but it is the way it has always been for me. How very fortunate and blessed I am.
Well, actually, I have a few bad camping stories… all of them involving rain. But most of those are generally due more to stupidity than bad luck. But the hiking story, while involving rain, is far more awful than the rest of these.
I was in highschool still — may have been 17. And we decided to do the section north Blood Mountain in Georgia — Trey Mountain. Now Blood Mountain has a reputation because it’s the highest mountain in Georgia and also considerably steep. In my humble opinion, Trey is worse, especially moving north on the trail, which is the direction we took. It is only slightly shorter in height than Blood.
This particular section is 25 miles long. Seeing as how we generally only hike weekends, we drove up the night before and camped at the trail head. Everything was great. Stars out, air crisp, all the signs for an excellent weekend. The next day, we started out fresh and feeling good. We knew that Trey was going to be hard at first, so we thought we wouldn’t break for lunch until we made the summit. And, in general, we try not to break stride until we reach a lull in a climb. Trey is uncanny in my memory because I remember no lull in the climb that morning. Nor do I recall reaching the summit until well after noon. This was by all accounts of my friends and I, unexpected.
To sum up the whole experience of this entire stretch of trail: everytime you thought you had done the last hard climb, there was next ascent looming right before you. We use to complain (only teasingly) of switchbacks prior to this trip. We now stare evilly at people who do so as though someone mentioned “rain”. To invoke the words “switchbacks” or “rain” is surely to get what you do not want — a straight up-the-hill climb or rain.
But I digress. So we reached the summit probably about 2 that afternoon. We devoured lunch and could very well have set up camp for the night… but we had at least another 8 or so miles to go before setting up camp. Besides, there was a shelter waiting for us there… and why bother setting up tents when you can get to a shelter?
So, we set out post-lunch determined to reach the shelter, and generally feeling that things should be getting better soon. At which point it begins to rain. And it wasn’t one of those decent rains that falls heavily and runs off your rain gear… it was that kind of rain that’s not quite a mist but almost should be. The kind that you can’t keep out of your face. In short annoying. :sigh: so, rain. And for the rest of this day, through the night, and the next. rain.
By evening, we reached the gap where the shelter should have been. Noticed “should have been”? We began scouting spring trails and what seemed to be side trails for the shelter. No shetler. We looked at the sign that named the gap… yup, we’re where we’re suppose to be. At this point, we were very upset. It’s raining. We’re hungry. It’s flippin’ dark now. And there’s SUPPOSE to be a shelter.
Well, tired and tired of standing around, we set up camp. In the rain. And cooked in our tents. This is the very definition of crappy camping.
The day’s stress and rain in the face made a turn for the worse for me. In the middle of the night, I developed a case of the runs. And they ran all next day. I doubt I went much further than a tenth of a mile before I dropped my pack and ran off the side of the trail. (No, I wasn’t poisoned; I’m very good at keeping my water clean… this was just one of those things)
After packing up camp, in the rain, we headed out for the last 10 miles of the hike. Running into the woods every tenth of a mile makes for very slow going. And it makes you a very good candidate for dehydration. And, as fate would have it, I did become dehydrated. I was miserable. I was thirsty. I was wet. And I’m crapping in the rain ever half hour or so.
And this is where it gets pathetically funny. I begin to hallucinate. No joke. The last 5 miles you can hear the road far below, and I was desperately hoping that around each bend I would be at the trail head. I kept on turning around because I thought I heard people coming up behind me (probably just the cars on the roads below, really). I had a whole conversation on the politeness of setting up camp just off trail and refusing to respond to questions with a boulder (which I thought was a tent whose inhabitants I was hoping could tell me how much further).
By the time I got to the end, I was a mess. AND I didn’t have any dry clothes to change into (which is why I always leave dry clothes in the truck when I go hiking now!). But it’s a trip that definitely put hair on my chest and that I think back on affectionately though not nostalgicly.
I missed church this weekend. I’m pretty bummed about this. I just don’t like missing church. I actually got to church (right on time) but the parking lot was full. :sigh: So, I turned around and went home. Note to self, don’t let wife go to church without you. Otherwise you don’t get out the door on time. (It’s my fault, really, but still…)
On the brightside, I got to spend some quality time with Jeff and Adriene… so maybe that counts for something in the Big Guy’s eyes. I mean, we talked about Him a bit. So… ah, it’s just not church though. Oh well.
I finally know what my avatar will be. I’m just waiting to get the photo in my inbox (or a URL to it so I can grab it and edit it). So you RMFO lurkers… keep your eyes out!
In other interesting news, I was made a cousin again! Hooray for me!! I’m a little old for being a “new” cousin, but I’m not complaining. The little guy’s name is Sean. He was born on week 34 (so he’s 2 weeks early), but he came in at a hefty 6 lbs. I’m thinking someone got his delivery date wrong. He’s a real beauty though.
