I'm still here! For those of you who have wondered if the kids tied me up and did me in, they haven't. Yet. I am finding that being a mother of three, training for a half marathon, and keeping two barrel horses in shape requires each and every one of the 24 short hours in my day. As much as I enjoy blogging, and boy do I always have plenty of material, when I sit down to write at the end of a day that began with a 4 mile run at 5 AM, my body tends to simply refuse to stay awake any longer. So I am doing the best I can!
Here's a quick update: Kirk and I are both training for the St. Jude Half Marathon in December. I am still blissfully happy with the horse we got in July, and am looking forward to several barrel races in the coming weeks. I have an awesome idea for my next book project, which I am already working on in my head. Actually, I have several amazing ideas, but simply not enough time to get them down on paper. I am eating healthier, exercising harder, and seeing a chiropractor every week to help keep me feeling great for the race. And if those things happen to help my migraines go away, I'll consider that a bonus. I promise to get more posts written (I know that's how many of you who are family keep up with my kids.)
Here's one for the road. The other day Sheridan and I were in Kroger. Naturally, when we got to the checkout line, she started asking for everything under the sun. Any parent knows that after the asking comes the whining. I felt like I was doing well and staying strong. I had made up my mind. No was no, and I wasn't budging. I'm used to whining in stereo. One measly kid wasn't any match for me! And then it happened. My three year old offered up a poorly aimed, poorly timed kick at my shin. Her foot barely grazed my leg, but my face was enough to elicit the "oh sh%t, what have I done" look from my child.
In as quiet a voice as I could muster, I exclaimed, "Sheridan, did you just kick me?" She looked at me, and without missing a beat replied, "Well, I tried!" At least she's honest.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Thursday, September 19, 2013
I Smoked Your Tail
Although my heart is still hurting, we now return to our regularly scheduled programming. I could use a good laugh, and thought you guys could, too. So I thought I'd share this shining example of sisterly love.
We took our girls to a barrel race not far from home last weekend. They share a horse and a pony, although one of them is not ready to run the horse at a show just yet. I suppose a 16 hand horse is intimidating when you're seven, even if he is gentle. In any event, my "middle child" by 13 minutes made her run and knocked over the second barrel on her pony. She had a reasonably fast time, and actually let her pony high lope part of the pattern, which is an improvement.
My "oldest child" (again, by 13 all important minutes) had two runs to make, mainly because she wanted two chances to beat her sister. She doesn't trust her horse just yet, and her theory is that if he messes up, she can still beat Sharlee on old faithful, Rebel the pony. In the Pee Wee class, a hit barrel incurs a 5 second penalty rather than a no time. Savannah made both of her runs, which were clean, and ended up winning the class on her big horse and placing second on the pony. The kicker was that her "little" sister ran a faster time than either of Savannah's runs, but the hit barrel kept her from winning the class (and just barely, because she almost outran her sister on the pony even with the penalty.)
My "mini me" usually takes mistakes very hard, so I was looking for her to be upset after her run. Instead, she came running up to me, pulled up her pant leg and said excitedly, "Look, Mom! Now I have a barrel bruise and I'm sure proud of that!" Um, OK. Looking for a positive in the situation, I said, "You made a really fast run. You would have smoked Savannah if you hadn't hit that barrel! You almost beat her anyway."
Since "big" sister got her way, winning first and second, all was right with the world until we got home. When Daddy announced that it was time to take a bath, the usual war ensued. Clothes were flying everywhere and kids were scrambling to the hamper when I saw a naked child go by at breakneck speed.
Reaching the bathtub, she squealed, "Woohoo! I smoked your tail at the barrel race and now I smoked your tail in the bathtub!"
My "oldest child" (again, by 13 all important minutes) had two runs to make, mainly because she wanted two chances to beat her sister. She doesn't trust her horse just yet, and her theory is that if he messes up, she can still beat Sharlee on old faithful, Rebel the pony. In the Pee Wee class, a hit barrel incurs a 5 second penalty rather than a no time. Savannah made both of her runs, which were clean, and ended up winning the class on her big horse and placing second on the pony. The kicker was that her "little" sister ran a faster time than either of Savannah's runs, but the hit barrel kept her from winning the class (and just barely, because she almost outran her sister on the pony even with the penalty.)
