Nursery Rhyme Time

One Misty Moisty Morning




Jack Be Nimble

Here She Comes!

Apple Core! Baltimore.

Remember that childhood ditty? I lived it today. Particularly the "cored" part. Not to get too graphic, here, but it seems I've developed a sort of ... spotty rash ... uh, all over, well ... you know....

The grandmotherly nurse handed me a tissue-thin hospital gown. "Sorry it's so cold," she apologized. I clutched the teeeny tiny robe around me (when did they get so small?) and explained to the wide-eyed Talmage and noninterested Sydney what was about to happen.

The lanky, grey-bearded dermatologist whipped out a magnifying glass, just like a real detective, peered at a few spots, then ponderously said (and I quote), "Thaaaat's unusual." Hmh! To which I have to say, "Thaaaat's reassuring." He thinks it might be an allergic reaction to something. "But we'll have to do a biopsy." That's where the coring part comes in.

The accommodating receptionist watched Talmage and Sydney while I was whisked to another room (the operating room, I guess). The nurse flipped on the radio to calm my chattering nerves, and layed a thick blanket on top of me to still my chattering teeth. She chattered about upcoming Christmas plans, her fiance (!), whilst gathering supplies. I listened to her with one ear and listened for Sydney out front with the other.

The dermatologist entered and peered again at the spots, choosing his favorite two and circling them with a purple "pen". He showed me the biopsy tool aka coring device. Really. A small metal, hollow cylinder that he punched into my ... and removed a foot-long tube of skin layer. He reaffirmed that this could be an allergy and asked that I think really hard about any changes in my diet, etc. during the past week or so (just so you know, I am drawing a blank).

We won't know the results until after Christmas vacation - so stay tuned. But I tell you what, if I had a choice, I hope I'm allergic to sugar. Wouldn't that be great? I think a deathly allergy would help me kick my sugar addiction.

If you had a choice, what allergy would you prefer?

And 12 Makes Half-way There

The advent calendar (an Airie Craftie) is a highlight of each morning for us. It is especially fun now that Talmage is old enough to be excited to see what is in each pouch and to anticipate the next day.

"Suzy Wants a Doll"

The Best Seat in the House

Holiday Music Group

Today Talmage participated in his first performance. For the past 10 weeks, he has been attending Stephanie's music group. One hour a week. No parents allowed. I'm not sure if Stephanie swore the kids to secrecy, but Talmage was decidedly mum about all the songs they were learning. "What did you learn in music class today, Talmage?" I'd ask when I picked him up each week. "Itsy Bitsy Spider" was his standard, matter-of-fact reply. In fact, Stephanie did not teach them Itsy Bitsy Spider. She taught the kids, like, 14 songs for the performance. To a group that had a 2 1/2 year old. I was impressed. Steph did an awesome job not only teaching them new songs to sing, but also with teaching them rhythm, listening, music theory ("quarter note") and instrument recognition ("oboe"). The performance was very entertaining and endearing, and you can watch all 30 minutes of it. Just ask.

With Teacher Stephanie :)

Small Sampling of the Singing

A man works from sun to sun...

...but a woman's work is never done.

Hello, Mr. Mud Puddle,

How are you today?

Me? My ears feel fine. In fact, they're up for some splashin'!

Video: The Mud Puddle Shuffle:

Saturday Sickness and Sunset

From midnight onward, Talmage cried off and on because his ear hurt. In the morning we took him to Urgent Care, where he was (surprise) diagnosed with a double ear infection. Last year at exactly this time, he was taking antibiotics for an ear infection. It's like, a tradition. Anyway, he's been feeling pretty lousy today, as you can tell:
Later today, Briton was out doing yard work and enjoying a fantastic, fiery sunset. This pic doesn't quite capture the colors, but check out the shapes of the clouds:
Goodnight, mush. Goodnight, adult ward Christmas party. Goodnight, everybody.

And so, Lafawnduh...

... we say farewell to you.

Ever since she lost her roosting companion, Fraulein Biff, Lafawnduh has been a lonely, lonely bird. Is there any thought more chilly than a chicken alone on her roost during the winter? This has bothered me. A lot. To her small coop, however, I was dubious about introducing another young bird. Lafawnduh, as you know, has a sketchy past, and is certainly skittish and aggressive enough that a new companion would have doubtful tenure. I’ve been thinking it was time to give her up.