It seems, too, that all new born babies in my family look like my dad. I think it’s that new born disposition that really makes the sale: “Where am I? Why am I here? What’s up with all the crazy lights and noise? … What I wouldn’t give to be where I was before… all warm and quiet and I had everything I ever wanted.” Yeah, that’s my dad… likes being at home; hates being the life of the party.. or even at the party… and when he’s there… he’s got that face (Love ya, Dad!)
That was pretty much my weekend (oh, and I watched Return of the King (Extended Edition) finally and did some homework).
So, to provide some context to this entry, I’m in grad school. Lockheed Martin is a very cool company that will pay for you to further your education in the field you work. So, I’m getting a Master of Science degree in Applied Computer Science. It’s a neat program — I’ve learned a lot about working in embedded systems and realtime operating systems, but most of it is re-hash of undergrad. Eh.. anyways.. that’s not the point.
The point is, on going to class tonight, I saw him: the bad ass version of me.
He stood my height, had my dark brown hair, and didn’t wear the extra 20-25 pounds from settling down. He walked in even and confident stride down the side walk without a concern in the world except maybe the next beer he’d get and the next chick he’d lay. He had a glare in his eye that told you that, even if there is a hell and he goes in, he’ll climb himself out. In short, he was one mean arrogant son of a bitch.
I saw him, and he was romantic to me. Once upon a time, I wanted to be that guy, and he’s the furthest thing from what I’ve ever been.
It’s incredible to me just how completely I wanted at one time to be this kid in my head, and yet how utterly distant he is from me. And there’s a few reasons why I think I’m me and not him today.
#1 My parents didn’t let me decide who I was going to be. They helped to steer my interests and let me pursue my own interests that were healthy, but there were a definite road blocks down certain roads. I was not going to go down those roads no matter how much I wanted to. I was going to do and be what they said while I was living with them.
#2 The Grace of God. There is only so much a parent can do with a child anyways. If I was going to BE that guy, I’d BE that guy. But, for whatever reason — nature, conditioning, Grace, or (most likely) all of the above — I wasn’t going to BE that guy. Instead, God gave me to good parents who knew how to raise me, provide me authority, and who I equally respect, love, and fear. It astounds me when I talk to people from abusive and/or broken homes. I feel like I have so very little to offer them because I do not know the situation they are coming from. I reel in the confusion of why I got to be “lucky” and they didn’t. I wish I knew how to tell them that love is not parasitical, and that they too can shed this old life and find genuine love. I wish I knew how to tell them that people DO love them and care for them. And I wish I knew what it means for me to love them genuinely — to know how, when, and what to give but also realize when I’m being used and how to deal with it.
Wow, this post didn’t go ANYWHERE I thought it was going to go.
So, I’m 26. I’ve been out of school 3.5 years. And I’m the tech lead and architect for a pretty sizeable piece of software for our simulation. That’s pretty cool, I think, but I’m not wetting my pants or feeling like Mr. Bigstuff about it. I only mention it because when you work in an industry where the average age is like 50 (I’m serious), and you’re in a position such as mine, it means you’re going to be leading people older than you. Like, a lot older than you.
And that’s weird. I’m thinking there’s at least 10 years difference with the youngest person I’m working with. I mean, that’s not freakishly old or anything, but it is old enough for me to want to submit to them respectfully as I have been raised. …but I can’t. That’s not my job. And it’s taken me some time to get use to that idea.
And today was the best day for it. I started a weekly status review this week that will run for probably the next half-year to year for our project. Its main goals were to discuss the progress we’ve made so far and to divvy up the remaining work. In going through the remaining work, I wanted to close a few items as non-issues because it would take us a lot longer to fix it than to update documentation and teach the existing users to work around the problem. I start getting static because people think it IS a problem AND want to have it fixed. At this point, I’m starting to feel a little frantic. In general, these are issues I would take on myself to work but because I feel they are non-issues, I REALLY don’t want to.
And this is when I had my first managerial insight — delegate the crap you don’t want, ESPECIALLY when it’s not important and someone else is making an issue of it.
Oh good Lord, the result was priceless. I said, “Alright then, since you’re volunteering, I’ll sign you up.” The look of shock and horror was priceless. P.R.I.C.E.L.E.S.S. Especially considering that this person is notorious for giving people a hard time about minutia, I was feeling pretty proud of myself. This kind of thing makes for good water-cooler talk.
That happened one more time (with the same person) before everyone had the clue ball. I’m not dumping requirements out of preference. I’m dumping requirements because ends do not justify the means/dollars. Besides, closures have to get approved anyways, so I feel like my back is covered. But still…. man it was sweet to see the bug-eyes of surprise.