Boobyholder to the Rescue!

Gehcbcnucnooi wouchljwddouwfunvbcnojwd.  (!)

I had this mildly witty post from a week ago and my (insert bad verb) iPad deleted it.

So now I'm not witty, I'm not happy, and you are just what?  Witty-blogpost-less. We should go get a beer. Wait, it's 2:54, maybe a bit early...  Or is it?  

I can give you a picture instead. It's much more enjoyable than my lost post. 

Behold:

She's Superhero Summertime and she's here to rescue us all from Nasty Winterman.  I don't know about you, but I feel much safer now.

(Ps. She loves this bathing suit because it has a "boobyholder like Mommy's".  I love it because that sentence right there drives her father insane).  

Luck O' the Irish

Griffin: So, is St. Patrick one of the guys who brings stuff while we're sleeping?

Me: No, he's a Saint that teaches us how to be nice to people.

Griff: Oh!  Ok, I want to be a Saint.

Me:  Let's start with washing your hands after you use the restroom.  Then you can work on the Sainthood.

Library Time!

I have a confession, I mean I have plural but I'm not telling you all of them now (you know, like in the soaps when one day you come home early and your gardener is sleeping with your tennis instructor or somebody dead is alive again, or someone's all "Over my dead body!" [door slam])...  You know, like that.

I do this...  

I take the 3 year old to the library so I can e-communicate with the outside world.  That's me doing it, guilty.  And she totally loves it, double guilty.  Just don't tell her 15 year old self because that attitude is so bad, I can hear it 12 years into the future, as in right now.  Scary. 

More on that topic, is there some kind of karma law that confirms if I was a total a@@hole* as a teenager then my children will be as well?  Please God tell me no, because I was a rotter, an A++ rotter.  I'm a bit of an overachiever.   I once locked myself in my room for three days blasting Metallica as loud as my 1990 boom box would allow, why?  See earlier *.  And because I didn't make Varsity volleyball, oh the first world problems I've endured!  The horror.  

Okay, that was two things and I said I'd only admit to one so now it's your turn.  Fess up, you'll feel better.  

On flying south

 

Holy hell, look what the cat dragged in...  Me!  It's been a title, (f-ing autocorrect) titch, so I'll catch you up to speed.  I'm in Florida, for a "mommy-on-vaca", "daddy-and-kids-in-a-frozen-tundra", "mommy-guilt-spiral" weekend.  (Sorry to start things off with an exorbitant amount of punctuation, but I have to weed out the weak).  So, petitioning the wider Internet audience (Hi Ellen!) for backup, See?  If you let me go on more vacations, I'll write more!  We both win.  And China looses, more importantly.   

Status update: family in Ohio - yay.  

Griffin, now 5.5, in Pre-k: so thrilled, he loves it, kind of get a lot of "communication" from his teachers, all love though, read: I can't really say what I'm thinking, read: look for another anonymous blog on the horizon with possible dets.  He is super smart and though proud, I find myself daydreaming of the luxury of having a dumb kid who I may have a chance of outsmarting...

Camille, tomorrow 3.Years.Old, wow: easily the funniest person in our family/entire human race, capable of crumbling entire democracies with one word or flip of the double pony-tail.  Proficient in driving her older brother insane in seconds, mostly by employing the age old technique of ignoring the living shit out of him.  Can I just say that she is a MASTER at ignoring?  If ignoring was the single only weapon the earth had against its enemies, Camille would be the front line.  Completely solo.  I'm so not kidding.

Grant: frequent flyer debonnaire, did I just use that word correctly?  Most likely, not.  He makes being a dad look good, and all the while not breaking a sweat, which sometimes makes the conspiracy theorist in me check for computer wires while he's sleeping...  Kidding!  (?). He has the most good natured, level headed personality I have ever tried to destroy, er, I mean ever seen.  And he has the ability to make me hysterically laugh simply by shooting me a "are you totally f-ing serious right now" look.  One that he has mastered over the past 17 years, omg.  

Me: I am staying at home to orchestrate several futures, and once they fire me, I'll go back to work at the hospital, but for now, clean up time and constant bathroom repsponsibities are my forte of choice. I love being in O to the H, and thank God every day for my family here.  I miss dearly my NYC friends and habits but try to get back as much as I can to visit.  

