Category: Motherhood

Brothers For Life

by Ashley filed under Family, Hooper, Motherhood, Van

These two. I tell ya. My heart yearns for them as they sleep and flutters for them when they’re awake. Hooper’s transition into his role as big brother has been seamless. That little munchkin Van gets more unsolicated hugs and kisses from his brother than anyone else. Hooper is quick to place one of his prized toy cars into his brother’s hand and repeatedly offers Van his bottle and his raisins and his juice and his carrots… you get the idea. It’s a budding relationship and it’s the most fulfilling thing to watch unravel.
That’s all for today. Just a few simple words to reflect on mothering these two beautiful boys. Dear Hooper & Van, Mama loves you.

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Fasten Your Seat Belts

by Ashley filed under Ashley, Motherhood, Travel
This post is dedicated to first time moms traveling for the first time because I’ll bet any mom that has traveled with an infant more than once will have additional tips and tricks of the trade. Feel free to share by using the comment link below. Here we go…
-When you purchase your flight, you’ll need to let the airlines know you are traveling with an infant. If you buy your ticket online, some sites will have a box you check but others won’t. Sometimes you have to pick up the good ol’ telephone and give em’ a little jingle to inform them of the parasite traveling on you. They don’t need to know if you have crabs or lice, however, just a baby. You’ll also need to make a copy of your baby’s birth certificate or birth record or immunization record (anything that has his birthday on it). Bring this with you, as you’ll need it to check in. I usually leave a copy in the diaper bag because it’s easy to forget. If you do forget it, they can call your pediatrician’s office and have them fax something over… but that only works if the office is open and even then there is the obvious delay. It pays to have your shit together, trust me.
-Pack the night before. Leave a little note for the time fairy begging and pleading for this to be made possible. Leave a list on top of your suitcase for things you’ll need to add in the morning. For me, this list included things like the white noise maker (which we use every night), the swaddle sac (also used every night), pumping supplies (used every morning).
-Come up with a breastfeeding game plan. I like to feed just before we leave the house and then during take off and landing. Make sure you pack your hooter hider or blanket in your carry on. Or let it all hang out. Seriously, the seats are so close together that the weird guy next to you would probably have to lean forward and kink his neck in your direction to sneak a peek of your ta-tas anyway. And if you do spy a creeper, just tell em’ your milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. And then squirt em’ in the face.
-Have your travel companion (if you’re so lucky) drop you off curbside with all the stuff… because lets face it, if you’re traveling with a little munchkin, you’ll have the dreaded “stuff” I speak of: luggage, stroller, car seat, car seat base, sanity, good attitude, patience… it call gets dropped off curbside. As a side note, it’s easier to travel with a snap-n-go. I leave Van in the car seat/snap-n-go until boarding and then check the whole contraption in at the gate. You can pick up the proper tags at the gate. I check the base of the car seat in (which is always free of charge), along with the big luggage (not always free of charge. Screw you, Delta.), before going through security. As a side note, if you’re not knowledgeable about hooking the car seat into the car, you should review this before you leave to make the transition into the car at your destination smooth. I always review it with Willy before I leave if I’m traveling by myself. There’s nothing worse than getting to where you’re going only to be held up by trying to figure out the car seat. This situation is made worse if you have a crying baby to top it off. Save yourself the frustration.
-When you check in, inquire if the flight is full. Try to hold your infant in your arms when you ask (to rake in the sympathy points). And if your baby is cute (ha! I joke, they’re all cute), turn him toward the lady (fingers crossed it’s a lady… or an older man… or just a sympathetic person) and lift up baby’s arm to give em’ a little wave. If the flight is not full, ask if they could kindly leave the seat next to you open. This has happened to me several times and each of these times I felt like a lottery winner. Seriously, it’s the best.
Some airlines don’t assign seats and allow you pick your seat as you get on to the plane. If this is the case, don’t clean the spit up off your baby’s onesie and fart so there’s a nice aroma in the air as they pass you (because they will pass you. No one wants to sit by a baby, let alone a smelly baby. Despite their reluctance to be your neighbor, these will be the same people that tell you how cute your baby is and praise you for how good your baby was. These lovely compliments only come after the plane has landed and only if your baby was seen and not heard. No one says anything nice beforehand, carefully reserving the right to hate you and your child should your child ruin their flight).
If your baby does cry, try all your tricks (duh, right?). If nothing works, get over it. It’s not your fault. You don’t have any more control than the drunken fool two rows behind you. Hate the game, not the player = Hate the high altitude ear poppin’ pain, not the baby. If you get a dirty look, give em’ the good ol’ tongue. You thought I was going to say finger, huh? Nope, the old-school stickin’ your tongue out like a sassy second grader is the card I play in this situation. Really though, as you walk off the plane leave it all behind and enjoy your trip.
-How did we already get on the plane without mentioning the dreaded security? Back to before you get the whole shebang on the plane… Going through security can be a pain the ass with or without a baby. As fate would have it, it seems as though every time we wheel up to security, the baby is asleep. When the sleeping baby was Hooper and I was a first time mom, I couldn’t believe they’d make me wake a sleeping baby. I thought for sure I’d be an exception to whatever rule. Turns out the TSA agents are not the ones gloating over a sleeping child. Nor are they the ones responsible for getting that child back to sleep. Thus, they don’t give a shit about you and your sleeping baby. Just like the shoes and the belt and the wallet and every last straggling dime in your pocket, the car seat goes onto the belt. As a result, you must wake your little one up and carry him through with you. This never fails to piss me off and I always have to remind myself that I ought to hate the terrorists, not the TSA agent. But, without fail I leave security wanting to slap someone. In any case, this is why you pack your patience and good attitude.
-If you’re traveling with breast milk, review both the law (you can bring milk on a plane, even if it exceeds the 4oz. limit) and storage instructions. While I was in Utah, I kept to my pumping schedule (I pump 2 to 3 times a day in addition to breastfeeding) and thus had milk to bring back with me. Because milk cannot be frozen, then thawed, then frozen again, I stored my milk in the fridge while in Utah, then packed it with a bag of ice for the flight, and then froze it when I got home. If you’re going on a long flight with milk, it’s best to bring a zip lock bag and refill the ice as you travel to keep the milk cold. You can get ice from a restaurant near your gate as well as from the flight attendants. If you’re worried about the TSA agents giving you trouble, you may want to print out a copy of what the law says to keep with you. I did this once for piece of mind, but honestly have never had a problem.
Hope these tips are helpful. Feel free to share your tips and tricks too! Best of luck and hope I’m not the unlucky lady (did I really just refer to myself as a lady? I prefer girl… adult girl) who gets stuck sitting next to you and your crying smelly child. I’ll totally give you the stink eye. Just kidding.
As a side note… If you are a man reading this… or even a nice non-child totting woman… help the lady and her baby out. Hold the door, help squish her carry-on into that much too tiny overhead compartment, offer to hold her baby (only if you really want to hold him, of course) while she buckles her seat belt… I cannot tell you how many people have walked right past me while I’ve struggled to get a stroller up stairs. I silently say very mean things to them and if, by chance, they trip… I laugh and roll past them.