My "mini me" usually takes mistakes very hard, so I was looking for her to be upset after her run. Instead, she came running up to me, pulled up her pant leg and said excitedly, "Look, Mom! Now I have a barrel bruise and I'm sure proud of that!" Um, OK. Looking for a positive in the situation, I said, "You made a really fast run. You would have smoked Savannah if you hadn't hit that barrel! You almost beat her anyway."
Since "big" sister got her way, winning first and second, all was right with the world until we got home. When Daddy announced that it was time to take a bath, the usual war ensued. Clothes were flying everywhere and kids were scrambling to the hamper when I saw a naked child go by at breakneck speed.
Reaching the bathtub, she squealed, "Woohoo! I smoked your tail at the barrel race and now I smoked your tail in the bathtub!"
And don't you forget it.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Hug me tighter, Mommy
Those of you who follow my blog know that the subject matter is generally funny, mainly because after 36 years I have finally learned to laugh at myself. And because anyone who has spent more than 10 minutes with my kids knows that it's really hard not to laugh at them. I never know what is going to come out of their mouths. To characterize their thoughts as "random" is a complete understatement.
On this day, however, my heart is very heavy. Through the modern marvel that is social media, today I learned that an acquaintance of mine passed away just eight days after giving birth to her son. I can't begin to imagine what her family is going through. Shock, grief, anger, exhaustion...all of the emotions that go along with the sudden loss of a loved one. And then there's her son. A precious, beautiful, innocent life that is just beginning. What must he be thinking, as the most important, constant person in his life is suddenly missing? Just the thought brings tears to my eyes.
Eight days. Eight short days to spend with your only child. I can't think of anything more horrible. Eight days isn't enough for anything. Not enough time to cuddle, not enough time to listen to the sweet sounds newborn babies make, not enough time to sit for hours and gaze into the face of a miracle on loan from God. I have never felt more grateful for my children and the years I have been allowed to spend with them.
This situation really hit home for me, mainly because it was my husband's worst fear during my pregnancies. My sweet, strong, amazing veterinarian husband was literally terrified that something was going to happen to me. While my OB and I made jokes and picked on him for being so worried, he summed it up rather succinctly when he said, "Stuff dies having babies." Sometimes knowledge is not power. When a woman becomes a mother-to-be, her focus immediately shifts from her own well-being to that of her child. We are willing to give up anything and everything to protect the tiny, miraculous life growing inside us. Men don't always have the same experience, although they tend to get the same feeling once they hold their baby for the first time. One too many OB emergency calls and patients who died despite his best efforts had left my husband completely unable to relax and enjoy any part of my pregnancy, and my deliveries were nearly as stressful for him as they were for me.
My biggest fear was a C-section and a baby in the NICU, his biggest fear was being left a single father. As a woman, I have never felt more out of control of my own body. As helpless as I felt being pregnant, I really think it was even worse for my kids' dad. He had to worry about them and me. Interestingly, it never occurred to me that my pregnancies would end with anything more than healthy, happy babies. I never thought about miscarriage or extremely premature deliveries, and I certainly never even considered the fact that I might die. I'm betting the mother of that precious eight day old baby boy didn't either.
My heart goes out to the family of the mother and father of that little boy. Judging from the response on social media, there will be no shortage of people to tell him what a wonderful person his mother was. Just the thought of him growing up without her is so, so sad.
We are not guaranteed one more day, one more hour, or one more second with our loved ones. I have spent my day with my daughter, hugging her a little tighter and kissing her more often. My hope is that the loss of this young woman will cause many other people to do the same.
On this day, however, my heart is very heavy. Through the modern marvel that is social media, today I learned that an acquaintance of mine passed away just eight days after giving birth to her son. I can't begin to imagine what her family is going through. Shock, grief, anger, exhaustion...all of the emotions that go along with the sudden loss of a loved one. And then there's her son. A precious, beautiful, innocent life that is just beginning. What must he be thinking, as the most important, constant person in his life is suddenly missing? Just the thought brings tears to my eyes.
Eight days. Eight short days to spend with your only child. I can't think of anything more horrible. Eight days isn't enough for anything. Not enough time to cuddle, not enough time to listen to the sweet sounds newborn babies make, not enough time to sit for hours and gaze into the face of a miracle on loan from God. I have never felt more grateful for my children and the years I have been allowed to spend with them.