This morning when I broke the ice in her water trough, I let her know that she was bound for, if not greener pastures, at least more pasture. And more fowl-lowship. Harnessing my chicken-catching acumen, I waved my arms around, trying to corner the freaked out bird, since she was not totally getting the idea of entering the Size 3 diaper box on her own free-range will. Once inside, however, she hunkered down for the slippery ride out to the farm.

Lawfawnduh In A Box and A Farmer Leg

We were greeted by the sight of several chickens pecking around the yard. I knew Lafawnduh would be much happier at the farm ... as soon as she finds her place in the pecking order. I wonder what went through her head when she, after months of winging it solo, was suddenly dumped into a huge pen chockablock full of fowl. She dashed for an open spot in the run and soon after was accosted/welcomed by a rather large, fluffy white chicken. Their scuffle reminded me of the Mother Goose rhyme: the fighting cats of Kilkenny. They had no sooner broken things off, when Lafawnduh turned on an unsuspecting guinea. At least it looks like she will be able to hold her own. And maybe even get a spot on the roost tonight.

Giving up Lafawnduh brings me to another point. Ever since starting in on the fresh egg venture, I’ve been the recipient of a diverse collection of chicken paraphernalia. Friends and family have bequeathed such things as a motherly ceramic hen that sits atop our stove, a flashlight chicken that makes a “lovely” cock-a-doodle-doo whenever you turn on the flashlight, and a maniac chicken that drives a battery-powered car with the radio turned onto some hard rock station. Probably my favorite piece is from my in-laws (not to diminish the others). I really like it: Cute, huh? However, now that Lafawnduh is gone, I'd like to take this chance to announce that I'd like to put the acquirement of chicken items behind me. It’s just too (gasp, sob, sputter) painful to receive chickenware. It reminds me of a much gentler, free-ranging time.

So, really, I appreciate the stuff and, even when some items were given in jest, I appreciate the thoughtfulness behind the chicken-themed gifts. Really. But now, it's time I move forward. Chicken-free. Will we ever get chickens again? Maybe. Will I ever want to take up collecting chicken items? Nah.

Zoo Lights

Train ride: "Hi, Sonya. Fancy meeting you here."

Christmas lights illuminated various animals (not real). The cockroaches (real) scuttled around, the polar bears kept out of sight, Mama elephant nudged baby Sam awake, K&C reminisced on their proposal, the crocodile jaws squeaked, Africa and her bats were off-limits, and we munched on warm, heavily sugared Elephant Ears (mmmm!), under the glow of a gingerbread house pumping out a Nutcracker tune. See you next year, ZooLights!

Christmas Comes Early Sometimes

I found a classic Tonka dumptruck on craigslist and picked it up after Talmage went to sleep. It was secreted away into our closet in our bedroom, there to hide until it got wrapped. The next morning as I was getting dressed, I had an unexpected visit from Talmage, who wandered in to the closet to say Good Morning. He immediately spied the dumptruck and said, delightedly, and with complete conviction, "Oh, look! A dumptruck for me." Indeed.

The Thankful Tree

"The tree ... is the love of God, which sheddeth itself abroad in the hearts of the children of men..."
(1 Ne 11:21-22).

As the leaves fell off of the outside trees, we taped leaves on the indoor tree. Doing this, though out November, would leaf us with increased gratitude to Him, from whom all blessings flow.
Some blessings:

Beautiful World; Music; Friends; T and Necklaces and Butternut Squash; 'Jammies; Electricity; Family; Backrubs; Freedom; A Roof Over Our Head; Quiet; Trucks; Health; Diversity; The Restoration; Naps; Clear Skies After Rain, Morning Runs, Hawks, Post-Run Lungs, Breakfast; Clean Diaper; Temple; Running; Sunsets with Sydney; Cars to Play With; 6 p.m.; the Gospel; Legos; The Bogus; Yummy Food.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving Day

MORNING: The First Annual International Hillsboro Turkey Trot (complete with random prize drawing) started off with a kids' 50 (or so) yard dash down the street. The big kids had their choice of a 5K (or so) run or 1 mile (or so) walk. Heidi and Briton set course records for their respective genders.Gearing up for the big race.