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And Then There Were Two.

by Ashley filed under Hooper, Motherhood, Van
I’ve been in such a state of peace lately. I really didn’t expect this. I expected chaos and resentment and exhaustion and all those other things that seem to occur when you bring a newborn into a home. But, as it turns out, becoming a mother for the second time has been a much smoother transition than the first time. I’ve been sitting on this realization for a while and have come to attribute it to two things:
First, my perspective is clearer. I have witnessed, firsthand (because lets face it, it means nothing coming from someone else), that time flies. What’s a challenge one week is non-apparent the next. Breastfeeding feels never-ending… then you wean… and a week later it feels like it’s been a year since you breastfed your child and you suddenly miss it a little. Sleepless nights seem to come and go too. What I’m getting at is the fact that it’s all temporary and I’m much more aware of that this time around.
The second has to do with role change. There is a dramatic change in roles following the birth of your first born. For me, I remember thinking parenting Hooper would be a team effort. And by team effort, I mean fifty fifty. It was hard for me to take on the role of primary caregiver and accept the realization that fifty fifty really equals ninety ten. I felt like I was constantly having to sit on my ass to breastfeed and it bothered me to have to sit on my ass while I stared at a sink full of dirty dishes, dust collecting on the floor, a dog that needed to be walked, and so on and so forth. While I had to organize my day with some sort of strategy just to fit a shower and three meals into my schedule, it seemed like Willy got to sit on the toilet forever just to shit. It all seemed unfair (As a side note, it had nothing to do with Hooper. I bonded and loved him instantly with ALL my heart… I’m just speaking on behalf of the role adjustment).
With the birth of our second, I’m already acquainted with my role. I’ve already accepted the challenge. I know my place, Willy knows his. We’ve learned from our struggles the first time around and the kinks we had to work out then are already worked out. I am the primary caregiver. I say that now with pride and excitement. Although, I must admit, I’m still jealous of the fact Willy still gets to sit on the toilet forever when I’m just lucky to wipe my ass just in time to intercept a toy car Hooper’s about to throw into the toilet. But, again, it’s temporary.
Realizing that it’s all temporary and having experience in the role of primary caregiver has made me more relaxed. Being more relaxed, in turn, has made for less arguments, less kinks to work out, and less anxiety in general. I remember trying to shove food in my mouth as fast as possible because Hooper would be crying while Willy and I tried to enjoy dinner. This time around, if Van is crying during dinner it reminds me that he’s alive and I close the door and finish my dinner.
What’s your experience in becoming a mother for the first or second or third time been like? Can you relate?