This situation really hit home for me, mainly because it was my husband's worst fear during my pregnancies. My sweet, strong, amazing veterinarian husband was literally terrified that something was going to happen to me. While my OB and I made jokes and picked on him for being so worried, he summed it up rather succinctly when he said, "Stuff dies having babies." Sometimes knowledge is not power. When a woman becomes a mother-to-be, her focus immediately shifts from her own well-being to that of her child. We are willing to give up anything and everything to protect the tiny, miraculous life growing inside us. Men don't always have the same experience, although they tend to get the same feeling once they hold their baby for the first time. One too many OB emergency calls and patients who died despite his best efforts had left my husband completely unable to relax and enjoy any part of my pregnancy, and my deliveries were nearly as stressful for him as they were for me.
My biggest fear was a C-section and a baby in the NICU, his biggest fear was being left a single father. As a woman, I have never felt more out of control of my own body. As helpless as I felt being pregnant, I really think it was even worse for my kids' dad. He had to worry about them and me. Interestingly, it never occurred to me that my pregnancies would end with anything more than healthy, happy babies. I never thought about miscarriage or extremely premature deliveries, and I certainly never even considered the fact that I might die. I'm betting the mother of that precious eight day old baby boy didn't either.
My heart goes out to the family of the mother and father of that little boy. Judging from the response on social media, there will be no shortage of people to tell him what a wonderful person his mother was. Just the thought of him growing up without her is so, so sad.
We are not guaranteed one more day, one more hour, or one more second with our loved ones. I have spent my day with my daughter, hugging her a little tighter and kissing her more often. My hope is that the loss of this young woman will cause many other people to do the same.
Friday, September 13, 2013
Mr. Potato Potty, part deux
For those of you who were lucky enough to catch my previous blog post entitled "Mr. Potato Potty," here is the next installment. You will recall that Mr. Potato Potty was a gas station toilet I came across that was comprised mainly of parts and pieces from other toilets. Other toilets, and one construction site that no doubt donated the piece of lumber that was serving as a tank lid. To the store owner's credit, he had gone to the trouble of painting said lumber and adding a lovely fake floral arrangement in an attempt to disguise the repair. Or maybe it was just to give it that more "homey" feeling we are all looking for in a gas station restroom. Either way.
Today while traveling through deepest, darkest Alabama I found Mr. Potato Potty's long lost brother. At some point in its life, it was an unassuming, all white potty. And that's when the trouble began. Apparently the seat just wouldn't stay put, judging from the huge, industrial strength silver screws now attaching it securely to the lid. In a tragic turn of events, the tank lid had broken and was now replaced with a new one that didn't even begin to fit correctly. In addition to it being too big, the wrong shape, and also the wrong color it was being held in place with...wait for it...a huge piece of silver duct tape! Ah yes, the redneck weapon of choice. A good old roll of silver duct tape can right any wrong.
I admired this tribute to toilet architecture for a moment before returning to the store, where they were giving away free pizza and chicken wings of all things. My husband could barely contain his excitement. When I made the mistake of declining their kind offer, he elbowed me and hissed, "You better take that free pizza! WE might want it later!" Gee, sorry hon. You're right. "We" might want it later...what was I thinking? On to Tennessee! Can't wait to see what we find there...
Sunday, September 1, 2013
I'm Not Mad at Miley
I find the reaction to the Miley Cyrus performance on the VMAs very interesting. Honestly, I was a little surprised that the media reacted the way it did. Is it because someone finally realized that displays such as this one are disgusting and do not qualify as entertainment? I doubt it. Is is the fact that this once fresh-faced, extremely talented girl spent years as clean cut Hannah Montana on the Disney Channel? Personally, I found the entire thing disturbing, raunchy, and completely inappropriate. But I find much of the content on MTV and every other channel falls into that category these days. What passes for "family" television in this day and age absolutely blows my mind. Perhaps I am old-fashioned, or perhaps my mother was.
Either way, I consider myself extremely fortunate that my kids have no knowledge of Miley Cyrus or Hannah Montana. That said, there are plenty of other "celebrities" and "entertainers" that I don't want my kids to emulate. There are athletes and people in their everyday lives that I don't want them to look up to. There are all sorts of humans on the planet that I consider totally unfit as role models for my kids.
