What ? Are you kidding me ? It’s that time of the week…already ??? Oh well, okay. If you say so…
Happy Friday, my lovelies !
Everyday Experiences, Lifelong Learnings
By: mamagrace714 Comments
What ? Are you kidding me ? It’s that time of the week…already ??? Oh well, okay. If you say so…
Happy Friday, my lovelies !
By: mamagrace7114 Comments
A fellow mummy blogger wrote a post last week that compelled me to write this one. Sare from “Getting From Here To There” talked about her decision to breastfeed for as long as possible. She felt that it should be the norm not the exception.
Speaking as a mum of twins, it’s not uncommon to breast feed for a maximum of 8 weeks.
It initially takes a lot of patience, persistence and help.
It’s a trickier business to continue.
It was a mixed blessing that our 5 week premature twins had to stay in the NICU for two weeks. It broke my heart to leave them behind when I was discharged. But, that time gave me the opportunity to enter – as I like to call it – The Special School of Twin Breastfeeding.
Yes, I had icy cold hands constantly touching my once precious puppies. But I will forever grateful to the NICU midwives.
At 35 weeks gestation, babies know how to suck. They know how to swallow. Both as separate functions.
So, babies who are born at this age need to learn how to co-ordinate the two.
To breastfeed successfully, took a concerted effort from mum, babies and outside help. Nothing about it was a breeze.
We had their Helpline on speed dial – 1800 686 2 686 (1800 mum 2 mum)
When the boys were two months old, I found myself bowling over with shooting pains in my right breast. I suspected nipple thrush. I feared mastitis.
We called the ABA in the middle of the night for help. For guidance. For some moral support.
Suffering from nipple thrush for almost two months, not only were there regular trips to the GP, we also made dozens of calls to the ABA.
Sometimes I heard what they had to say (“You’re doing a great job…Hang in there !”).
Sometimes I wanted to throw the phone across the room (“I know it hurts, but you have to continue breast feeding !”).
Overall, they were there. Listening. Offering help.
When Hubby went back to work, I was left with the daunting task of figuring out how to feed the boys on my own.
It took a couple of attempts.
At first, I had to feed them seperately. Not only did it become time consuming, I constantly had a baby latched to a breast. I wasn’t far off being a milking cow.
Then, the boys got a little bigger, with better head and neck control.
The feeding routine then went like this:
(Now for the tricky part)
Now tell me that sounds like riding a bike…
My boys were naturally weaned – three weeks shy of their first birthday. Ironically, out of the entire experience, that probably felt the most natural.
Breast feeding in general is no easy feat.
Adding another baby to the boob can change the whole equation.
By: mamagrace71comment
As some of you may have gathered from my Things I Know post on Friday, I was darn excited about going to the movies with Hubby for date night.
As it turned out, there was nothing showing in the cinemas that could entice either one of us (‘Hangover Part 2’, ‘Pirates of the Caribbean 4’ ???)
Besides, we kept the arrangement for our beloved Nulla Nanna to come over as she had happily volunteered for baby-sitting duties. We just couldn’t waste an evening by staying home. Despite the miserable weather.
Dressed in my new slinky jeans, Hubby and I decided to tread some old territory. The past haunts of our pre-twinlet yesteryears.
We went to our old pub where we spent many a drunken Saturday night with other child-free couples – drinking, talking and socializing. Nothing out of the extraordinary for Sydney savoir faire.
But six years on, things definitely felt different.
The same table was there to take our usual order. Inviting us to still enjoy our familiar, favoured beverages.
Yet, the pub noise was a little too rowdy and raucous for what we were now used to. I was appalled with the rambunctious crowd next to us. Their arrogant behaviour was full of profanities.
What was really happening ? I was just showing my age.
My inevitable lean towards becoming a, dare I say, conservative mother.
Four years ago at this very pub, my future husband and I would occasionally have a private, yet polite dinner together. We would tip toe around the topic of commitment, marriage and children. He wasn’t ready. I was eager and keen.
Now we were comparing twinlet photos on our phones, discussing their latest learnings and most recent cute moments.
Tonight, we talked about our future: where were we going to move to, in a city that was already so unaffordable for young families to maintain an urban lifestyle; what were the best options for day-care for our boys; what were my career plans beyond motherhood.
Breaking into the surface of planning for a young family with all its potential choices and paths.