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Utah, Part 1

by Ashley filed under Ashley, Motherhood, Travel, Van, Videos
I spent this past weekend in Utah, with my best friend. My heart is warm every time I’m with her. I feel inspired by her mere presence. If it sounds like I love her, it’s because I do. Every girl needs a best friend they truly love. Mine is Janet.
When we’re together, anything feels possible. The world feels small again. I swear I hear opportunity knocking on my doorstep and the footsteps of ideas running through my head. She leaves me feeling motivated and confident. Every time.
Hope you enjoy this little video of our time together. And thank you, J, for an epic weekend… The weekend where your Carla met my Van. They don’t know it, but their lives will never be the same 😉

Utah, Part 1 from The Stork & The Beanstalk on Vimeo.

1,095 Days Later…

by Ashley filed under Ashley, Meet Your Parents, Motherhood
Willy and I recently celebrated our third wedding anniversary. And we have yet to murder each other. Hell, the cops haven’t even been to our house. And trust me, they’ve been to the house down the street once or twice. Our marriage is far from perfect, but it’s perfect for us. There are things we both acknowledge we need to work on, but at the end of the day we love each other deeply and share an intense love similar to a fifth grade crush on crack. I’ve spent some time pondering what it is that makes our marriage successful. I asked Willy to do the same. And here’s what we came up with:
-Don’t keep score. I need to remind myself of this one constantly because it feels like I’m always keeping score and that I’m always ahead. Woman do things more efficiently, so instead of berating your husband for not being as organized, give yourself a pat on the back (because no one else is gonna pat it for you) and move the eff on. This also means not holding a grudge when you have to shit faster than you piss because of the two munchkins running around, while your husband makes it a priority to sit over his own feces and play angry birds while you breastfeed one and scold the other. No grudges, capiche? Let it go Ashley, let it go. Are you picking up on the fact this rule is my greatest challenge?
-Mind your manners. All because you’re married doesn’t mean manners go to the wayside. I think Willy and I both do a good job of being polite and respectful. He always asks my permission before making an appointment to have his tattoo worked on, recognizing that my days are busy too and that leaving me with both of our members could potentially create a problem. Running his plans by me first helps me organize and plan ahead and simultaneously helps things run smoothly.
I always try to remember to thank Willy on the nights he makes dinner, which are all nights other than the ones we eat out. Even though it’s something that over the years has become his duty and responsibility, thanking him for his efforts shows recognition and appreciation. Appreciating each other for things we do on a daily basis is important, for it’s those little things that are most easily overlooked but make a world of difference.
-Encourage hobbies and interests. It keeps a person sane, right? There’s nothing worse than watching a relationship develop where the two individuals seemingly morph into one and lose all individuality. Willy loves going to concerts. If there is a show coming up and it doesn’t interfere with anything else, I encourage him to go with a friend. This is because I’d rather step in a pile of fresh dog shit than have my poor ears subjected to the hootin’ and hollerin’ shit he listens to. If Willy Nelson’s playing, on the other hand, then there will be a problem if I’m not going too. If it’s a quiet weekend, Willy will take our members out so I can work on editing photos or scurry over to some of the local thrift stores or, on a rare occassion, get my nails did (uh huh, I said it. Now move past it). Especially with kids, it’s nice to help one another find time to enjoy things we like doing for ourselves.
-You can’t tell the other how to feel. This is somewhat connected to keeping score. When I get up in the middle of the night to feed Van, I’m tired the next day. It goes without saying, right? There is nothing worse than hearing Willy complain about being tired when I’m the one getting in and out of bed while he snoozes off in never never land. But if he’s saying he’s tired, it’s clearly because he’s tired. I have to watch out for it becoming a competition where only one of us can have the privlige of complaining about being tired and just accept the fact that dispite his nine hours of beauty rest, he may still be tired. So yes, you can’t tell one another how to feel. If you’re tired, you’re tired. Take a nap (me first though) and move on.
-Have a sense of humor. When Hooper was an infant, he’d cry a lot. Way more than Van. It was agonizing as first time parents to feel so helpless and clueless. To make light of the situation, we used to cusp our hand back and forth over Hooper’s mouth, making him sound instead like an Indian chanting. It didn’t solve the problem, but it made it more bearable.
What have you learned from the relationships you’ve been in? What works, what doesn’t work, for you?

