After listening to a respected cohort of mine discuss his reasons behind remaining childless in life, in conjunction with this pregnancy, and mostly having experienced almost 2 years of mothering Z, I’ve been thinking about the ways in which motherhood has transformed me to my very core.

And although I respect the decision to remain childless, and am grateful that some folks have the insight and wherewithal NOT to have children, for myself, when I look back, I just can’t imagine not having experienced raising my children.  I am forever ruined.

Now I know why all parents think their children are so damn special.  To us, THEY ARE.  Of course, I’ll try to keep this in perspective, but sometimes I wonder, do I love my child so much because he’s just the sweetest little person who’s ever lived?  And then he gives me a mischievous little toothy grin and deliberately throws food at a restaurant and I remember that I love him because he’s my child and I was born to love him.  That is not to take away anything that is special and unique about him as a person; he’s pretty cool; It’s just to state that I think, mostly, except in extreme pathological cases, I love my child as parents love their children- from the tips of my fingernails to the soles of my feet and beyond.  I can’t imagine not knowing this kind of love, or this kind of misery.  I will forever be a slave to the overwhelming connection I have to my kids.

There is definitely danger in it.  I can see how parents sometimes lose themselves to the chaos and stress and love that is parenting.  I can see how 18+ years of active parenting can leave some drained and resentful.

I’m hoping that if I let it, if I surrender, motherhood will keep revealing truths to me about myself and the world around me, that it will continue to help me grow as a human being, that my capacity to love will keep expanding without breaking me, that I will keep coming back to a place where I am whole.

As though I don’t have enough to do between growing a baby (if you haven’t heard, I’m 20 weeks!  An unceremonious way to tell you, I know, in parentheses), raising a toddler, writing a novel, reading other’s novels-in-progress, I’ve been missing my blog and my blog-a-licious friends.  Where else can I say blog-a-licious friends??   Okay, you’re right.  I probably shouldn’t say it all.  Here or anywhere else.  It’s dorky and typical.  Anyhow, there have been so many posts that I haven’t written because I’ve been avoiding writing for the aforementioned reasons.  I won’t link it, but check my last post if you’re lost.

Anyhow, hello again!

I was just sitting here wondering how any of us with small children have any time whatsoever to be anything other than moms? Working moms amaze me with the various hats they wear (what a stupid cliche) from day-to-day, moment-t0-moment.  And yet the mom-hat (there I go again with the hats) is one you can never take off.  It’s always on, and for me, it is the weightiest and most important hat I will ever wear.  And I say that in full confidence knowing that even if I go to med school and find a cure for Malaria, on my dying day, I will think not of that, but of my family- my husband, my parents and siblings, my beloved friends, and my children.  They are my legacy.  They are the most important thing I will ever do.  And they are worth musing about, writing about, and I am okay doing it publicly for now.  I know many-a-mom who’d agree with me.  Maybe not on the public musings point, but on the importance of family and children point.

All of that said, OMG, how am I supposed to get anything done?  Like my damn book that’s not even a book yet!  HA!  I am going to laugh so hard at myself when that second one pops out (let’s just pray “pops out” is the right euphemism this go-round).  I’m sure Little Moo’s grandparents are chuckling to themselves as they read, just knowing what’s ahead.

It’s true, when I look at my time management skills, they don’t seem that great.  For instance, last night I caught up on an episode of Parenthood after putting Moo down instead of spending the hour I should have reading or writing. And, then of course, I tell myself that I deserve that hard-earned break, and that I’m too zapped to do anything else anyway.  I suppose that’s mostly true.  But what’s also true is that there is a twinge of lazy, self-indulgence there (I know I’m self deprecating, but I’m honest!), and what’s also true is that I owe it to myself to finish a project that is near and dear to my heart.  When I put the work in, I’ll deserve the finish product for which I long.

Also, among a few other importances that I’ve neglected in life since momming a toddler and combining that with growing a baby is catching up with long-lost friends.  I’m not the best friend right now in life.  I’m truly TERRIBLE at initiating contact, or returning phone calls.  I’m not sure whether to forgive myself and excuse myself that for this crazy time in life, or whether it’s one more area where I need to buck up and step up.

Anyhow, perhaps you can relate?  I know this post wasn’t a funny anecdote, just some musings about how effing much parenting takes out of me- I say “effing”, but the rewards and joy are totally infinite.