So what's a parent to do? Throw out the televisions and computers? Police every conversation and piece of literature that they read? That really doesn't seem very practical. Besides, unless you decide to homeschool your kids and forbid them from having any friends, they are going to be exposed to something you would not approve of at least once a day.
So here it is... my own, old-fashioned small town Southern girl suggestion. Be the role model for your own children. Yep, I said it. Take responsibility for the life YOU created. Suck it up, buttercup, and break all those bad habits you don't want your kids to have.
Don't want them to hate their bodies? Quit putting yours down in front of them. No, I don't particularly love my thighs, but my daughters have never heard me say that. Don't want them to drink alcohol? Don't do it in front of them. Would you rather they didn't dress like a hoochie mama and gyrate on some guy's leg in public? Then show them the proper way to dress and model the behavior you would like to see in them!
People seem to want to blame Miley's misstep on her handlers. I submit that she is influenced by the people her parents allow to be around her. It is their job to ensure that she is being influenced by the right kind of people, not to simply support her after the fact.
Demand respect from your children. Do everything you can to ensure that they are more afraid of you finding out and being disappointed in them than the repercussions of any inappropriate behavior they might take part in. Hey, it worked for my parents! Did I have the chance to drink in high school? You bet I did. The overwhelming reason I didn't? I was afraid my mother would find out. Could I have gone out drinking and slept with various guys in college? Sure! But I didn't. Honestly, I was more afraid of disappointing my parents than I was of getting pregnant.
Don't get me wrong. When I say I was "afraid" of my parents, I mean that I was afraid of letting them down. They weren't abusive or terrifying people. They did however, lay out very clearly what their expectations were for my behavior, and I try to do the same thing with my kids. It isn't easy, it isn't fun, and sometimes the only explanation I can come up with is, "because you are my child and I love you too much to let you act that way."
Yes, there are a multitude of famous people out there who could be allowed to influence my children. My job is to step in when I am needed and model the behavior I wish for them to emulate, as well as limiting their exposure to the people and behavior that are not good for them. So I'm not angry with Miley. I feel sorry for her, as she has obviously lost her way. I suggest that we as parents see her "performance" as a call to action. Be parents! Take it upon yourselves to teach your kids right from wrong, and stop relying on the media, or teachers, or their friends to do it for you. YOUR children are YOUR responsibility!
Either way, I consider myself extremely fortunate that my kids have no knowledge of Miley Cyrus or Hannah Montana. That said, there are plenty of other "celebrities" and "entertainers" that I don't want my kids to emulate. There are athletes and people in their everyday lives that I don't want them to look up to. There are all sorts of humans on the planet that I consider totally unfit as role models for my kids.
So what's a parent to do? Throw out the televisions and computers? Police every conversation and piece of literature that they read? That really doesn't seem very practical. Besides, unless you decide to homeschool your kids and forbid them from having any friends, they are going to be exposed to something you would not approve of at least once a day.
So here it is... my own, old-fashioned small town Southern girl suggestion. Be the role model for your own children. Yep, I said it. Take responsibility for the life YOU created. Suck it up, buttercup, and break all those bad habits you don't want your kids to have.
Don't want them to hate their bodies? Quit putting yours down in front of them. No, I don't particularly love my thighs, but my daughters have never heard me say that. Don't want them to drink alcohol? Don't do it in front of them. Would you rather they didn't dress like a hoochie mama and gyrate on some guy's leg in public? Then show them the proper way to dress and model the behavior you would like to see in them!
People seem to want to blame Miley's misstep on her handlers. I submit that she is influenced by the people her parents allow to be around her. It is their job to ensure that she is being influenced by the right kind of people, not to simply support her after the fact.
Demand respect from your children. Do everything you can to ensure that they are more afraid of you finding out and being disappointed in them than the repercussions of any inappropriate behavior they might take part in. Hey, it worked for my parents! Did I have the chance to drink in high school? You bet I did. The overwhelming reason I didn't? I was afraid my mother would find out. Could I have gone out drinking and slept with various guys in college? Sure! But I didn't. Honestly, I was more afraid of disappointing my parents than I was of getting pregnant.
Don't get me wrong. When I say I was "afraid" of my parents, I mean that I was afraid of letting them down. They weren't abusive or terrifying people. They did however, lay out very clearly what their expectations were for my behavior, and I try to do the same thing with my kids. It isn't easy, it isn't fun, and sometimes the only explanation I can come up with is, "because you are my child and I love you too much to let you act that way."
