Who, me? Make a mistake?!

After keeping all of his monkeys for nearly a month, Ben lost one on Friday.

GASP!

See, in Mrs. Wiebe's Kindergarten class, behavior is monkey-based; each day Ben starts with three monkeys and, if he keeps all three, he colors in a green day on his calendar. If one monkey is taken for some sort of naughtiness, he has a yellow day. Two, orange; three, red. After that...well, I shudder to think.

So, his yellow day, after a month of green, had us talking about a topic I know well: making mistakes.

He asked if I made mistakes and, since I couldn't describe 1994-2003 within the four-minute ride home, I went with: "Well Ben, I broke a frame at the store today."

Roman offered his: Letting Reno eat his pb&j for the millionth time (my paraphrasing, of course).

Even Anthony offered his mistake over the phone: deleting an important file from his computer.

Anyway, all this talk about mistakes - and the fact that I can't stop making dumb ones lately - makes me think I ought to get a jumpstart on my...

Potential New Year's Resolutions List, 2012

1. I shall check pockets before washing clothes. I thought washing a crayon was the worst. Turns out, washing and drying a box of crayons is the worst.
2. I shall limit kid snacking, else Ben will have permanent digestive problems from the box of fig bars he ate while I was in the shower.
3. Speaking of the shower, I shan't take such hot ones that the steam sets off the fire alarm. Not just the smoke detector, folks, but the full-on, fire-department-dispatched house alarm.
4. I shall properly dress children for cold weather school days. Fleece pull-overs on 30-degree days make me look like the kind of mom who'd wash crayons and let kids overdo it on the figs.
5. I shall mail birthday cards on time (sorry, Kari, and happy belated birthday!).
6. I shall better remember people's names. Because Frederic at work did not like being called Franklin all these months.
7. And, finally...FitnessQuest 2012 shall finally come to fruition, since it actually started as FitnessQuest 2000. 

Which reminds me...I'd better get out for a run before today's lunchtime brie en croute ("brie en CUTE," Roman called it) settles as a permanent part of my lower half.

But before I go (#8: I shall not procrastinate...), how about a quick picture of my little monkeys in front of our neighbor's festive tree (#9: My camera shall be set to the proper exposure):

Thankful...

...for an especially lovely, long weekend in Denver with my in-laws and beloved girlfriends.

The boys savored it too; in fact, it was the first year they could thoughtfully answer the question, "What are you thankful for this year?" (Ben: "Roman." "Our house." Roman: "Toys." "The toilet.")

And, while I don't think anyone asked me what I'm thankful for this year (family, friends, health and Big House Red by the box), the weekend's festivities only added to my mental list.

So, in no particular order, I'm thankful...

...that Ben still believes the Pilgrims and Indians were pals (seriously, they still teach that!)...

...for my high-altitude Turkey Trotting partner...

...that I have a new, future sister-in-law...

...for vegetarianism (that was the turkey talking; you're welcome, turkey)...

...that Roman's face didn't actually melt off, despite appearances...

...for these handsome Scognamillo men (and further proof that group pictures are impossible)...

...for friends willing to drive a long way for a short visit...

...and that the holidays aren't over. What can I say? I'm a sap.

This blows.

I'm referring to this million-mile per hour Wichita wind, of course...and its assault on my 30-something-pound child.  

Laugh Lines

I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be the one barfing on the night of my birthday, but in one of the many "wow, how birthdays have changed" moments from yesterday (my 35th), sweet Roman was the sick one.

Poor guy is fine now - just one of those mysterious, 2 a.m. throw-ups - and we're on load five of bed linen laundry (his and ours).

But, for that reason and a million others, my birthday has me reflecting. On my reflection, sure (and my hard-earned laugh lines), but mostly on how I still feel 19, but do so many things that would have mortified my 19-year-old self.

Take for example, my absolute perfect birthday yesterday: I woke up, removed my Breathe Right strip, had my first eggnog latte of the season, shopped with Roman, did some Christmas decorating, chatted with family, then remained sober until after dark. (And after the kids were in bed, thankyouverymuch.) Polished off the night with a movie, Japanese take-out and Rombauer Chard. Perfect-o.