Hunter:  gets his own update!  Yay!  Is happy to be home with us, eats all of the kids toys, mopes every time Grant leaves, seriously though?  Who feeds you, takes you to the vet, walks you, pets you, acknowledges your existence!  Me!  That's who!  But whatever, traitor.  

Hope to write more soon, but you know, broken promises don't look good on me.  

Have a great life!                      -Mr. Rossetti, St. Francis DeSales HS principle, 1999

We're On, We're Off, Who Cares?

Well, this is embarrassing.  How long has it been?  I can't even use the brain cells to find out but just know I've been thinking about you and that message you wrote on my dorm room dry erase board that night you were totally hammered...

So I broke my kneecap in a broadway theater last night.  Long story.  Actually, it's not.

I keep using weird sayings like, "geeked", these days.  Does that mean I'm old?

Another question about being old, at least 14 new social media websites have launched that I have no idea how to participate in.  That's totally normal and young-sounding right?

My new hobby is hashtagging my text messages but I refuse to Tweet.  #sodon'tevenask

The kids are awesome and make me laugh so much harder than any Friends episode ever did.  THERE I GO AGAIN!  Sounding old!  And now I'm YELLING!  Which is also OLD!

I just decided the theme of this post.  Oldness.

Let me see if I can find a pic...  I did!

Caption: We're at an Indoor Waterpark and it's so awesome we're sitting in our hotel room watching Dora!

Nutrition-ish

Do you know what I just said to my 3 year old?

"Eat your bacon and then carrots and you may have your sour candy".

Friends, do not judge. I am a creative type. I believe food pyramid means different things to different people and that is a-ok with me.

PS. If you saw his face when he ate the bacon, you'd realize it's totally awesome to be the one who gets to make these decisions...

Welcome back! My presence today is brought to you solely by MacBook Pro! I have been blogosphere-evacuated for the last oh, 12 months due to my previous PC and all if it's ridiculously cumbersome antics. But alas! Today is a new day around here and I am love-ing it.

What to catch you up on first... How about some pics?!

Camille's first birthday party in NYC: (notice the fur...)

It was a really fun day. Although at times I felt like we were running a marathon we were never going to finish. Ever. Never ever.

And other than that, and a lot of cold weather, not much else has happened around here lately. So I'll fill this space with some quotes from the quote board of which you must be informed:

1. Griffin: "I'm not putting my butt away until you listen to me!" (Curiously, an effective technique for accomplishing his goal...)

2. [Scene: the four of us driving around late one night over Christmas while Camille screamed her head off because she hates the car seat.] Griffin: "Camille says, 'It's not fair!' Mommy".

3. "Mommy, we can walk this path or nothing!" Also similar to, "Mommy, you can drink this water or nothing!" and "Daddy, would you like yogurt or nothing?"

Oh, that child. He keeps us on our toes for sure. I guess that's the price you pay for precociousness? Some stranger told me that one day. Must be true.

Larry, Curly, Moe, and Pokey

Right. Status update in numbers:
Griffin - 3 years old
- 2 weeks to school starting (OMG, what?!)
- 2-3 timeouts per day (down from 15-20 a few weeks ago)
Camille - 6 months old
- 2 thousand weeks until school starts because I am not going to let her grow up any more
- 2 vacations she has rocked so far (San Francisco and Marco Island)
Me - 0 days until my maternity leave is over because I'm RETIRED! Or on hiatus, whatever. There is no shame in sounding like a 68 year old insurance agent getting ready to move to Florida full time. I applaud those individuals. Actually, several times I've tried to move into retirement villages only to learn you have to be over 60 and collecting social security to live there... Thwarted again.
Grant - 30 hours he will be on his own this weekend with both kiddies. Mama's going on a bachelorette sleepover (Did I tell you the story of the last bachelorette party I went to in the Hamptons? No? In a nutshell, it was named "Mom's gone wild, 2009" and I was the only one there with kids... Whoopsidaisy).

1 funny story. Dave and Caitlin, our first and great friends here in the city, came over for dinner last night. Griffin has seen them dozens of times and they even stayed with him the 2 days I was in the hospital having Camille. But he's taken on this air of authority in all matters Camille lately so when they came in and said hello to him, he re-introduced them to Camille (whom they've met several times) and then proceeded to instruct them to "not poke her in the eye, because she's a baby". Which caused me to laugh in the first part because it was funny and in the second part because I have video evidence of the first several times Griffin held Camille and constantly tried to poke her in the eyes with his chubby little fingers, like the 4th Stooge or something. But just so you know, you aren't in the inner circle of people who can poke her in the eyes, that's reserved for family members only.