So, welcome back to Big Deal if you’re checking in for the first time in a while.  I may not be super-duper regular with posts but I do look forward to conversing with you from time-to-time because, frankly, I just couldn’t stay away.  I’m way too blabby.

Perhaps I’ve been neglecting my blog lately because I actually feel a little ambiguous right now about its existence.  I hold fast the reasons for which I started blogging- mainly to share my story of new motherhood  because, hot damn, it’s transformative and surprising in so many ways, and I just knew other moms must be able to relate on some level.  And also, I love writing, always have…I’ve always kept a journal.  And, embarrassingly, even as a ridiculous, love-lorn, insecure teenager, I wrote in my journal as though someone would actually read it some day, and care.  I say embarrassingly because I’ve actually gone back and read some of my musings…whoa.  Let’s just leave it at that.  But blogging is definitely on some level a type of journaling for me; it captures the every-day much in the same way as journaling.

And then it turned out that I fell madly, head-over-heals in love with my baby, and to me, he was (IS) so incredibly, deliciously cute.  So I would share many an image of him so that you, dear reader, could indulge in the cuteness with me.

And then I learned a LOT about blogging and “social media.”  ”Social media” goes in quotes because to me, blogging was originally about writing and connecting; I was clueless about Twitter, Pinterest, Youtube, and the various other social media platforms upon which bloggers are meant to be incredibly active.

And then I remembered my novel.  A novel that started a few years ago, and is still in me, waiting to be written.  And writing it, workshopping it is…creatively fulfilling.  Tweeting, Pinning, and Facebooking are not as creatively fulfilling.  Please don’t get me wrong, I do not mean to bash the world of social media in any way whatsoever.  I do love the aspect of connecting with others, and there are many a blog that I love to read.  It’s just that getting wrapped up in all of that stuff, and learning about monetizing my blog, and self-branding, is distracting, and yes, I do think on some level it cheapens the process just a little.

And then one day my husband saw that a blogger gained lots of popularity for posting a video of her children online.  And he wondered out loud to me if I thought maybe she was exploiting her kids in some small way by using their cuteness as a catapult into a successful blogging career.

And then I wondered about the pictures and videos I post of my son on this website.

And then I halted.

Because I’m just not sure anymore about where this blog is going or should go, and where my family and I fit into it.

In the meanwhile, I’ll continue taking my sweet time pondering it, and enjoy the cuteness of Z, and enjoy working on my novel.

Please know, though, that no matter what happens, I SO appreciate your support and readership.  Thank you.  And, if you celebrate, Happy Thanksgiving!

You’ll notice I’ve been posting a lot of guest articles lately.  It’s been a little nutty in the Big Deal reality-world, but I promise a new post written exclusively by Yours Truly is on it’s merry little way.  For now, please enjoy another fantastic guest post- an honest look back at the reality of parenting.

When you are young and in love and you start thinking about becoming parents it’s as if you are in a dream world. We dream of precious little babies who coo and smell so sweet and that make your life so blissful. I am not saying that I did not love my babies with all my heart or regret in the least that I had them. But I suppose if people actually attended classes on what to expect and allowed the students to go through a real life drama there would be a lot less babies in the world. Which as I think of it might actually be a really good idea for some folks as we all have met or seen people that should never have been parents.

It’s an important decision whether or not to become a parent and it seems that the really good parents are the ones that actually give it some good hard thought. I actually thought about it but I was one of those dreamers that I spoke of in the first paragraph. I love babies, I’ve always loved babies, but they weren’t my babies and I could hand them back.

When my daughter came into the world I was overwhelmed with many emotions. The first emotion was terror; what if I did something wrong? I had no idea how to take care of this fragile little thing. She threw me a curve ball in the first few hours of her life. She did not want my breasts and I was horrified. Was she going to starve to death because they were only going to give her sugar water until my milk came in? She wouldn’t even give it a good try!

When I got her home I literally slept on the floor next to the crib with my hand on her to make sure she was breathing and this went on for some time. I am quite sure that I was in post partum depression but back in the day it was not discussed much, I am pretty sure those of us lucky enough to have it were just written off as certifiable. I remember going to the grocery store and leaving her with my mom who had my total confidence, only to leave my partially filled basket after a couple of aisles and head back home. Thinking to myself all the way home that something terrible was going to happen to my little girl because I had left her. Talk about driving oneself nutty as a squirrel in an acorn tree, well, that was me!