So maybe my birthday isn't the best example (save for the BR strip), but as 35 crept closer and then pounced, I adopted some not-so-youthful habits. You know...

• Listening to soft rock music stations. Adult contemporary. Easy listening. Whatever you want to call it, it's the only place where you get Wilson Philips, Dave Mathews, U2 and ABBA. Hard to beat.
• Griping, "who would call so late?" if my phone rings after 8. Actually, 7.
• Wearing leisure wear to pick up Ben and Roman from school.
• Talking about the weather.
• Talking about anything whatsoever to uninterested customer service people.
• Did I mention the Breathe Right strip?!

The list goes on, but...well I don't want to bore you like I bore those dear, trapped check-out clerks.

Still, all of that (and much more) considered, I'll take 35 over 19 any day. It's a good life; I guess that's why I hate to see the numbers tick higher.

Anyway, I'll wrap up these b'day ramblings. Roman's healthy and holding down food; we had a fun, funny day; and I guess my resolution is to follow the lead of this wise birthday card lady:

Rattled

Okay, I wasn't going to write about the earthquake because...well, how predictable, right?

"California girl in Midwest surprised by a (minor) earthquake; insists on making big deal of it."

But then, there was another one. And then another. Three in three days.

What's going on down there, Oklahoma?! I lived 18 years in California without being rattled once! (Although, California, you gave it your best with Loma Prieta and Northridge. I just wasn't very perceptive in my early years.)

Of course, we're all fine. It jostled Anthony the most; he said it sounded like people were running up our stairs. The boys, with wide, inquisitive eyes as Anthony explained it, blamed it for their train track destruction (actual cause: my clumsiness).

But all is quiet in Oz on day four. Which reminds me..isn't tornado season just around the corner?

 

Photo borrowed from my good friend Ken.

Where Were Me and Ben?

We're mid-way through our week-long celebration of Roman's birthday (these kids aren't spoiled; we just like to elongate the cupcake-eating window), and I guess the boys are feeling as nostalgic as I am.

Okay, not really, but in response to Roman's question "Where were me and Ben?" (more on that later), Birthday Boy and I went looking through the old photo archives. Here are just a few quick favorites:

Ben and Roman meet on Roman's Day 1:

Roman flexing his baby muscles at two months:

Almost 1, enjoying the zoo:

Just turned 2:

And finally, last year, enjoying the zoo before his 3rd birthday:

Now, the "Where were me and Ben?" story that led us down memory lane...

Roman saw this picture, which is on our dresser:

It's me and Anthony a few months after we met in 2004. We were on the most incredibly relaxing, beautiful, DINK trip to Ixtapa, Mexico. We were tan, well-rested and willing to be photographed in our bathing suits. Ah, sweet nostalgia.

Upon seeing it, Roman asked, "Where were me and Ben?"

I said, "Oh, that was before we had you and Benny."

Obviously a tough concept to grasp, Roman followed with silence. Then: "Were we in the car?"

Roaming Roman

Instead of his usual 2 a.m. arrival in our bed, Roman roamed into Ben's bed, where they both slept cozily through the night.

  

Rollin' the Dice

I like a good gamble, so twice this week I've dined at Wasabi, the new sushi place in town. 

That's right...sushi in the Midwest, a serious roll of the digestive dice.

But it came highly recommended from my friend Rebecca, chef and most trusted source on food. We went last week to begrudgingly mark her upcoming move from Wichita, and it was so delish that I returned with Anthony and the boys last night. 

And what's not to love: quick, kind service, tasty food, unbeatable prices ($3.00 for a beautiful, crunchy, creamy veggie roll. Three dollars!), and...well, 18 hours later and still no food poisoning. 

Jackpot!

See, I've read that Wichita ranks second (behind Dallas) in restaurants per capita, but it's all BBQ, fried chicken and Applebee's...a crappy food trifecta. So Wasabi, I thank you for bringing quality and a little culture to my city.

Also, thanks for letting us linger at the table while Roman learned to use chopsticks....

 

...then chopstick-ed himself right to sleep.