Red Light, Red Light, Red Light

My latest parenthood epiphany is called "Red light, Green light: My Life in the Passenger Seat of My Toddler's Car".
Friends, I love my children. (And you know it's going to be bad if I feel the need to say that up front). If you've ever experienced a 2 year old - going on 3 year old child up close and personal, away from the safety bars and moat pond, you will know what I'm talking about. For the rest of you, listen here and don't ever say no one told you it would be like this.

My life is a constant game of Red light, Green light. The actions I would like to do or accomplish on any given day are the ones that get Red lighted and the actions said 2.8 year old would like to do are unfailingly Green lighted. A.l.l. d.a.y. Every day. Now that you know the rules, let's see how you do on a test run...

Game score: 0-0. You are peacefully slumbering away in the dead of the night like all functioning and happy people should be when your opponent starts hollering from his bedroom that he would like some milk. A "big, tall milky. Huge like my hands" to be exact. Your sleep - red lighted, so you try to red light his request and return to sleep. Only in my house, this would only be achievable if you either moved out of the country or went instantaneously deaf so as not to hear the screaming, crying bedlam that is coming from his room now. You wearily get up to fetch the master his milk... Score: You - 0, Toddler - 1.

Next up, you struggle to collect a few more moments of sleep until he wakes up for the day when in fact, he wakes up for the day. Signaling you are now waking up, you try to book it to the bathroom before he melts down so as to relieve your already bursting bladder. Red Lighted. His bladder is also bursting and since you just got your crap together enough to potty train him 2 weeks ago, you must put your bladder on hold (getting dangerously close to buying your first box of Depends) and help him back and forth to his potty. Score: You - 0, Toddler - 2.

Don't even get me started about meal time. Score: You - 0, Toddler - 4,278. And you will never need to diet again because to diet you'd have to be able to eat.

Outdoor adventures. You use every piece of creative enterprising you have ever possessed to get him ready to go run some errands with you. You make it out to the sidewalk and instead of following you the 4.5 feet across the street to the dry cleaners, he's halfway to Brooklyn without even a glance in the rearview mirror. What? How does that happen? Dry cleaners, Red lighted. Grant will learn to build his own washing machine before he gets those shirts back... Playground, Green lighted. Score: You - still 0, Toddler - we gave up keeping track because it was depressing the scorekeepers.

Lately, our game has taken a pleasant turn, however. There is no longer a score, there is no winner and loser. Peace reigns for the time being. How, you may ask? Because I f-ing gave up. My ambitions have been taken over by a 2 year old. I now want nothing more than to throw toys and eat hot dogs. But hey! We're not arguing anymore! Success?!

On Hitting the Lottery a Second Time...

Camille is officially 5 weeks old today and time is speeding by so fast my cheeks are windburnt. Already her personality is shining through the poopy diapers and the 2am wake up calls. And let me tell you, she is freaking hilarious. She already has the, "Mom. You-are-not-one-bit-funny-so-quit-looking-like-an-idiot-to-try-to-make-me-laugh" look so down pat she can do it in her sleep. Which is sometimes necessary to utilize because even though her eyes are closed, I'm still unable to stop looking at her beautiful face all night. :) You'd think after 6 months of uncomfortable sleep while pregnant, and 5 weeks of constantly interrupted sleep for baby needs that I'd be sucking up as much sleep time as possible but, no. I lie there in bed at night, exhausted, but thinking about what her eyelashes look like on her cheeks when her eyes are closed or how her chest moves up and down as she breaths and I have to get up to watch these tiny miracles happening over and over again. I could never get enough of it.

To sum up the feeling: I've had not many, but a few moments in my life that have transcended earthly descriptions in there magnitude. One was after Griffin was born, and the thought that kept repeating itself in my mind for days, weeks, and months afterward was, "Now I understand how much God must love me". And Camille's moment is this: "It takes less than 1 second to memorize the features of a child you've been waiting your whole life to meet".