I did get somewhat better over time but if you would check with my twenty-seven year old daughter she would tell you that I was still not quite alright. I find it very hard to let go of my babies, after all I was the one who went through the natural childbirth so that they would be the marvelous examples of humanity they are today, right?

When my son came along I wasn’t much better, because A: it was seven years later, and B: he was a HE. So virtually it just started all over again. Hes are so much different thanshes and not just in the physical sense. Although the physical part was daunting, changing diapers for a boy, sheesh who knew? Not me. The first day in the hospital he “sprung” it on me. You need two diapers to change a boy. What an expense! Hey, but that’s okay because it probably just evens out when they get to be teenagers and the girl starts to shop. But I digress.

My daughter was a mild mannered, well behaved, obedient, gentle, loving little child. (All except for the few months in infancy when she had colic which I’ve tried hard to forget.) My son came out on some kind of adrenaline high from day one. He was fine for the first several months and then when he was able to move about on his own he never stopped. Keeping him occupied was something you had to have prepared in advance, literally, because when he got that gleam in his eye you had to be ready. When he began to talk and you thought of something fun for him to do or had taken him somewhere you thought he would love the first thing out of his mouth was, “What are we going to do next?” I knew it was bad when my seven year old daughter was getting as strung out as I was. And people were telling me that I was spoiling him and that I should just let him be bored. BORED?? If this child did not stay occupied he would tear up every room in the house and be swinging from the chandelier! I can not tell you how many times he crawled out of his crib and climbed up to the top cabinets in the kitchen. We had to get special locks for the doors because he could open just about any lock you could throw at him. I swear we were raising MacGyver!

I don’t want anyone to think that I loved my daughter more than my son because if you would ask my daughter she would tell you it’s just the opposite. (She doesn’t mean it though.) He just takes twice as much attention, still to this day and he is twenty now. He would die if he read this and he would deny it vehemently. His salvation was that he was not a fit thrower. He was an adorable toe-headed, bouncy, grinning, all boy kind of a kid. He smiled even when he was doing something he knew he shouldn’t. I remember a video my husband took of my son back in the day when he was three or four. He was rifling through my purse and my husband asked him what he was doing with camera in hand. When he realized he was being filmed he grabbed my wallet and ran down the hall pulling out the contents and throwing them everywhere with a huge grin on his face. My husband was actually laughing. Even though it was rather humorous I had to have a talk with my husband about what was appropriate to laugh out loud at and what needed to be laughed at under your breath! You wouldn’t think I would have to explain this to a grown man, but there it is.

Oh, I just have to mention the time my daughter was selling Girl Scout cookies. Of course I helped like the good mother I am, and we worked so hard. I think we had about a hundred and fifty dollars collected at this point in time and needed to turn it in. Well, we couldn’t find it anywhere. We found the envelope it was in but not the cash. All I can say is that we were blessed that it was winter and we lived in an older house with big heating vents between my sons and daughters room. We knew my son had something to do with it but he wasn’t talking, literally, he couldn’t talk yet. Anyway, when the heat came on and we were near the tear stage we heard a sound like paper being sucked into a vacuum cleaner. I ran to the vent and what do I see but nice green money. The slots were just big enough to sort of slide the money in like an ATM machine. It must have taken him awhile to do. This did not bode well for the outlook of our future.

As stated in the title of this little story I didn’t feel very successful as a parent, I didn’t know a thing about what I was doing; to which my children will attest. The thing I did know however was that I loved them so very much, even when they had colic or threw money in vents, or drove me buggy. Since the majority of us do not go to Parenting 101 classes we all have to pull up our bootstraps and do the best we know how. I prayed, and I prayed a lot. I praise God for the grace He gave me to raise the wonderful children I have today. And I say to all you parents out there to just let love be the reason for everything you do, the kind of love that is for their good, and you will make it!

Author Bio:

Ken Myers is the founder of http://www.longhornleads.com/ & has learned over the years the importance of focusing on what the customer is looking for and literally serving it to them. He doesn’t try to create a need; instead he tries to satisfy the existing demand for information on products and services.