Thanks, all y'all (especially our international participants) for making the Turkey Trot a smashing success.

MID-MORNING: After the trot, we all scattered to our divers homes to make final food preparations. This is where it got (more) fun. Here, Ellen is making the thickener for the gravy...right next to a can of polyurethane. Uh, yep.Actually, the secret to Ellen's lumpless gravy is Lego People, which act as effective friction points for breaking up lumpballs in the thickener. Like a real Pilgrim, she made do with what was available. The gravy turned out perfectly.

AFTERNOON: Then, feast we did. The standard menu, plus pies. Pumpkin, bumbleberry, banana cream, and apple, please. I had a slice of each. For starters.
Jo's dad cutting into the apple pie (apples courtesy of Mrs. Z's organic tree).Dad eating the blumbleberry. From a camp chair. We didn't have the fanciest set-up (except for the table decorations, thank you, Jolynn), but the meal was tasty and the company was par excellence.

EVENING: Digest.

Soooo GWOS!

As in, "the Goodwill Outlet is sooooo GWOS!" As in, I am a Goodwill Outlet Snob. Briton and I ducked into the outlet in search of a new phone last night (heady date-stuff, I know). I left with a strong desire to find the nearest decontamination unit.

If you've never been to a Goodwill outlet, then permit me to paint a picture. The outlet is a cavernous, warehouse-type room with about five aisles of waist-high, 6 foot long bins on wheels. The bins are full of piles of Stuff, haphazardly thrown together in a soupy mix of clothing, electronics, vintage suitcases and ... phones.

A large sign, hanging from chains attached to the ceiling, indicates that Stuff is purchased by the pound. Once we figured out the System (none), we began our search; strategically splitting up to maximize our time. I discovered one phone, half buried under a pre-Pentium computer monitor. Holding the prize at arms'-length, pinched between thumb and pointer finger, I wandered across the room to Briton who was elbow-deep in a phone cord spaghetti ball. He was trying to find a matching handset and base. The number pad on one handset was held in place by scotch tape. Another handset required batteries. (We want one that doesn't need batteries to avoid our current problem).

As we pooh-poohed various phones, I got to thinking about used phones and how, even if they're given a chlorine workover, is it possible they are ever really clean? All that stale spittle and bad breath conversed into used phones. And rough whiskers, earwax, sweaty heads, etc. Does it ever come out? We left without a phone.

Snug as a Bug in a Rug...

...when Briton goes out for a jug.

Two Little Turkeys

notice the beak above the eyes;
also, the young artist perceived the turkey needed a shirt. he requisitioned the orange feather to serve the purpose.
we're very excited to dress another bird next Thursday!

An Improv on "Wheels on the Bus"

It's 10:40 p.m.
Talmage is still at it in his room (remember, he's immune to sleep). Through the wall that separates our bedroom from his, I hear, at a quite rapid tempo:

"The underwears on the bus go, 'I am cool. I am cool. I am cool.' The underwears on the bus go, 'I am cool'...."

Subsequent stanzas highlight the "Big underwear", "Lightening McQueen", and then "the Big Lightning McQueen" - all of whom are "cool".

Care-free Sundays

Except for choir, there were no post-church activities. The day was unusually wide open. A relaxing afternoon morphed into a relaxing evening. Taking advantage of our private resort amenities, we all jumped into the back-deck hot tub. Syd was so tired from her hit-and-miss naps that the warm water lulled her right to sleep by 6 p.m. (until 10:30 p.m. ... now what?).

Talmage, on the other hand, is a different creature when it comes to sleep. He's immune. Despite the curative sleep-powers of the hot tub, he was still raring to go. Sometimes (a lot of times) I prefer it when he entertains himself. But today we were just hanging out, going with the flow, doing whatever.

The video (from a few days ago) is of the T and B driving the car to Costco. Leaning back, they go up the hill. Right after our fancy camera cuts them off, they lean forward and "crash" the car. Then T runs to the cupboard to fetch the "toolbox" to fix the car. Repeat.

Their other car routine occurs on the other couch/bus. They both pretend they're asleep on the bus. Talmage says, "Wake up! It's time for school!" They wake up, run around the house, jump on the couch, Talmage commands, "Go to sleep on the bus!", compliance. Repeat.