Though I cannot get enough of looking at her, after just a moment of seeing her face every color, eyelash, and feature is permanently in my mind, and I can't imagine not knowing her.

I love you, Camille.

No Apologies, There's No Time!

So I have about half a second, shit, it's over... to catch you up.

Had another baby, she totally kicks ass, and the other one's still cute and screaming.

Two observations thus far:
1. If you measure success by days until you shave your legs for the first time post baby, I'm f-ing Warren Buffet because it was day 6 people! Day 6! Like, there was absolutely no reason whatsoever to actually shave my legs but for the fact that if I did I could tell you I did it on day 6 post-partum! Bam. Tiger blood.

2. There is a limit to perfection. Witness: Today was the first day I've been able to nap, shower, do laundry, sort mail, pay bills, order groceries, and cook dinner all whilst 2 little angels are asleep. People, that's downright insane right there. It's taken me a month but it's finally happened. However, not before setting off both fire alarms TWICE. Nothing says wakey-wakey to a baby like ear piercing smoke alarms. Time to rise and shine! Hope you had a nice nap! Your mom's an idiot! L'chaim!

Just Don't Blame Me Later If They Don't Turn Out Like Mine

Several things on my to do list include:

Tell you about why I owe a certain pediatric dental hygenist 3 fingers and a fortune in medical bills...

Explain to you why my child will never recieve a formal education...

Get your opinion on why 1 minute I love my job and the next minute I would rather dismantle my limbs than spend 1 second at work...

But first! I have another Griffin tale of make-your-day goodness to share.

So, sorry about the tata shot but it's important for the story. See that necklace I may or may not have purchased for myself for my birthday as a little "to me, from me" gift? Yes? You do that too? Okay. So glad we're on the same page.

Anywho, I came upstairs this morning with it on and sat next to Grif at the breakfast table. He was engrossed in his morning coke habit - the Backyardigans, and barely noticed me. Finally, when he came up for air he looked at me, thought for a second and said, "Mama listen to me?" Which in translation means he thought my necklace was a stethoscope and he wanted me to listen to his heart and back. [Go ahead and die of cuteness now.]

So, not wanting to disappoint my little genius of medical knowledge, I grab my necklace, shove it into his shirt and pretend I'm listening. And I crap you not, he tilts his head to the side, smiles at me and says, "Boom-boom, boom-boom". People, the entire week of screaming unearthly banshee child is totally worth it for those few minutes in the morning. Go ahead and procreate with my blessing now. Your serious side totally needs it.

Hold On To Your Cowboys!

Updizzle: Apparently the reason I've been ten times sicker this pregnancy than with Grif is because we're having a GIRL! So that does not exactly bode well for her teen years, I fear. But the bambina is healthy and gorgeous and building her little bones and muscles just fine, which is amazing. She is kicking me right now for talking about her, so once again with the teen years...

Griffin has never been more hilarious and has added several phrases to his daily comedy stream such as, "Of course!" and "That would be great!" But only if you ask him if he'd like to watch another episode of Little Bear, or would he like some more milk and pretzels (the only things he eats now). I tried asking him if he'd like to move out into his own apartment where boys don't ever have to potty train and they can wear diapers until they're 60 and he did not say, "Of course!" It was worth a try. He also sings and makes up songs now. His favorite being the "Polar Bear" song. It goes like this, "Da. Dadada. Da. Polar bears are sleeping. Polar bears are sleeping" [pause for applause from all available audience members within earshot]. It is quite possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed in my life. Sometimes he ratchets up the showbusiness element with wide sweeping arm motions. (I think he definitely gets that from his daddy). And almost always he is up on some sort of a step, or "stage", or some random stranger's doorstoop.

Otherwise life is ticking along, work is cyclical, and the weather is awesome. We have a whole hellabuloo of traveling coming up, one trip of which is to visit my BFFTWD (till we die, obvi) in Dallas, TX, so if you need a new lasso or saddle, drop me a line before I go and tell me what size/color etc. I am so excited to see everything Dallas and especially to find out if "Everything's bigger in Texas" applies to my boobs because if so, we're all in for some inclement weather.

At Least I Didn't Mix Them All Together

I have officially graduated to a crazy city person who mumbles to themselves as they walk around aimlessly looking in trashcans.