Keeping all options open, yet staying as pragmatic as possible.
What a giant leap four years can do.
And besides now being a mother and holding responsibility for two precious souls, I still could enjoy the thrill of having a drink.
The warm, tingly feeling of a crisp white wine and the comforts of conversation that come with.
Walking back to the car in the rain, hand in hand with my beloved, I could see how all that was familiar has stepped into a time capsule of the past.
Life now is good. It’s not complete. But it’s certainly happy and content.
The movies can wait until another time.
Musings of Mama Grace © 2011
By: mamagrace712 Comments
Way back when I was still getting my head around breastfeeding and other maternal duties, I remember turning to Kaz Cooke’s book “Kid Wrangling” for a bit of entertainment and a mental break.
Talking about a baby’s emotional and mental development at 9 months to 1 year, I read:
“Your baby will show more of their ‘personality’ and quirks will be recognisable – even if you don’t realise this until later, when your child is older and you look back.”
So, that one line has stuck with me.
Born identical and two minutes apart, the boys practically started their lives wrapped in each other. Sharing a cot until they were five months.
But since turning one, the subtle differences between them are more obvious.
It has been full of surprises witnessing how they continue to mould their close-knit bond. Then, at the same time, see how their distinct personalities are evolving.
And because I’m curious to see if their special quirks will eventually be part of their overall future individual characters, I thought I’d take note of my observations.
I want to look back and see how accurate – or inaccurate – this post will actually be.
A sensitive soul, Little N is easily alarmed by any strange noises or new people. He’s shy with new guests and instead will snuggle to the closest, most familiar person he can find.
Yet, having said that, he likes a social challenge. Whenever we’re at a doctor’s appointment, Little N likes to join in the conversation with his jibber jabber chit chat.
Little N is our obliging twin. Often, his brother will snatch a toy that he’s already playing with. More often than not, Little N will let him have it and totter off to find another one.
When he walks around a room, Little N will place his hands behind his back, as though he’s deep in investigation. He reminds me of an old London police bobby.
The little conversations he has with us or his brother consist of short, sharp syllables. He will have his arms open and emphasise his little sounds by waving his arms like a motivational speaker.
Little N is my mini Anthony Robbins who seems to speak with conviction – although of course, none of us have any idea what he’s talking about.
Little N is auditory. As soon as he hears the opening drum beats to Frankie Valli’s “Sherry”, he starts dancing. The Jackson 5’s “Blame It On The Boogie” is another big favourite. Anything by the Wiggles gets him shaking a tail feather too.
Despite being the second twin, he will do whatever he can to get what he wants.
Whether it be a toy, a mobile phone or a forbidden area, Little K’s eyes will fix themselves on the object of desire and there is nothing stopping him. He will climb over you. He will sit on your head.
If he doesn’t succeed…we are potentially facing a meltdown.
Little K is very lucky that his brother is so accommodating.
Little K likes to play rough and tumble. He likes a crazy tummy tickle from his dad. Being tickled so hard he starts to cry. He always comes back for more.
While his brother likes a social challenge, Little K – forever the explorer and the climber – prefers a physical activity.
In his conversations, Little K has a sing-song voice. His chatter always ends with a raised intonation, as though he’s asking a question. Perhaps, he will be the inquisitive one.
Little K is by far the vocal twin. As a baby, he always cried louder. As a toddler, his screams are deafening.
Little K is also visual. He’s always quick to spot and point out a plane or a bird. He loves his books.
Little K also like to snuggle up to those he knows and loves. When we sit cross-legged, he will make himself comfortable into that nook, lie right back, his body sinking into yours.
So, let’s see how this will all unfold.
Two boys in each other’s physical likeness with two distinct characters shaping and forming.
Weaving in and out of their special kinship.
By: mamagrace714 Comments
Maybe it was because I didn’t have their cribs next to me during those initial days. Or the fact that when first born, I only had them on my chest for a brief moment before they were placed in humidicribs, to be whisked away to the nursery. Perhaps it was the fact that the first two weeks of their lives, they were under the care of midwives and doctors helping them get stronger and bigger in the nursery instead of being at home with us.
With an offbeat start , for perhaps the first six months – being a mum to twins – was surreal.