Rassling with him tonight, we discovered a new game. Briton was the dump truck (on all fours), I was the dirt, and Talmage was the digger. He'd scoop at me with a little bowl and dump the bowl on Briton's back whilst I simultaneously threw a limb o' dirt on to the dump truck. Once the pile of dirt was completely loaded on top of the dumb truck, it'd get dumped back on the ground (next time you can be the dirt). Anything involving vehicles, especially diggers and dump trucks, is a hit with the T-ball. But also, sometimes, I wonder when he will discover his parents are weird.

Seeing

Sometimes, when the Light is just so, you see things as they really are. These I swept away:
These, I'll keep:

Details of a Dental Visit or Slippery Teeth

This morning I went to the dentist.

1) How many of you out there start flossing religiously, and I mean, religiously, the week or so preceding your scheduled visit? The truth is, you didn’t even know where the dental floss was hiding until now. But here you are, trying to harden up those gums in hopes you can trick the dentist into thinking all along you’ve been a daily flosser. Dental Visit Eve you may even floss twice a day. Your gums bleed from the frantic sawing. But it’s okay because you know it’s bleed now or in the chair when they poke that sharp tool against the edge of your gums, i.e. the periodontal data collection. You start reading your scriptures every day, too.

2) The hygienist, Joyce, taps her appointment book and asks me if Briton is two-timing them. “Is your husband … seeing someone else?” she asked, peering over her appointment book through her designer glasses. Apparently she’d last seen his molars eleven years ago. I explained that he wasn’t being unfaithful, but that semiannual checkups weren’t his thing. She asked if I would make an appointment for him. I did a double-take before giving her a resounding, “No!” Maybe y’all have different ideas about “taking care” of your husbands, but for me and my house, I figure they are his teeth and it’s his job to take care of them. I don’t brush them. I don’t floss them. I don’t make dentist appointments for them. Joyce appeared a little dismayed and then asked if it was okay with me if the dentist office called him. When I got home, Briton said they’d already called.

3) It seems like every time I go to the dentist, technology has been there before me. The newest gadget this time was how Joyce documented the periodontal thingy. Instead of calling out the numbers to a scribe as she pressed each tooth, she tapped her foot on a pedal on the ground that recorded the numbers on the computer screen. It was kind of like Dance Revolution at the dentist.

4) A. had asked who my dentist was and I told her. Awhile later I received a letter in the mail thanking me for my “referral” and as proof, they were crediting my account with so many clams. When the receptionist calculated my bill, minus the credit, the balance came to a whopping 10 cents. Ten cents! What a deal.

5) If you live in an area without fluoride in the water, start giving your kids fluoride drops at age six months. Supplement until the are 6 or 7 years old. This is not a conspiracy.

Here's the Kicker(s)

Have wanted to post this for a while, finally figured out our Mac: the kids, each at around 3 months old, showing off what little legs can really do.

Little T, tracing the tuners:


Syd, following in her brother's footsteps:

Underwear and Boys

In elementary school, I walked home for lunch every day. One afternoon, upon returning to the playground, I inadvertently walked past the basketball court where my fellow BOY third-graders were playing basketball. In their underroos. They gave me a shout out and I wanted to die.

Remember underroos? [start jingle]: "Underroos are fun to wear. You can wear them anywhere." They took that to mean, anywhere, even without pants. I don't remember where their pants were. I do remember feeling acutely embarrassed and scurrying past them as quickly as possible.

Now, with a boy o' my own, I am starting to understand that there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Boys, it seems, just like their underwear. The more, the merrier. Lately, Talmage has been real keen about wearing multiple underwears at a time.

Case in point:
Setting: Today, mid-morning. In bedroom, folding laundry. Enter, Talmage.

Talmage: Mommy, I did it!
Me: [aware he had been busy putting on underwear in his room]. That's great! How many underwears do you have on?
Talmage: [without skipping a beat] Three!
Me: Let's count them.
[bending over his backside, filing through each level of underwear elastic band]
One, two, three, ... four, five! You've got five underwears on!
Talmage: Yeah!

He was so happy about wearing five pairs of underwear that I tossed him two more from the laundry pile. He put those on, too. I mean, seven. One benefit to multiple layers is the insulation factor. Briton came home for a run at lunchtime and took him out in the jogging stroller. His buns were toasty warm the whole time.

"I dinosaur."