Convincing evidence #1: Yesterday, I had to run to the grocery to get a few things and while I was there I happened upon several extra items that I could not pass up. Here they are in order of importance:
Half Sour Pickles
Watermelon
Ranch Dressing
Tuna salad
Tapioca pudding
Tomatoes
Cucumbers

So you know this is going directly downhill, right? I did not realize how heavy my stash was going to be to carry the 8 blocks to my apartment so while crossing over Broadway I spied the parkbench those nice city planners strategically placed directly in my path, and I decided to rest a bit. And while I was resting, I decided it would behoove me to have a little snack to keep up my energy on the long walk home. Two half sour pickles later I took stock of my situation as passerby after passerby stopped to stare at me and I couldn't stop laughing. Well, I was in this far, I might as well go the distance. So I ripped open the watermelon container and had roughly half of it. I would have moved directly onto the tomato and cucumber but I didn't have a knife or salt and pepper so I opted to save those for home.

I gathered up my loot and started the long walk only to stop several blocks later to readjust my grip. There I started hysterically laughing again as my inner brain whispered to itself, "I definitely didn't get enough half sour pickles for this".

Convincing evidence #2: Last week after work I had to run some errands and while doing so I remembered all I had for lunch was a giant plate of fries, and that I better have something a tad more on the nutritious side to even the score a bit. At the smoothie place I studied my choices to get the best possible bang for my beverage and picked the Protein Punch. Back outside I swigged a couple gulps of it and literally almost grabbed the nearest person walking past to force them into the smoothie place to buy a Protein Punch. It was the most spiritual experience I've had since Ocean's 11 came out. I was in awe.

It took every ounce of my energy to not stop the next 4,000 people I passed to do the exact same thing and I barely made it to Duane Reade and Planet Kids before I died.

Is this what self actualization is all about? Because holy hell.

Salty, Salty, Salty

Want to know what made me lose my mind just now? The delivery guy only gave me ONE salt packet for my fries. O-N-E. (And I've decided I really, really can't tell you how many fries I consume these days. Really.) On the topic of food, did I tell you about the Rome episode of No Reservations? Because you are depriving yourself of happiness by not watching it. And I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure that's against the commandments.

So this is probably weird*, but as people start figuring out I'm pregnant again I have this overwhelming urge to trick them into thinking I'm not and they just called me fat. So far, I've almost made 5 people faint/vomit/pee their pants by telling them I'm not pregnant I just eat too much. One of which was definitely more of a "boss", than "co-worker", but I literally lost control of my mouth when I started talking**. I mean, I eventually tell them I'm kidding so I'm not a total d-bag, right? And it's definitely better than saying, "Yes, my husband and I had sex and the egg was fertilized with sperm so now my boobs are getting huge and soon my vagina will shoot out a watermelon. You're so kind to notice". Come on, I have some semblance of decency. (Except for that one about engorgement...)

However, do not misunderstand this as complaining or taking for granted what we have been gifted with by having another baby. I am more than over the top excited for Bambino, Part Deux and I do thank God He forgave us for screwing up the first one and let us have another try. I simply think it's a tad weird to talk about internal organ formation with a person I have said 3 words to in 4 years, and I'm pretty sure two of them were calling them by the wrong name.

*Did I really have to preface the story with this admission? Would any of this blog be here if I thought like most people? I must redress.

**Again with stating the obvious.

The Visor Is Extra

Because you never seem to have the time to look through those hair magazines at the salon to pick out your ideal do, I've coined and patented the haircut term for you.

Observe and Appreciate: The Star Wars Helmet.

Don't thank me now, my birthday is in a few months...

In other news, last week Griffin told me he broke his head. I said, "What?" And he said, with exasperated efficiency, "I broke......my head". So, of course I told him, as any good parenting award recipient would, "Well, if you think it hurts now, wait till your first hangover".

In other other news, you should definitely watch Anthony Bourdain's Rome episode from Monday night. If you don't want to rip your tv down off the wall/stand and eat it during this episode I don't know what is wrong with your brain, but there are plenty of neurologists who would take your money to find out. Maybe they'll even ask you to donate your brain to science afterward. (Although, I had to work on those things in nursing school and let's just say body donation is not on my list of top ten things I have to do before I die and go to Bora Bora.) Just saying.