Weather Cycles

We see some quick weather changes around here - 30-degree summer temp hikes, overnight tree color changes, spontaneous Tin Man-rusting rain, snowstorms that leave us sedated in a poppy field...

But yesterday was especially sudden; as we packed the boys' bikes in the car, it was fall. By the time we arrived at Eastborough Park - a whopping two miles away - winter had arrived.

But that didn't stop the boys; they put on their jackets and learned that the only thing better than our favorite park is...laps and laps and laps around our favorite park.

(Roman: "Hello Mom! I'm getting some exercise when I ride my bike around.")

Ben-time Stories

In a family first, tonight Ben read our bedtime story. Yup, just like that, the kid can read.

And by "just like that" I mean: thanks to the countless, painstaking hours of his kindergarten teacher and aides.

Ben was so careful and patient and, even though he didn't know all the words, he knew enough to get the gist of Mouse Loves School, literary giant and a gift from our dear friend Jen.

Poor Roman couldn't quite stay awake for the conclusion, but we'll fill him in tomorrow. Spoiler alert: That mouse loves school!

Cribless in Wichita

We reached a big milestone around here tonight; Roman is out of his crib/toddler bed and into a cozy big-boy bed.

And a big bed, it is: it's our old queen, which was Anthony's post-college bed, which makes me thankful that "memory foam" shares no actual memories.

(To be fair, Ben sleeps on my old queen bed, which I purchased when I was just out of college. And...that's all I have to say about that.)

So, after five-plus years, we're cribless here in Wichita and my children officially have better sleeping quarters than I did for the first 22 years of my life. Is this what they mean by making a better living than your parents?!

Anyway, here's hoping Roman stays put and does his 2 a.m. sideways egg-beater routine in his own bed. Although I have a feeling I'll kinda miss it.

These Happy Fall Days

Posted today as a guest post on www.WichitaCityMom.com.  

These fall days are falling away far faster than planned, and my brain is swirling like leaves in the street. So before my thoughts are dissipated by my neighbor’s incredibly loud leaf blower (why, neighbor…why?!) I should jot down a few happy thoughts from a particularly busy week.

Behold, things that I love this week (in no particular order):

• This windows-open, fresh breeze weather. I want to bottle and shelve you for February.
• Being the mom of boys on picture day. One green shirt, one striped shirt, two pairs of jeans. Done.
• $1.99 Gladiola bunches at Dillons. For less than four dollars I feel like I live in a tropical wonderland. Or at least a much nicer home.
• The “Assembles in only minutes!” claim on Roman’s new bike box. Two grown men’s sanity and one hundred minutes later… 

• Roman’s new bike, a way-early birthday gift from Grandma and Grandpa.

• The new recycled clothing place in town (Fashion Bar, 21st & Woodlawn). Locally owned, unreal prices, and a potential new drop off location for everything but my leisure wear, which will only be taken from my cold, lifeless body.
• Evolution Futbol Club (EFC), Ben’s soccer program. They teach the value of real skills and the importance of sportsmanship. Naturally then, we try to play it cool on the sidelines. But, what, am I made of stone?! We all went bananas when Ben scored (three times!) last Saturday. 

• Dr. Kumar, the boys’ pediatrician since day 1, even though I don’t always love what he has to say. (Wednesday: “Ben’s hearing is fine, so it must just be a problem of his listening.”)
• My in-laws, who headed back to Denver on Monday, after an extraordinary food- and wine-fueled weekend. I adore them more with every visit, and double that for Ben and Roman. In fact, I wonder how they got into their car after Roman’s pleading: “Grandma, please just don’t leave.”

 

And while we’d love to be closer, their visits always help me re-open my eyes to what a great life Wichita offers us. And if ever I forget, I’ll just open that late-September weather bottle and take a swig.

Loser's Back!

Because I'm an trainer, because I'm an eater, because I'm a sentimental fool...I do love a new season of The Biggest Loser.

Or maybe it's just because I'm a loser.

But last night's was everything I love: tough workouts, serious whining, a new twist on the same ol' excuses (blaming divorce and Hurricane Katrina for your weight gain?) and contestants falling from still-moving machines.