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A Penny for Your Thoughts…

by Ashley filed under Motherhood

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I love to blog. Partly because I love to write. Partly because I love to photograph. Partly because I love the idea of documenting Hooper and Van’s lives from the beginning. And partly because I love the community and support it brings. It’s because of the latter that I share what I’m about to share with you. I’m encouraging as much conversation and comments with this post as possible, for the sake of a dear friend. This friend has allowed me to share a personal struggle of hers: to join the journey of motherhood, or not.
For me, the decision to have children was very innate. I carried dolls around with me through my entire childhood and enjoyed playing house more than anything else. I never imagined my life without children. But I think it’s unfair to assume that everyone who enters motherhood does so without question if it was the right path for them. Anyway, here is what my friend had to say. Please comment below with your personal journey, advice, or opinion.
You asked why I’m afraid to have kids. Um, hello, why would I NOT be afraid to have kids? First of all, there’s Down’s Syndrome, Cerebral Palsy, and a number of other potential catastrophes to consider. Plus, would the world even be nice for my kid in a decade or so? Pollution, global warming, wars, financial collapse… need I go on? Even aside from those global issues, there are issues with me (I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true). There’s the fact that I’m pretty impatient. And I don’t have the best stress-tolerance. And I like to be selfish with my time. And I have a tendency to be resentful when I can’t be selfish with my time. And I’m a control freak who feels lost without organization. I’m pretty sure children make life pretty disorganized. 
What if my kid is an asshole? All kids these days seem like ungrateful heathens with ADHD. And they’re sexting like mad! What about the time I want to spend with my husband? You know, sharing a bottle of wine, having spontaneous sex, trying new recipes, visiting fancy restaurants, going to middle-of-the-week baseball games. I’m possessive of that time with him. And I’m possessive of my time with wine. And beer. What if I hate my post-baby body? What if looking in the mirror makes me cry? What if sex never feels the same again? 

Truthfully, I’m really fulfilled by pets. Can’t I just get some dogs? All they need is a walk and some food, which is totally manageable. Kids can talk, which makes their potential for annoyance way higher. Kids have tantrums! My kids are going to want to eat Kraft mac-and-cheese and hot dogs. I’m not down with that. A son could grow up to be like many lazy men I’ve dated who are perpetually broke and dependent on their parents for money, well into their thirties, when their hair has started receding. A daughter could grow up dressing like a ho at 12 and calling me a bitch on a regular basis. Ew, and I’m going to have to help with homework. Once I finished school, I swore I’d never do homework again. I have nightmares of being back in school and having a report due. Seriously. Nightmares. 

What about gene pools? I have some crazy relatives. And I’m a little crazy myself, evidently. I don’t really like other people’s children. I’m not that social, and you have to be with kids so they have activities and friends and whatever. Ugh, I hate that word — “activities.” I would totally fall behind with my DVR. We all know how much I love TV. It would probably take me a freaking year to read a book. Forget having time to write or do yoga or catch up on celebrity gossip. And forget about having time with friends. Goodbye pedicures and weekend hikes and martini-fueled girl time. 