Yes, there are a multitude of famous people out there who could be allowed to influence my children. My job is to step in when I am needed and model the behavior I wish for them to emulate, as well as limiting their exposure to the people and behavior that are not good for them. So I'm not angry with Miley. I feel sorry for her, as she has obviously lost her way. I suggest that we as parents see her "performance" as a call to action. Be parents! Take it upon yourselves to teach your kids right from wrong, and stop relying on the media, or teachers, or their friends to do it for you. YOUR children are YOUR responsibility!
Monday, August 26, 2013
Goodbye, Zoey.
It is with a very heavy heart that I share the loss of our English bulldog, Zoey. It has taken me a long time to get to this post, I suppose because it makes me so sad. I miss her snoring at night, I miss her sitting at my feet while I put on makeup, I miss the sound of her toenails on the floor as she followed me around the house. I even miss her stinky breath, and let me tell you, it was bad!
When my normally tough as nails husband called and told me he was bringing an old, sad bulldog home because he just couldn't put her to sleep, I had no idea that she would end up being mine. I remember the first time I saw her, sitting there in the back seat of his truck. She was old, she was sick, and she was skinny. Her nose was running, her eye was cloudy, and she weighed approximately half as much as she should have. Over the next few months, she slowly gained weight. Her eye cleared up, we had her spayed and her teeth cleaned, and trimmed those long toenails as best we could. She also wormed her way into my heart and our bedroom.
This post will be short, as I don't have the time to do her justice. I am thinking really hard about starting another book with her as the subject. She taught our family so much about love and loss. It broke my heart to think that someone bred her as many times as they could, sold her puppies for a profit, and then threw her away when she was no longer "useful." I hope the karma bus runs them over.
When I sat with her for the last time, stroking her head and looking into those sad eyes, all I could do was try to reassure her that she was loved in this lifetime, that for a little while she was part of a family who cared what happened to her. We cared if she was sick, or hungry, or had a soft place to sleep. She gave us unconditional love in return. We love you, sweet Zoey. I hope you are in a happier place. We left your MSU collar on so that the girls would recognize you when we get to where you are. Rest in peace, sweet girl. I miss you every day.
When my normally tough as nails husband called and told me he was bringing an old, sad bulldog home because he just couldn't put her to sleep, I had no idea that she would end up being mine. I remember the first time I saw her, sitting there in the back seat of his truck. She was old, she was sick, and she was skinny. Her nose was running, her eye was cloudy, and she weighed approximately half as much as she should have. Over the next few months, she slowly gained weight. Her eye cleared up, we had her spayed and her teeth cleaned, and trimmed those long toenails as best we could. She also wormed her way into my heart and our bedroom.
This post will be short, as I don't have the time to do her justice. I am thinking really hard about starting another book with her as the subject. She taught our family so much about love and loss. It broke my heart to think that someone bred her as many times as they could, sold her puppies for a profit, and then threw her away when she was no longer "useful." I hope the karma bus runs them over.
When I sat with her for the last time, stroking her head and looking into those sad eyes, all I could do was try to reassure her that she was loved in this lifetime, that for a little while she was part of a family who cared what happened to her. We cared if she was sick, or hungry, or had a soft place to sleep. She gave us unconditional love in return. We love you, sweet Zoey. I hope you are in a happier place. We left your MSU collar on so that the girls would recognize you when we get to where you are. Rest in peace, sweet girl. I miss you every day.
Monday, August 12, 2013
I Find That Offensive
I don't often comment on news stories because let's face it, between television, radio, the Internet, Facebook, and every other blogger out there, most of the time there's not much left to say about anything. But in this case I'll make an exception. A rodeo clown (of all things) has offended the media in this country enough to warrant discussion on the "Today" show. Incidentally, that show should just be called "A Liberal Take on the News Today." I guess the producers got so tired of the anchors interjecting their personal opinions into their "news" stories that now the show has entire segments devoted to these people's opinions of what is going on in the world. I for one am perfectly capable of listening to the facts of a newsworthy story and then forming my own opinion of the information contained in it.