Oh, and lots and lots of crying. So very much crying. But let's be honest; I'd cry too if I were on a 1,200-calorie/day diet.

Anyway, it's an entertaining, very teamwork-oriented season so far and, while I'll probably be fast-fowarding through 90 percent of each episode's fluff, it's always nice to see people get healthy the old fashioned way...through exercise, calorie counting, and a gazillion-dollar production budget (did the trainers really have to arrive by individual helicopters?!).

Back here at our ranch, we've had our own diet and exercise drama. I've hurt my back, possibly from overdoing it, but more likely from underdoing back exercises.

So I looked very much the part of an "oh, my baaaack!" old woman in Ben's lunchroom on Monday. I had no idea the strength required to be a lunch lady, hauling 100 lbs. of coleslaw to be distributed in 1/4 cup servings. 

Ben got a kick out of having us there though, possibly just to help open his banana; Roman walked the aisles flirting with the older ladies (the women of K-8); and I just can't get enough of the uniformed, please-and-thank-you'ing kids. 

Then, as I smothered Ben with kisses (he'll still allow it, so you bet I'll do it!) his friend Braden asked, "Are you Ben's mom?" Well, I should hope so.

I'll be back at it next week to dish up another delicacy ("taco burger" says the menu. Did I miss a merger?). In the meantime, I need to get back into lunch lady shape, so I'm off to fix my back the old fashioned way: stretching, Advil, whining and wine-ing.

Weather 180

Wichita, please accept my sincerest apologies for bitching about the weather for 90 straight days.

Okay, make that five straight years.

After staying north of 100 degrees since the snow melted, you've redeemed yourself with this week's heavenly 80-degree highs and light wind. 

For myself, it means a 180-degree attitude adjustment. (And new conversation topics, thank heavens.) More importantly, we are once again an active, happy family with fresh air breezing through the house, despite Anthony's fear that lead paint chips will blow from the windowsills and fall into the kids' cereal bowls.

We can be outdoors long enough  to watch a soccer game...

...and run our hands through the breeze without fear of heat combustion. (That's Romy's hand on the way home from the park.)

So, dear Wichita weather, please stay as long as you'd like. It makes a girl feel right at home.

Don'cha Know?!

"Are you from Minnesota? Or Canada?" I was asked yesterday.

Eh?

The asker: an otherwise quiet Kenyan man who takes my 5:30 a.m. class twice a week. And all I could do was respond with my own questions:

• Do I seem kind enough to be from Minnesota? Because I am not.
• Do I tolerate extreme cold like the Canadians? Ask me in February.
• Do I elongate my Os and lose the ends of words? No-o-o weh.

The culprit, I think, is one of two things: I'm at a loss for words when coaching exercisers at oh-five-thirty ("Go-o-o!" Pause. "Go-o-o!") or, more likely: my California accent is colliding with my Wichita one.

Now, I hold firm that Californians don't really have accents (Valley excepted, of course, but that's a caricature. And all teenagers totally sound like that, BTW.) Indeed, don't Californians have the intonation and cadence that newscasters strive for? If anything, we might be a little free-flowing with slang and, perhaps, a little relaxed.

Wichita, on the other hand, has the most indistinguishable - and incredibly wide-ranging - version of an accent. Sometimes it's just a "y'all" peppered into a conversation. No biggie. Warm and inclusive, actually. But in its most extreme form, it's like a slow, mumbled Texas-light.

Has my relaxed Californian mixed with mumbled Texan to give me never-ending vowels?

Eh, since a lot of Wichitans sound just like me, maybe I just need to have one more 5 a.m. cup of coffee to keep my words nimble. And varied, for that matter. 

Either way, I'll keep ya posted. Here's to a relaxing three-day'er ahead.

P.S. Speaking of relaxing, Roman found a great use for my resistance band today. Better here than around my legs, no?!

Sappy, Silly, School

This was a banner week around here, as Ben and Roman started kindergarten and preschool, respectively.

And the headline on that banner?! "MOM CRIES ONLY ONCE!"