Don’t kids cost a lot of money? They break a bone, they need braces, they want to sign up for soccer, they want to go to an ivy league college (my children are going to be brilliant, even if they are assholes). I prefer my life to be without financial concerns and pressures. I like knowing that I could lose my job and it would be just me who is affected. I’m not responsible for, you know, OTHER LIVES. Plus, financial stress means marital stress. I would definitely fight with my husband more if we had kids. How could I not? There is way more at stake. And he’d be in support of Kraft mac-and-cheese and hot dogs. I can see that being a huge argument.

I don’t do well without sufficient sleep. Period.

And, lastly, there are so many non-kid-friendly adventures to be had. Adventures in the wilderness. Adventures in countries where English isn’t spoken and food is of mysterious origin. Adventures that cost money, money that others would place in college funds.

The crux of it is that the pros of having a kid seem very vague to me. Yes, it sounds amazing to create a life with someone you love, but what if my worst fears as expressed in the previous paragraphs become realities? Then is it really that amazing? Maybe having a kid would help me get out of myself, let go a little bit, experience love in a whole new way, create a stronger sense of family. These things all seem very abstract though. I’m not good with abstract. 

Am I alone with all these worries? Do I need to up my dose of anti-anxiety meds? Help!

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Mama Style

by Ashley filed under Motherhood

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lace Top: INC, purchased at Macys // Black Cami: Nordstorms // Skirt: UO (oldie but goodie) // Shoes: Style & Co. Wedges
This skirt has traveled with me to many countries. I think I’ve owned it for nearly seven years. I rarely keep anything that long. My 1957 sized closet doesn’t allow me to keep much. But it’s one of those skirts that never seems to go out of style. It’s been a long time favorite of mine. It’s perfect with a bikini on the beach in Thailand or paired with a lacy top and heels for a dinner date in Santa Monica. Do you have something in your closet that has been with you for so long that you can’t seem to part with it? Have you altered it to make it current or changed what you’ve paired it with over the years? It’s funny how if you keep something long enough, it eventually becomes “in” again.
I’m five weeks postpartum this week. Things I’ve accomplished this past week include a trip to the grocery store with two munchkins and a walk with both the littles and Sarah during the heat wave that appears to be leaving no time soon. Oh the round of applause I hear ringing in my ear makes me blush. Stoppppp (said like a bashful little girl with freckles and pig tails). Really though, we ought to celebrate the little things; otherwise our days of going to the grocery store and taking the dog for a walk would feel uneventful and unimportant and dammit it was a beautiful walk on a beautiful morning and surely the food in our fridge serves a very important purpose (if only I had the time to cook it– ha, I joke). It’s all temporary. One day I’ll be back to moving mountains and I’ll be dreaming of the days my life was centered around getting out for a morning stroll with the littles.

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Day One.

by Ashley filed under Motherhood
It was day one, on my own, with the munchkins last Thursday and I survived. Sure, there was crayon coloring on sofa pillows, self-inflicted pen markings, more Yo Gabba Gabba watched than I care to admit, milk spilled on the floor, shit left in diapers longer than usual, nap time protests, a dog that survived without being fed til the afternoon, and an air conditioning that failed (it’s been 110 degrees in the Valley as of late)… But, we survived. Things I accomplished: We all ate, I showered, took out the trash, even made time to curl my eyelashes and slap on some lipstick (because lets face it, lipstick is where it’s at when you’re in a time crunch), and I got our AC fixed. So all in all, a successful day. You better bet I did a celebratory jig. There may have even been a throw back to 1992 when the running man was where it was at. My two cents to all those mamas awaiting their second addition: It is possible.