Despite being positioned and locked in the famous rugby hold for their breast feeds (in the end, it was almost like riding a bike…almost) I would often have to pause. I would look down at that blue breastfeeding pillow and confirm that yes, indeed there were two helpless little faces staring back at me.
Even during these moments of obvious reality, I would turn to Hubby and in a daze would say, “You know, it still doesn’t feel like their my children. I still think I’m just baby-sitting. Waiting for the real parents to come and pick them up.”
And for those first six months it was all about keeping two little beings fed. Keeping them warm. Making sure they didn’t get sick.
The days of routine and fulfilling basic parental duties blurred into each other.
Hence, the need to start this blog.
I would wonder when the Groundhog Days would be over. Yet, while busily pondering, the shift seems to have already happened.
Somewhere along the journey, the lift in change carried us through what was mundane and into days of bubbly interaction, lively jibber-jabber conversations and involuntarily sweet butterfly kisses.
Arriving into this new season of pumpkin soup and scones, we have also indeed nestled further into family life – filled with colour, variety and a different, even more delightful joy.
Last Saturday, the twinlets turned 16 months. It had completely slipped my mind.
I laughed remembering my distorted thoughts of who the twinlets belonged – or didn’t – belong to.
I’ve stopped pinching myself.
No one’s coming to pick them up.
No one’s relieving me from baby-sitting obligations.
Because yup, they are mine.
Both mine.
By: mamagrace712 Comments
The same dear friend who inspired me to write the Twintuition post, wanted to also hear about how I’ve changed since becoming a parent.
Jeepers ! That’s going to take an entirely different blog (Watch This Space).
So, just to give the topic a slight tweak, I’m going to list five points derived from what parenting has taught me.
What has allowed me to graduate from my L to P plates.
There are bound to be far more experienced parents out there who will read this and scoff, “Pfff…I already knew that.”
However, from time to time, don’t we need to sit back, reflect and see how far we’ve come ?
“It doesn’t get easier, just different”
In the first six months of being a mum and in the rare occasion I went out to get some sunshine with the twinlets, I would relish comments of other parents (particularly those of twins) who would give such comforting smiles and say, “Don’t worry, it does get easier.”
“Does it ? Does it ???” I would ask in earnest, hoping that they had the answer to my prayers in regaining sleep and sanity.
Well, I would like to meet all these parents again now.
I would like to knock their blocks off for sending me up the wrong path of expectation.
I have discovered that throughout the first year, the transitions to the next level of development and growth are subtle, creating the appearance that we’re getting better at it. While actually, we’re not.
We’re just getting better at adjusting to their ever changing needs.
It’s all about constant reinvention.
“Everything is temporary”
From the full-body wrestle screaming protests on the change table (and wondering where the heck your child found the strength of Samson) to those blissful moments when you’re sitting cross-legged on the lounge room floor and they will just involuntary sit in your nook and snuggle right in.
I tell myself to soak up all of these memories in the making. Because one day – quicker than a blink of an eye – we will be heading towards the next stage of their childhood.
Although I will gladly say goodbye to the screaming protests of nappy changing, I will certainly miss their precious innocence.
“No matter how many times you stuff up, children trust you implicitly”
I cannot tell you how many times the twinlets have had to suffer from our mistakes.
I’ll stop here before I get reported.
Yet somehow, our children have an inbuilt sense of steadfast trust.
How do they have move on and forget, while we still need time to catch our breath from the disaster ?
Where they come back to you, look at you confidently in the eyes as if to say, “Yup, I’m ready for my next bottle now…”
And you make damn sure that this time, it is full cream milk.
“Everyone has their own way of doing things”
Therefore, we cannot judge.
We are forever being told that our own instincts are the best guidelines for raising our own children. Why is it then we can be so critical of how the parent next to us does it ?
Pacifiers versus thumb-sucking; Baby-led weaning versus pureed food; Breastfeeding versus formula…the issues continue.
I can be worse than Judge Judy at the best of times. But parenting has taught me to have an open mind by connecting with other parents. We groan and moan over the same problems but there’s value in finding out what their solutions are.
Inevitably, I end up thinking, “Gee, I never would’ve thought of that. Maybe I’ll give it a try…”
“Worry, worry and more worry”
At the 20 week appointment with our obstetrician, it was discovered that Little N (only known as Twin A at the time) was significantly smaller in size and we would have to keep a close monitor throughout the rest of the pregnancy. From then we always had the possibility of early birth looming over us.