Granted, it was a full-blown, shoulder-shaking sob, but I put on my shades, got it all out, then moved on.

And the boys are moving on too, with only slight hesitation. Ben's thrilled with the four-recess schedule, but is struggling with the everyday nature of it all ("We have to go back again?!"). Also, he asks me to announce his arrival every morning ("Uh, Mrs. Wiebe, Ben's here..."), but I'm sure each day will get easier.

Roman, on the other hand, is already running the preschool. He's fearless, if slightly smitten with the lovely Mrs. Wilson.

My biggest struggle (and I have several) is getting used to the schedule, which is alternately crazy-busy and thumb-twiddling-slow. One moment I'm doing 100 things (poorly), then I'm looking around for an activity and settling on scrubbing my kitchen ceiling. Poorly.

But I'm sure things will even out. We'll iron out our wrinkles (bedtimes, belt-buckling, homework, shoe tie-ing) and have another sappy, silly week.

Here are a few pictures:

The boys march off to school together...

Roman calls Anthony to tell him about his preschool day...

 

Roman high-fives Mrs. Wilson (she gives them the option: handshake, hug or high-five)...

Ben, his giant box of school supplies, and Mrs. Wiebe...

And, finally, kindergarten pick up in the wagon...

Off to do it all...again! 

Summer Lovin'...

...happened so fa-ast. How can summer be over in 12 hours?!

Tomorrow at 8 sharp, we turn Ben over to the Catholics for Kindergarten (Roman and Pre-school are Tuesday), but to close out summer and keep me from crying, we packed in a few of our favorite summer things:

Homemade popsicles to cool the boys and torture Reno the dog:

Our weekly Thiessen pool date:

 Our almost-daily Genesis pool time:

Two photo notes: 

1. No, we're not in the ghetto as the background suggests. Genesis is just awaiting a new fence after a summer storm knocked down the old one. Thanks for the beautiful background to my summer, Genesis!

2. Yes, there is more than one chair at the pool, but this is how the boys like to hang out between swimming stints. Mmmm...relaxing!

Our 12 hours are already a-fleeting (along with my emotional stability), so I'll end it on a light note; big changes coming this week for my not-so-little boys as they start their educational adventure.

And without them to bother 24/7, I'll fill my schedule with our other boy of summer. Reno, get your running shoes; you'll be a busy dog.

Cars, Boys and Tunes

How lucky I'll be if these sweet boys grow up to be like Anthony.

And, by that, I mean they'll willingly drive a decades-old Pontiac Grand Am and be reasonably skilled at its maintenance:

Yup, it's been a big month for car troubles around here; Anthony had a crack (or something) in his manifold (or something). Twice. Then my Jeep's a/c went out. Thrice.

But we had them fixed because (1) we're determined to enjoy a no-car-payment existence for a little while longer and (2) we've found an incredibly honest mechanic at National.

Also, (3) Anthony has a "til death do us part" vow with that Pontiac. He's driven it for something like 12 years, despite its lack of seat cushion, a side mirror or any sex appeal whatsoever. And while I try to match his minimalist ways, I can't help but hope each morning: Will today be the day someone steals that thing from outside of my house? Please?

But until then, our "we're not poor, but we drive like we are" attitudes (an actual quote from Anthony) will keep us from the new car lot. That is, unless Roman has his way; he stated from my backseat, "Mom, you need to buy a new car so you have better songs."

Sister Bonus

Bonus day with Angey! And a double bonus: no 5:30 a.m. trip to the airport after a night of too many margaritas!

In a Guynn Sister first, the airlines were on our side, allowing Ange to delay her flight by a day. It'll still feel too short, but it's been a great week of the Scognamillo usual...all made more entertaining with a sister nearby.

Yup, Ange just merges right into our little life - gym, store, pool, store, gym, nap - interrupted by the boys' repeated request: "one at a time!" as Ange and I talk over each other.

We spent a lot of time at the pool, where the boys loved showing off their diving board acrobatics...

...then I showed off my acrobatics and dragged Ange to a few classes. She also let me train her, giving the kind of feedback that only a sister can give ("stop fussing with your shirt"). Also, she helped me through a MAJOR closet clean out...again, using phrases that only a sister can utter without offense, but that I won't repeat here.