In unrelated other news, we had a family vaca to Salt Fork Lodge last weekend and it was awesome. Pics to come, when I decide that uploading photos is more important than ridding this city of fried foods one french fry at a time after work today. It's a dirty job...

The One & Only

What?

Like 61 ounces of Gazillion Bubbles aren't part of your daily make up routine?

Loser.

Get Out the Retractors!

It's not often that I issue retractions on statements I've made, written, or even those I've imagined making or writing (ask my husband if you doubt me). But today marks a day in history, my friend(s). I have eaten my words for lunch and they were f-ing delicious.

It's all about a jolly fellow named Mr. Softee, and how I once tarnished his good name with slanderous accusations regarding his product. I've discussed my feelings with several people over the years and in recent discussions had decided to give him one chance at redemption. (Either that or my ass has decided to take up a mind of its own and is in a breakneck race to overcome the size of NY state as fast as possible by way of dessert consumption. ((A very definite possibility))).

So. I planned the rendevous for several days and finally took the plunge earlier this afternoon with a vanilla cone dipped in chocolate. People. If you ever see someone rolling around the streets of Washington Heights with no regard for public decency but completely overcome by her consumption of a chocolate dipped ice cream cone, it's me. Stop and say hi. Just don't take any pictures. My agent would totally crap.

I'm a much happier person right now than two hours ago, thanks to Senor Softee, and my entire workplace is much appreciative of his efforts. Especially since earlier I decided to go door to door down the hallway ranting about the men's toilet overflowing for the bazillionth time and why can't they fix it right and who is dumping in there and causing all the problems, I know it's you Construction Man, you're fooling NO ONE.

So, I retract my earlier insults and urge you to visit your neighborhood Mr. Softee as soon as you humanly can. Or you know, whenever.

Now I'm No Manolo Blahnik...

Just in case you have reconciled with the idea that I'm having another child, let me show you what you're dealing with. Evidently, I thought it was okay to leave the house like this on Monday to run my errands all over town. Please note: the picture hides the fact that the one on the left has a heel and the one on the right clearly does not.

Wanna know when I realized this had happened? 20 minutes after I left the house.

People. Please.

No Argument Here

To get right off to a "TMI" moment with you, I need to tell you about something serious.

You may have experienced this yourself, or know someone who frequently TMI's you and therefore you heard it from them, but there is a bit of humor in it so I feel the need to share. Sharing is caring anyway.

When you get pregnant one of the perpetual list of things that happens to you is an alien takeover of your (how can I put this delicately?) "poo-center". You know what I'm talking about. So all your life your poo-center has been fully functional and operating of its own accord without much involvement on your part and then WHAMO, poo-center meltdown. Which is difficult to handle because you don't even speak poo-language to begin a dialogue with your "center" about what the problem is. Maybe other people who have had malfunctioning poo-centers there whole life know this language, but you are not one of those people, you poo normally (usually).

Cut to Saturday night when Grant and I had a rare, very rare "date night" out. We're getting ready to go and all of a sudden I begin to feel not so hot so I decide this poo-center thing has gone on long enough. I send Grant out to buy as much prune juice as is legally allowed to be purchased at one time and laugh my insidious little laugh. I will not be defeated by my rogue poo-center! When Grant returns I eagerly fill my glass up to the rim with prune juice and begin the consumption. 10 ounces later and not even an inkling of progress. I go back to the refrigerator and much to his horror, fill the whole glass up again. As I'm gulping down the syrupy liquid I glanced over at him sitting at the kitchen table with the most frightened look I have ever seen on his face. It occurs to me then as my brain does a quick rewind memory montage of our entire relationship starting back in high school that this moment is special. It's as special as the anticipation of our very first date, or the moment before he asked me to marry him, or the day Griffin was born.

This is the moment I realize myself in the exact instant I am living knowing full well that I am sharing it with the person I love most in this world. And it is also one of the most stripped down and nakedly honest moments of our relationship, and how it has changed and is continuing to change every day. But that doesn't have to be a bad thing, I say to myself, change is perpetual and healthy. And after the shock of this new change in our lives subsided a little, I began to see a new perspective on our life with 2 children, and I let some of those old expectations go. We function now as a couple more fluidly than we ever have, we rarely disagree on important issues, and we sleep soundly in comfortable naivete every night. So I nod my head confidently, turn to him and say, "Well. This is definitely not the pre-game I'm used to".