That was also the day Hubby and I realized how nerve-wrecking parenting was going to be.
Since then, the anxiety hasn’t stopped. Even with matters that are far well in the future: schooling, friends, drugs, alcohol, driving cars.
Apparently, this is all just the tip of the iceberg.
What’s your list ?
Musings of Mama Grace © 2011
By: mamagrace712 Comments
If you’re looking for one of those perfect mummy blogs with the equally flawless homemade cake recipe – you’ve landed in the wrong place.
In fact, dear reader, you might as well click that little crisscross button on the top right of your screen.
Before we delve into this episode, there is a background.
Cakes, muffins, cookies – any type of baking foods – was not something I grew up with.
My Indonesian mum is a top notch cook…of Indonesian cuisine, of course. But a baker, she ain’t.
I didn’t grow up knowing how a cake was supposed to rise or how to blend cake batter. Even as a young adult, I still didn’t have an interest.
However, I can say this: The fixation on learning how to bake…derived the moment I started having a family.
Over a short course of a week, three unrelenting attempts were made.
Monday night:
After my frisbee cake fiasco, I was adamant to give the “No-Egg” product another whirl.
As advised by a vegan friend who was familiar with the egg replacer, I decided to make a cake from scratch, using a recipe that another friend promised me was fool-proof.
Yes, but was it oven-phobic Mama Grace proof ?
After much preparation and reading through the recipe thoroughly, there was momentum.
I was mixing. I was blending. I was in the zone.
The kitchen and the baker were both humming along nicely.
Then, finally, the crucial moment…
I thought it looked alright.
Had it risen ? Check.
Did it smell like a cake ? Check.
Most importantly, did it look like a cake ? Checkity check check.
I even did that skewer test thing and – to me – the skewer seemed to come out clean as a whistle. So I thought.
Excited and thrilled with the result, I called on Hubby to come over to try a piece.
I thought I’d cut him a slither to surprise him. As I did, this happened:
Wednesday night:
I was in a “Bake or Die” fatalistic mode. The self-determination to see a cake creation of my own was at its peak.
But somehow, this second attempt was even worse. I won’t even begin to go into the sordid detail.
Suffice to say, it rose. It fell. Then it was burnt. With the middle completely doughy.
The sheer frustration even got the better of Hubby who started scouring the internet for answers and would type into Google questions like:
“Why doesn’t ‘No Egg’ work when baking cakes ?”
I couldn’t for the life of me figure it out, because the instructions of the packet couldn’t have been written any clearer than a cloudless blue sky:
“One Egg is equivalent to one teaspoon of No Egg with two tablespoons of water”
So, what was I doing wrong ??? Why wasn’t the cake binding ???
Finally, I found the answer on Amazon.com’s product reviews.
One consumer wrote:
“You need to double your ‘No Egg’ portion to two teaspoons. Then mix with warm water. Make sure you whisk for at least three minutes until foamy.”
Right. Why didn’t anyone tell me that ?
It felt like that scene in ‘Friends’ where Ross finds out Rachel is pregnant with his baby, but doesn’t understand how it happened because they used ‘protection’. Then, Rachel hits him with the harsh truth and reveals that condoms only work 97% of the time.
“They should say that on the box !!!”
My sentiments exactly.
Thursday night:
Hubby couldn’t believe that I was going to give it yet, another try. Well, actually he could. He has witnessed me crazed up and obsessed with other projects in the past.
Over the years, he has learnt to stand back. Otherwise, he gets his head bitten off.
This time I was even more particular with the process. I mixed the batter a little longer. I took more care in melting the butter and mixing it with the cocoa.
I doubled my “No Egg” portion and made sure I whisked it until my wrist was sore.
I waited anxiously – checking every 20 minutes. I patted the oven a couple of times. Told it I desperately wanted to be friends and to be nice to me.
Then, I realised that my oven’s heat doesn’t circulate properly. It sits at the back.
I discovered that the front of the cake wasn’t cooking through and the back ? It was starting to burn.
I was ready to pack it in. I was sick of having my rubbish bin filling up with mushy, half baked chocolate dough. The kitchen was in a constant array of cocoa powder, flour, sprinkles of sugar and chunks of butter.