As requested:


(The tail kills me):

If You Chance To Meet A Frown

The outside drizzliness reflected my inside gloominess. The day dragged on and on. Boredom and such. What do you do when you feel sad and it's raining? Ah, the distraction served by Consumerism. I took Talmage to Target and said, waving my hand airily, "Buy anything you want." He certainly wasn't feeling sad as he clutched his Matchbox cars, jiggity-jog, all the way home. My glumness remained, though.

Then, soon after arriving home, H. and H. called, one after the other, and they helped break the spell. You can't put a price on a good chat. Especially on rainy days. Heid - you're right, that talk helped ("Finding Joy in the Journey"); and I hear, Heather, you found your cat. And your mittens. That makes me smile.
Other things that make me smile:

Talmage Gems, like:
"Helicockter" and "Torque-a-tee-a" (tortilla)
"May I have some more [insert requested object]? ... Puh-leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese?"
"It's time for school!"
"Mommy, I'm so proud of you!" (when I go on the potty).

Sydney Gems, like:
Enthusiastically raising both hands above her head and giving her toothy grin
The Razz Game, back and forth
When she crawls on her hands and knees
Going to bed every night at 7:30 without ever crying

Briton Gems, like:
Right now he's wearing the same green/blue tartan plaid pajamas that he wore in high school
He gets excited when the Lego magazine comes
His nightly "Fix" (Adam's PB and Bread/Tortilla and milk).

The Envelope, Please

For the second general election in a row, I forgot to place my ballot in the secrecy envelope before sealing it in the outer envelope. Does not using the secrecy envelope invalidate your vote? My Help Line told me how I could tamper with my ballot without making it look like it was tampered with. Steaming.

B and I laughed to tears over one of the candidate's write-ups. Some people are so ... paranoid.

Anyway, the deed is done. On a local level, please, please, please let the Parks and Recs measure pass. On a federal level ... tomorrow will tell. And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. Steady as she goes, America.

First Homophone. Sort of.

Setting: On couch. Briton reading a book about instruments to Talmage.

Briton, pointing to an oboe: This is an oboe.
Talmage: It's a oboe. (pause, then, pointing to his elbow) I got an oboe on this.

Update

(Note: we kept losing and finding and losing our camera this past week; not many pics to document an action-packed week)

Last Thursday we experienced Trunk or Treat for the first time. Talmage, once he got the procedural rules down, walked from trunk to trunk voicing the obligatory, "Trick or Treat!". Then, between cars he shouted to no one and everyone, "Thank you everybody! Thank you!" Such exultant jubilation. A kid's first Halloween must be incredibly mind-boggling. All of a sudden, people are handing you fistfuls of candy. Not only that, but then your parents turn a blind eye to it's unrestrained consumption. Now that's sweet.

On Halloween, Talmage and Joseph paid their oblations to the Halloween Gods again. I got a kick out of T's dinosaur tail bobbing behind him. Yep. No picture. Watching T's delight in the festivities, I learned what lots of you already know: holidays with kids are the best.

Saturday morning, Sydney and I drove to Quincy, Washington for an Apple Smashing party. After 5 1/2 hours in the car, we arrived at the resplendent, tidy apple orchard of the Yeates family. They're Mark and Marianne's aunt and uncle. HAYRIDE with KA, Hazel, Emma, Kate

Every year the cousins get together to glean apples and make apple juice with an Amish cider press. Uncle Carl drove the tractor up and down the rows of trees, pulling the wooden box behind him. All the cousins poured buckets and buckets of Fuji apples into the box. A box holds 900 pounds of apples. We filled it in about 20-30 minutes. The apples got a cold wash, then we threw them into a huge metal tub where they got a hot water bath. The rest of the afternoon was spent turning the grinder on the press. Thirty seconds on the wheel did me in. It was hard work, but everyone took turns, as it were. I wish I had pictures of the step-by-steps. The result, anyway, was a thick, rich, dark brown, apple juice. The sweetest, purest juice I've ever tasted. We brought home 8 gallons. The juicing was followed by a large chili and sandwich dinner and Halloween games. Sydney and I cut out around 7:30 p.m. for the long drive back home. I loved getting to know the Yeates and Marianne's side o' the family. Thanks, M&M, for the invite.