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2 Weeks.

by Ashley filed under Ashley, Motherhood, Van
I’d be lying if I didn’t confess that this past week has been both magical and ominous at the same time. Magical because, well you know, we created another little human. We are now a family of four and there is nothing sweeter than that. Willy has been absolutely wonderful with Van, so patient and loving. And his relationship with Hooper is stronger than ever. We’ve all really bonded and that’s why, when I look to the near future that is this week, I say things are ominous too. That’s because Willy will be returning to work. That means I will have to juggle breastfeeding the little while making meals and spoon feeding my bigger (because we all know how time consuming feeding our horribly picky and finicky eater can be). It also means that I will have to discipline the bigger one my own, which has become quite the usual occurrence this past week. The culprit is only obvious and I’m hoping that in time the transition to becoming a big brother settles in. There have been a few times where Van has been at the breast and Hooper has come up and whacked him on the head. In steps Willy and over to the corner Hooper goes for his lecture on hitting. Take Willy out of that equation and I’m not sure what to do. I picture myself pulling my hair out, but I know that will happen soon enough on it’s own so I’m not sure what I’m going to resort to. I imagine I will figure it all out and I hope that with each passing day I learn a trick here and there to help me get through the day (preferably with a shower and three meals). To be continued…
As far as recovery goes, I feel shockingly fairly close to normal. I started using the term “normal” just a few days ago and it feels oh so good to let that nice word roll off my tongue. I get a bit sore if I do too much during the day, but so long as I take care of myself, I feel almost back to normal. I will be sharing Van’s birth story on the blog tomorrow, but not included in the story is the fact that I did tear (again). It was one of my biggest fears prior to giving birth the second time and I have to admit that immediately after confirming that Van was okay, I asked, “Did I tear?”. Sure enough, the answer was “stage 3”, same as before. I dreaded recovery instantly, but I’d have to say it has been significantly easier and less painful than the first time. The body has such fantastic ways of healing and caring for itself.
Sleep hasn’t been horrible either. Would you believe me if I said there was one night Van gave me a five hour stretch? And another night a seven hour stretch? Of course those are the exceptions. Interspersed are increments of an hour, maybe two, and sometimes only 30 minutes. Keeping it positive, it’s been nice to catch up on the Olympics in the wee hours of the night as I sit like a potato on the sofa with my lovely glow worm attached to my breast.

First Thoughts…

by Ashley filed under Hooper, Motherhood, Van

Prior to giving birth, I worried about Hooper not being the center of my universe. I grieved the inevitable loss of time and attention I’d have with him and be able to give him. In Van’s first week of life, I’ve found the fear to be a reality. I’ve heard other mom’s to two say that it was harder for them than it was for the older child; harder to watch your first baby rely on others for things you alone used to be able to provide for them. I relate with this entirely. Hooper is fine, but as I watch him dance around me or walk out the door with his Papa to get ice cream I feel a hint of sadness. Like he’s cheating on me. This morning Willy bragged from his room, “I’m getting the longest unsolicited hug right now”. My heart sunk. I needed that hug.
That’s the downside. The upside is that, under the best of circumstances, parenting is a two person job. It’s bittersweet. Bitter to watch Willy get hugs he used to only reserve for me. Sweet to watch him embrace the man I love, the man who helped make him. I’ve watched their bond grow over the last few days and it makes it hard to complain when in actuality a beautiful thing is unraveling right before my eyes. The more time Willy spends with Hooper, the more his love for his son grows as well. So ya, there’s a lot of love flowing around these parts.
Hooper insists on holding his brother, but then can’t decide between his brother and Gabba Gabba.
Someone would love to poke an eye out.
“Hey Hoops, where’s your brother?”
Brotherly love.

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Moments in Motherhood.

by Ashley filed under Hooper, Motherhood

The other day I was watching Hooper play with my mom. He was running in circles and giggling. I asked my mom, “What was I like at this age?”. Of course she had a general answer that summed up my personality for much of childhood, but the rest of her answer is what resonated. She said, “Honestly, I don’t remember. I know you look at him now and think you’ll never forget these moments, but you do”. I felt my heart sink into my abdominal cavity. Then I felt a strong urge to grab a video camera and begin recording, only to never stop and have the final result be one long video of my little love’s life. And then I realized that wasn’t practical for many reasons. Then reality set in. Being a mother is about appreciating moments in time, being part of moments in time, and laughing, loving, and cherishing all that is precious in those moments. Because the moments pass. And new moments take their place. And time keeps moving onward.
I look at Hooper’s little face today and try my best to fool myself into believing that I will never forget those cheeks, that grin, or the sound of that giggle. But, alas, the cheeks will change, the grin will grow, and the giggle will deepen and surely life will still be beautiful.

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