But somehow, I perservered. And although, it wasn’t the most ideal, for the most part, it worked out.
I discovered that cake can be like people.
Flaws exist, but can be covered. Bless chocolate frosting.
So, to summarise, here’s what my humble little Chocolate Mud Cake taught me…
One cup of butter, two cups of sugar and a pinch of patience:
I was in such a rush to get to the end result. Frantic even. I forgot that the biggest ingredient missing was patience.
With anything new and unknown, it was better just to take things slow. To take time and thought in what I was doing.
Remembering that as the cake needed time to cool down before I could frost it, so did my temper.
There is always a solution.
Despite a crappy old oven and the obstacle of having to bake without egg, with a bit of research, talking to friends, scouring the internet, you can somehow work it out. Eventually.
Working the oven. Make it my friend.
Ovens, I have decided, are as individual as people.
Some only blow heat from behind.
Some seem to spread their heat quite evenly.
I discovered that you treat an oven like you would a relationship . Whatever type of implement you’re stuck with, you gotta know your oven.
Give it the right amount of maintenance, check up on it once in a while to see if everything’s okay. Sometimes it needs more attention than other days. It will have flaws but you will somehow work around those.
Making the most of what it can offer.
P.S Like Ross and his condom company, I plan to write a complaint letter to the company of ‘No Egg’…
By: mamagrace712 Comments
Being in a 24 hour full-on job like motherhood doesn’t permit you to embrace a Friday like I did back in my corporate days. But, I must say, this week has seen some small goal kicks. Little steps moving forward. I feel I have reason to celebrate.
Here’s a summary:
Smart ‘N Move:
This “school-readiness”program that the boys attend every Wednesday is actually called “Art ‘N Move”. For 45 minutes, a teacher goes through play school type activities to get the young tots active and to “stimulate their senses”. The boys are into their second term.
I changed its title to my own sarcastic one because I was dubious whether these classes provided any actual benefit for the boys. It all felt like another sham – another toddler marketing ploy.
In the majority of classes, my lovely twinlets – although the oldest in the class – are the least attentive. There is an element of embarrassment for me as I watch the other proud mothers and their astute children happily join in the activities.
But hey, as I learned long ago, it’s not about me anymore.
It’s.All.About.The.Boys.
Begrudgingly, I took the boys to their weekly class. I don’t know what happened, but a light switched on in their little heads.
To my surprise, they were quietly paying attention to the teacher. They didn’t wander off in disinterest and climb on the classroom side benches like they usually do. They were even laughing and looked like they were having a (shock, horror) fun time.
Chocolate Mud Cake:
I think I can say that the oven and I are now (ahem) a little better acquainted. It has taken me four attempts. Three of them over the short course of this week – Monday, Wednesday and Thursday nights.
I even used a “cake from scratch” recipe for each of these cake batter splattered war zone episodes.
I know, I’m insane. But I was vehemently determined to make this damn cake.
And, I did. Okay, it’s modest in its appearance, to say the least.
I don’t care. It was a goal I set out to do. Hot diggity damn…tick !
Blog post to come.
Kreativ Blogger Award:
I woke up Tuesday morning with a terrible cold, swollen glands and a splitting headache. Just as I was about to grumble about having to look after the boys with a bout of sickness, I received an email from a fellow mummy blogger who had nominated me for a Kreativ Blogger Award:
Tat at Muminsearch talks about her journey and discoveries in life and parenting. She makes sure that there’s some fun and joy along the way. Her posts are inspirational and when she mentions what she’s grateful for (which is often), it’s always from the heart.
So, I am humbled that among others, she’s also chosen my blog. My space. The little corner of my world.
Many may see all of this as trivial dalliances.
For me though, it’s all leading to something more significant.
I’m going to sign off this post with a fun video of my family.
A tiny snippet to the craziness and laughter in our home.
This is the real reward.
[youtube=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tm4_mBJcKJY]
By: mamagrace716 Comments
Recently, a good friend sent me an email suggesting some great ideas for future blog posts. One topic she wanted me to cover was how the twins communicate without being able to talk yet. She asked whether that old myth about twins being able to read each other’s mind is true.
For me and my twinlets, I’m discovering that it’s not so clear cut.
They definitely understand each other’s existence. They are also very much aware when the other one has been taken away to another room or has wandered off down the hall – out of the other’s sight.