 

 

 

Somewhere in my early teens, I started to feel that I did not want children.  I was an only child, but grew up with lots of cousins and friends.  I played with dolls and I babysat.  But, I did not spend time dreaming of having my own baby…or even, of getting married.  I really can’t give you an answer why I felt this way.  However, this belief was strongly held, never wavered, and has never caused me any regrets.  I am now sixty. I have regrets about some things (dropping out of college and choosing some “wrong” men along the way are two examples)…but, not about kids.

I have no idea how I developed this deep feeling.  But, I always did believe, as I got older, that I should never have a child unless I really wanted to.  I enjoy being around children and have had many wonderful times in my life with the children of friends and family.  However, when the interaction is over, I am content to not be with the children, too.  Perhaps this is a factor of being an only child, but most all the only children I have known decided to have children of their own.

After a bit of reading on the web, I discovered that I am a person who is “childfree.”  Childfree individuals are usually more educated, have a professional occupation with a higher salary, live in an urban area, are less religious and conventional, and believe in less traditional gender roles.  All true for me, except for the job and money party.  There is also a judgment by many that childfree individuals are selfish, because having a child is the most meaningful contribution an individual can make to the world.  Childfree people believe they can contribute to the world in other ways.

I married at the age of forty and have been happily married for twenty years. This is the second marriage for my husband (my first) and we got married when his son was in college.  I am happy being a stepmother and we have a great relationship. I have always had pets, mostly cats.  I feel fulfilled as a woman and as a human being.

The only problem along the way has been other mothers.  My mother’s fiancé was killed in World War II and she did not marry my father until she was 27 years old.  She graduated from high school and worked full-time until she got married and then part-time when I was born.  She was not able to have any more children after I was born.  So, her life was unconventional for a woman born in 1922.  She had some single, female friends from work – and these women were always included in our family gatherings.  My mother did not disassociate from them because they did not have children.  There were also aunts and cousins in our family who were single and without children.  They were a part of my childhood, too.  This is what I thought was normal.

When I got married (and, thus, should have had a child versus being single without one), married women with children definitely treated me as an odd duck.  I would often be left out in conversations about their children.  (Hey, I was a child myself and I know children and I am intelligent.  Can’t I have part in this conversation, too?)  I would certainly not be invited to an event with children and adults – of my own friends – because I did not have children myself.    That’s interesting, I would think to myself; I enjoyed spending time with my mother’s “old maid” friend, Jane or my Great Aunt Betty.  Aunt Betty had quite a career and was always fun to talk to…and, she loved me a lot.  She did not have to have her own child to love me.  But, this has been the only drawback to my choice.

OK, here is what I did.   I was a geeky, nerdy, bookish child who did not date at all in high school.  I arrived at the University of Colorado in 1969 – what a wild time that was!! Sex, drugs, and rock and roll.  Lived with one man, had three long-term boyfriends, and in between, I did a lot of dating.  Given my thoughts on children, I used the most protective birth control I could.  Then, around age 24, I started working on my gynecologist to give me a tubal ligation at age 30.  The doctor was appropriately horrified. (I thought I should wait until that age in case I met that “special man who would change my mind about having babies.”  Also, I personally did not want to have a child, if I did change my mind, after the age of 30.)    At every yearly appointment, I would bring it up again.  I never wavered in this strong feeling to not have children, though I did fall in love.  When I turned 30 and went in for my appointment, my doctor said, “When do you want to schedule the surgery?”  I got it done and thus stopped the worry of getting pregnant by mistake.  And, in the end, my love has gone to my husband, my stepson and other family, friends, and cats – Simba will be 14 soon.  Since I doubted the capability to love my own child fully, carrying out this decision has been one of my greatest achievements.

Happy Halloween!  What kind of crazy adventures did you get into today?  We took Z down to the Pearl Street Mall in Boulder for the Munchkin Parade.  I almost ate him beforehand, though, because he was so dang cute in his little punkin costume.  At said Munchkin Parade, participating retailers set up booths along the walking-mall with treats galore.  It’s unfortunate that the hubbers is fundamentally against candy…I felt guilty every time I nabbed a treat for myself on behalf of Z.  How can one resist a little fun-sized pack of DOTS?  Or a bite-sized Milky Way?  Or, perhaps, a fun-sized pack of Peanut M&Ms?  COME ON, YUM!  Also, as we were a little lame this year in coming up with costumes for ourselves, I dawned (yeah, I have no idea how to spell that) a full-on wetsuit, my water shoes (I’ve had ‘em since the 7th grade and it may’ve been that long since I’ve worn them), and a pair of goggles as my costume.  D wore a fabulous goofy wig.  I had to pull the top down on my wet suit because I got so hot.  At least we were attempting some sort of festive-ness.  Oh, and walking in a wet suit on dry land– interesting noises.  I’m pretty sure the wet suit costume beats my crappy “bunny” (read: playboy bunny) costume I made a few years ago that included a pair of ears, a short skirt, and pink fishnets.  Don’t get too excited about the fishnets; it really was a lame costume.