Personally, I'm sick and tired of the media in this country reminding me constantly that I must go out of my way not to offend anyone, while simultaneously attacking my morals, beliefs, and very rights guaranteed to me by the US Constitution on a daily basis. I can't help but notice how many of the groups I fall into are under fire constantly these days. Christians, conservatives, stay at home moms, horse owners, even being a straight, white, married woman - all of these things have caused others to go out of their way to offend me.
Honestly, I can't remember a time that I actually tried to offend someone, and yet there are people out there who get paid to do just that. (My mother often referred to them as "sh*t stirrers.") That's not to say that I haven't ever offended anyone, quite the contrary. I've opened my big mouth and stuck my foot in it up to the ankle...but I didn't do it on purpose. And when given the opportunity, I have apologized, because what else can you do? I don't understand people who seem to take joy in offending others, no matter what their race, religion, or sexual preference.
Speaking of my mother, anyone who ever spent more than a few minutes with her knew that she was a Christian. She didn't try to force her religion on anyone, ever. She shared her beliefs by example. Often it wasn't what she said, it was how she behaved. Now we all know that people get better after they are dead. My mother wasn't a saint. She absolutely made mistakes, lost her temper, and said things that she regretted. But I can guarantee she never went out of her way to offend anyone.
I got a healthy dose of whatever that quality is (my mother-in-law has it too.) More than once I've not gotten what I wanted, just to keep from hurting someone else's feelings. That pretty much comes with the territory when you are a mom. But I just don't understand who decides which groups we must be afraid to offend. Is it only the ones who will fight back? Or is it just the ones who have departed from the morals and values this country was founded on?
The media has convinced my children that if someone looks at them sideways they are being "bullied." Personally, I think the ones who share the beliefs of the people who founded this country are the ones being bullied. Bullied and brainwashed by a media machine that is convinced Americans are too stupid to think for ourselves. Just FYI, I am neither stupid or naive, and neither are the majority of Americans who were blessed with common sense. Now I'm off to be my kids' mom. Thank goodness they don't need the media to tell them what to think and how to feel. They have me - a strong, loving mother who isn't afraid to teach them that doing what is right and standing up for your beliefs is okay, even if it offends someone.
Personally, I'm sick and tired of the media in this country reminding me constantly that I must go out of my way not to offend anyone, while simultaneously attacking my morals, beliefs, and very rights guaranteed to me by the US Constitution on a daily basis. I can't help but notice how many of the groups I fall into are under fire constantly these days. Christians, conservatives, stay at home moms, horse owners, even being a straight, white, married woman - all of these things have caused others to go out of their way to offend me.
Honestly, I can't remember a time that I actually tried to offend someone, and yet there are people out there who get paid to do just that. (My mother often referred to them as "sh*t stirrers.") That's not to say that I haven't ever offended anyone, quite the contrary. I've opened my big mouth and stuck my foot in it up to the ankle...but I didn't do it on purpose. And when given the opportunity, I have apologized, because what else can you do? I don't understand people who seem to take joy in offending others, no matter what their race, religion, or sexual preference.
Speaking of my mother, anyone who ever spent more than a few minutes with her knew that she was a Christian. She didn't try to force her religion on anyone, ever. She shared her beliefs by example. Often it wasn't what she said, it was how she behaved. Now we all know that people get better after they are dead. My mother wasn't a saint. She absolutely made mistakes, lost her temper, and said things that she regretted. But I can guarantee she never went out of her way to offend anyone.
I got a healthy dose of whatever that quality is (my mother-in-law has it too.) More than once I've not gotten what I wanted, just to keep from hurting someone else's feelings. That pretty much comes with the territory when you are a mom. But I just don't understand who decides which groups we must be afraid to offend. Is it only the ones who will fight back? Or is it just the ones who have departed from the morals and values this country was founded on?
The media has convinced my children that if someone looks at them sideways they are being "bullied." Personally, I think the ones who share the beliefs of the people who founded this country are the ones being bullied. Bullied and brainwashed by a media machine that is convinced Americans are too stupid to think for ourselves. Just FYI, I am neither stupid or naive, and neither are the majority of Americans who were blessed with common sense. Now I'm off to be my kids' mom. Thank goodness they don't need the media to tell them what to think and how to feel. They have me - a strong, loving mother who isn't afraid to teach them that doing what is right and standing up for your beliefs is okay, even if it offends someone.
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