Then, there is a more complex factor to the equation. As they are independently developing their own distinctive personalities, they still mesh this with constantly checking that the other one is nearby.
The other day, Little N was lying on his back, having a bit of a daydream on the lounge room floor while Little K was in another corner playing with some blocks. Both happily engrossed in their own activity. After some time, Little K comes along and jumps on his brother’s tummy, playing horsey on top of him. Surprisingly, Little N wasn’t even bothered. They were both actually having a bit of a giggle.
Then there’s their own private powwow that reminds me of “Marco Polo”
For those who aren’t familiar, it’s a children’s game that’s best played in the pool. (An enclosed park or field also works well). The person who is “it” has to be blindfolded or close their eyes while the other players are scatttered around. When the person who is blindfolded calls out “Marco”, the other players have to answer with “Polo”. By trying to guess where those voices are coming from, the objective of the blindfolded child has to try and tag one of the other players whose has to avoid being tagged.
The boys have their own version. From memory, I think it started when they were around ten months.
On family outings, when leaving the house, Hubby and I would carry a twinlet each to the car, usually with one of us ahead of the other. Whether he was ahead or behind his brother, Little K – the younger but bigger twin – will usually start the conversation:
Little K: “Yayayaaa, baaaaaa !!!”
Translation: “Dude, I’m right here…Don’t fret !”
(Looking over at his brother…sometimes pointing)
Little N: “Dadadadadaaaa !!! Wawawaaaah !”
Translation: “Gotcha. Where do you think they’re taking us ?”
(Not even looking to see where the voice is coming from)
Little K: “Babababaaa !”
Translation: “Ooohh…hopefully it’s that park with the cool slide !”
Little N: “Dudududududu !! Dah !”
Translation: “Awesome ! Okay, see you in the car…”
So, perhaps this is how the twin-tuition starts.
Making sure that your constant is never too far away. Or if he is, knowing exactly where he is.
That from the earliest stages of life – well before the spoken word – the only person that you can mutually communicate with is your twin.
A very exclusive club, indeed.
By: mamagrace716 Comments
Okay, no doubt there have been countless blog posts and comments about them. But here’s our rendition on how they entered our lives, our home and saved our sanity.
Our fascination with them started discreetly. An innocent purchase of their healthy snacks, the twinlets took an instant liking to them.
However, I thought, food was the limit. We were going to conciously disband ourselves from their music and all that crazy franchise and over the top concerts. Avoid all the toddler marketing ploys that only burn a desperate parent’s pocket.
Besides, I had decided that being a lover of music – all types of music – I wanted to introduce my children to what wasn’t mainstream.
Justine Clarke and Play School was as general as our household could be.
The rest of the time, we showered the twinlets with Newton Faulkner, Jack Johnson (who’s music they were actually born to…another story, another post) and John Mayer.
Early on in parenting I was going to stand firm and not cave into The Wiggles mayhem.
Then, Nulla Nanna snuck in a Wiggles DVD as a present.
Can I just tell you…it has changed our lives.
The catchy tunes, the colourful scenes, the dancing…it has the boys mesmerized. Almost hypnotised.
And us parents ? We are grateful because the Wiggles gives us ten minutes to catch our breath from the daily mayhem of raising twinlets; a distraction for our toddlers on the plane to prevent them from completely losing the plot; they leave me relieved because I know they are educational.
It’s simple. The Wiggles promote happiness, fun and encourage young minds to be active.
Starting from humble beginnings, forming after the untimely death of a band member’s niece from SIDS, the Wiggles all come from an early-childhood education background. They take meticulous planning in staying dedicated to their pre-school and family followers and take their responsibility as role models seriously.
Their signature finger-waving ? As silly as it looks, it is their policy to use the move when taking photos with children. The Wiggles are adamant that touching children affectionately – or otherwise – is always inappropriate.
I believe they even write most of their songs and play most of the instruments.
So, to all those who can’t get their head around the wonder of the Wiggles, questioning how they have managed to earn more money than Kylie or AC/DC – I’m darn proud that they’ve been Australia’s biggest export.
The Wiggles are as wholesome as you can get: they care about children; their inspiration comes from children.
Let’s face it.
How many of us can say we’re in our dream jobs, becoming millionaires doing what we love and deeply passionate about ?
‘nough said.