Dear Little Z,

Today I held a crying you in my arms mid-nap, and gently bounced until you fell asleep and my left arm almost fell off.  When I set you back down in your crib, you woke up and cried again, and so, we started over.  I gently jiggled you until you fell asleep, set you down in your crib, where upon you commenced crying.  This time, I slipped out of your room, determined to give a tired, runny-nosed you a few minutes to fall back asleep in your crib, the alternative being the involuntary amputation of my dead left arm where your head much preferred to rest.

Alas, you did finally fall back asleep to resume your mid-afternoon nap, much to the pleasure of my now very tired left arm.

You are 15 months and 2.5 weeks old on this gloomy, October afternoon in Colorado.  The year is 2012.

One day, October, 2012 will feel like a long time ago to you.  Much as 1984 feels a world away to me.  I was your age in 1984, and I’ll be darned if I remember a thing about it.  I’ll bet it feels like yesterday to my mom and dad.

When I’m in the thick of jiggling a tired little you down to your nap in the hopes that I’ll have a few more minutes during which to eat my lunch, and you’ll have more minutes to get the rest you need, it can be hard to remember how fleeting this time is.  But today, as I fantasized about my hot lunch whilst jiggling you, I was painfully aware that you are getting too big to jiggle.

It makes me sad to think that your baby year is already over.  Of course I am excited about the person you are becoming, but I wish someone would’ve told me how quickly this time goes.  Wait, people say that all the time, don’t they?

There is something about this second year of your life.  I’m realizing more every day how incredible, important, and quick this time in our lives is. This time of parenting a small child is fleeting…unless I was to have many children (I met a woman on her 9th over the weekend!), which is NOT in the plan, I’m afraid.

It’s hard to believe that one day you will most certainly be too big for me to jiggle.  The joy that your little baby (tot) self brings me when you laugh, or spontaneously throw your arms around me in a hug, or when you open your toothy little mouth for a kiss (you still haven’t figured that one out yet) is indescribable.

I know that you will always bring me joy.  It’s hard to imagine that the joy you’ll bring tomorrow will be at once more complicated and rich.  But it will be.  Tomorrow is coming all too quickly, and, while I look forward to it, I still relish these days of unabashed, unfettered toddlerhood.

Here’s to yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

Signed,

Your Loving Mother

I’ve been neglecting my blog a little lately.  Did you know that I’m working on a novel?  It’s true.  Young Adult literature.  The novel has been under my belt for several years now, and I’m finally going to finish it within a year’s time.  There, I wrote it for all to see, so now I have to follow through.

I guess I’ve been having a difficult time balancing it all.  I can’t seem to prioritize everything, and living life seems to take full precedent right now.  That and the novel- a few pages a week is all we’re talkin’ here, but still.  Okay, fine.  I’ll confess.  It’s living life, taking care of the wee one, the novel, the blog…and fall television shows over which I’m obsessed.  Time consuming, right!?

But here’s what I’m going to do to make my life just a little easier: I’m going to let myself off the hook.  That’s right.  How often in life do you just let yourself be?  How often do you allow yourself to believe that you’re doing the best you can, and the best anyone can do is a lot, but it’s not EVERYTHING.  So, I breathe easy on this beautiful fall day here in Colorado knowing that I’m not getting it all done, not even close, but I’m getting some of it done, and that’s enough.  I hope you can do the same.

I have a friend named William. William’s dad was never around, and his mom was very young at the time of his birth. He didn’t really have an example of good parenting, but he was an intelligent guy, so when he had his baby boy he decided he wanted to be something better – he wanted to be the best possible father ever.