The Hall: When a Hallway Is Not a Hall

Dinesh and Anu came for a visit this past weekend. We love this couple. I wasn't sure how comfortable the air mattress would be for Anu, who is 22 weeks pregnant (yeay!). While rattling off the other options (couch, maybe?), Dinesh casually shook his head and said not to worry, they could sleep in the hall. What!? The hall?? I imagined them stretched out the length of our hallway, perhaps stepping over them during the night en route for a midnight snack. No, that wouldn't do. What sort of hosts are we anyway??? Dinesh insisted the hall would be perfectly fine and I continued to tsk my head.

The plot thickens.

Later that night we were chatting about growing up in India. Dinesh described the layout of his childhood home (built in the late 1940's). He said that he slept in "the Hall" with his siblings. The light started to click. Yep. "The Hall" to Dinesh and Anu is what we call, in our house, the front room. Which would have been a lot more comfortable than the hallway. More room to stretch out, at least (although, turns out the air mattress worked just fine).

Fall leaves we saw on our walk, Saturday afternoon.

Happy Birthday, Hed

We had a rocky start, there, in childhood: the Chocolate Mousse Fight, the "I don't show my list to liars" episodes, the Foot in Your Face Fiasco. Do you remember any of those? Maybe that's why I love you so much now. Sorta like Newton's Third Law of Motion.

Your intensity of spirit has allowed you to accomplish astounding feats: swimming under Dan's coaching, West Point, marathons, crazy sports (bungee jumping, kayaking, mountaineering, biking east...to name a few). I admire your resting heart rate talents, too: The Wedding Ring quilts and numerous other projects for others, your listening ear, your interest in people, how you analyze things, your smile. I like your soft side, too: your tenderness for your family and friends; soaking up your "Aunt" role. I'm really glad we're sisters.

Happy Birthday, Syd

As someone pointed out, nine months old is a major milestone. Syd has been on the outside now, longer than she was on the inside. But she still fills me. Sydney, you are a delight! We love you so much! And you've got 8 teeth.

Closets: The Source for all Things Halloween

It was a dark and moist night ...

... time to start making our Halloween costumes. The Bowden Halloween Party is not a party to be trifled with. As it says on the evite: "From The Book of Bowden Halloween Costume Party Law, we read the following:

1) Costumes are required. Period. "

Six other official rules follow. We take this party very seriously. As seriously as you can when the your main costuming material derives from your closets.

Over the past four years, we've been refining our costume criteria based on trial and error.

2005:

ICE PRINCESS AND HER THRONE

Lessons Learned:
1) Do not spend exorbitant amounts of money on material, even if it is pink, shiny, and furry. You'll end up with mounds of pink, shiny, furry material to store after Halloween is over. Plus, it's HOT. The costume is inevitably discarded by round two of the Cake Walk.

2) Avoid Costumes that are so awkward they require a stool strapped to your bum underneath the costume.

2006:THREE PEAS IN A POD (not a boat)

LESSONS LEARNED:

1) Costumes requiring three people to remain strapped together come apart about five minutes after entering the Party. Especially if one of the Peas is a baby in a bjorn.
2) Leave Petite Peas at home.

2007:Chopsticks in Wrapper and Take-Out Box o' Rice

LESSONS LEARNED:

1) Pay attention to box dimensions. Hallway and crowded-room-navigational-abilities severely limited.
2) Where is my Chinese dictionary???

2008:Can You Guess What We Is?

We're getting the hang of it, here. We were not stuck together (a la 2006), unless someone wondered why Briton was a zipper. My box was smaller (a la 2007). Except for yellow paint, this costume was free (a la 2005). Given the Bowden's throw a Sixth Annual, my goal is not to be in a box. Think outside the box. Think "Win the Cake Walk."

Essay Questions (optional)
What are you going to be for Halloween?
What is your most memorable Halloween?

Back Porch: A Study in Procrastination

BEFORE:
Two bedside tables purchased at a 2007 estate sale for $60.DURING:
A lot of sanding.

AFTER:
(I'll take a picture ... later)

Over the past year and a half, I've worked on and off (mostly off) on sanding/staining these bedside tables. They spent the rainy season warping on the back deck.

Tonight we've been projeckting like madmen, including finishing the second bedside table. Literally. Except for the drawers.

Unfinished Project #2 completed (mostly). Check.