And he is. Maybe not the best ever, but he’s a great father. He’s a little too over-careful (he doesn’t have any furniture anymore because he’s afraid his son will get hurt on the corners – literally zero furniture) but he takes care of his son 24 hours a day and finds as many was as he can to dedicate himself to his son further.

William’s Big Mistake

Still, as good a job as he’s doing, he’s starting to get stressed. When little things happen in his life, he starts to find them more overwhelming. He’s still doing okay at the moment, but you can tell that little things bother him more than ever before, and he’s been having a hard time coping with the problems that come up in his life.

That’s because William’s made one mistake that most parents make – a mistake that is somewhat controversial, because most parents refuse to believe that it’s true. He’s putting his child’s life above his own.

Why is This a Mistake?

When I say he puts his child’s life above his own, there are parts of that that will be true of any good parent. Most parents would sacrifice themselves for their child if they had to, and that’s honorable and healthy. All parents should love their children. But as long as your child is safe, you also need to love yourself, and in a way you need to love yourself just a little bit more than you love your child.

Parents hate hearing this, because the idea is that once you have a baby your baby is supposed to be your entire life. But the problem is that once you stop caring about your own life and your own mental health, you can actually lose your ability to cope with stress.

As much as you love your child, you and your entire family need you to take care of yourself first and your family second. That’s because:

• Use it Or Lose It – Stress coping is a use it or lose it skill. If you’re consistently ignoring your own needs to care for your child, you’re going to lose your ability to cope with stress easily.
• You’re a Better Parent When Relaxed – Most parents forget this, but you are always, always a better parent when you’re happy and healthy. Remaining stressed simply to care for your child means that you’re likely to make more parenting mistakes and, in some ways, be a worse parent.
• You Can’t Control Everything About Your Child – Finally, you need to always remember that when it comes to raising a child, you can only control so much. There are going to be things that happen to your child, both good and bad, that are beyond your control. Because of that, you can only do the best you can, and you can’t expect yourself to do everything your child will need. Since you know that you can at least meet your own needs, you should take care of them.

This is not to say that you should let your child do something dangerous, or not care about taking care of your child. Of course you should. But you should also remember that you can only control your own happiness. You can contribute to your child’s happiness, but you can’t control it. And because you’re a better parent when you’re stress free, that means that you should make sure that you’re always taking care of yourself so that you make better contributions to your child’s life.

About the Author: Ryan Rivera has helped many over-stressed parents learn to take their own needs seriously. He suffered from intense anxiety himself, and over time he learned about many of the reasons that so many people seek out anxiety treatments and what they’re doing to contribute to their own stress. Now that he’s free of anxiety he writes about it often at his website: www.calmclinic.com. Visit today to learn more about living with anxiety.

Remember how I said in my last post that I’m neurotic?  Most of my neuroticism is around sleep because I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again, sleep is the key to happiness.  I’m a little bit dead serious about that.  I was traumatized by the first 7+ months of parenting wherein 4 straight hours of sleep was a like a freaking miracle—had you gotten in the way of the way of those four hours, for any reason, God help you.  Suffice it to say that my brain was a little fuzzy back in those days, and I could’ve used a little help keeping “trak” of life’s little nuances.

I’d like to introduce you to a new friend.  His name is TapTrak.  TapTrak is a handy little app that helps you document everything, down to the second.  I think TapTrak would be especially useful for new parents because of the stopwatch.  During the first few weeks with Z, we kept “trak” of Z’s breastfeeding down to the T.  Which breast did he feed on last?  For how long did he feed?  What time did he start feeding?  How many times did he poop in the last 12 hours, and what color was it?

Yes, folks, I’m serious; we did write it down, and you will too.  If we’d had TapTrak at the time, I would’ve used it to document the times and dates of said events, as well as used the stopwatch during breastfeeding.

Finally, TapTrak would’ve come in super handy during those few nights we were sleep-training Mr. Z.  As you may already know, sleep training does involve crying in increments.  The stopwatch and subsequent documentation that TapTrak allows would have been perfect for those 1-2 nights where we duked it out and sleep won.

Now, as Z gets older, I can see its handiness in “traking” playtime, the amount of time he spends watching TV (none to date but it’s around the corner), the amount of time he spends napping, etc. etc.  I’m not quite at that level of neurotic yet, but the busier Z gets, the more I head down that road.  TapTrak, here we come.

*I was not compensated to provide this opinion.