Finally, we Mexican Fiesta'd last night with a few of the girls who've come to know and love Ange during her Wichita visits:

And because Angey has driven me to countless far-away airports at the absolute worst hours (only once putting a steak knife in my carry-on), I shall gladly rise for her 6 a.m. flight tomorrow, but less-than-gladly let her fly away from us.

Hold on Tight

Roman's always had a little of the Navin Johnson* tendency to grab and hold tight the most random things. As a baby and toddler he was forever death-gripping something - Hot Wheels, Chapstick, snacks - carrying them all day and through the night.

 

*Steve Martin as Navin Johnson in The Jerk. 

 Please tell me you know the reference or I'll feel ancient.

Some items fared better than others; metal Hot Wheels were no problem. But I don't miss the days of peeling open his sweaty little hand to discover that an hours-old fruit snack had become a food-colored, palm-sized glue ball.

He's better about it now; after all, he needs his hands for big-boy things like riding a trike, swimming and hassling the dog. But that made this morning's Navin grab-and-go behavior especially entertaining:

In his left hand is a bottle of sunscreen, a magnetic bottle opener and a picture of Anthony, Aunt Anna and Cousin Gina (Roman's sweetly inappropriate crush du jour). And in his right, a pretzel stick and a middle finger for his mother.

All useful, sure...but unusual choices when we're headed to the gym.

Anyway, look out, because the getting-rid-of-crap voice of reason is on its way. Angey arrives tomorrow! And, as tradition dictates (two generations running), we'll spend the better, funnier part of an afternoon going through my closets to answer "have you worn this in the past year?!" and "did this belong to Phoebe on Friends?!"

I should probably notify the local DAV that a hefty, dated clothing donation is on its way.

So, to Angey: I can't wait to see you. To the DAV guy: please don't also give me the middle finger. To Wichitans who need clothing and accessories from the early 2000s: you're welcome.

New Heights

Log this under "Things I should have started earlier," along with "using quality eye cream":

Tracking the boys' growth on the wall!

I'm surprised I didn't think of it earlier, since my grandparents logged mine and Angey's in their garage. For a while there I was keeping up, but Ange met and exceeded me once I flatlined in 1988. So long, hoop dreams!

Anyway, the boys have a current fascination with the tape measure, so we took them to the basement and put it to use.

The results? Two children who look like they're being punished (see below). And, more importantly, two healthy, growing boys: Ben, 43.25", Roman 38.5".

Emerald City's Silver Lining

Way to go, Wichita! Normally high on the "fattest," "sweltering hottest" and "meat-eating-est" cities lists, Wichita was named Kiplinger's #8 "Best Value City."


This is the Wichita photo from the Kiplinger website. I'm sorry...we have trolleys?

Anywho, they say it's based on a city's lifestyle amenities (all-you-can-eat buffets), vibrant economy (meth sales), and low cost of living (I have no snark for this...it's shockingly cheap to live here).

And, sure, the list reads a bit like, "Pit stops on your way elsewhere" but it includes some nice little cities:

1. Omaha, NE
2. Charlotte, NC
3. Nashville, TN
4. Colorado Springs, CO
5. Knoxville, TN
6. Lexington, KY
7. Little Rock, AK
8. Wichita, KS!
9. Cedar Rapids, IA
10. Cincinnati, OH 

(More info: http://kiplinger.com/guides/best-cities/index.html?si=1)

So, as much as I like to poke fun at Wichita, today I'll celebrate some of its greatest values: 

• Truly kind people. Who bake things from scratch. And offer to watch your kids 
• Great school choices - and a million of them - for the boys
• Wine Wednesdays 
• Regular wake-ups by chirping birds. What, am I Snow White?!  
• There's always an open treadmill
• "Heavy traffic" means two cars in the left turn lane

It's generally a great little slice of Americana. And, sure, we hope the boys will someday use it as a launching pad to live in other parts of the world, but for now it's a more-than-fine place for raising the kids.

Fittingly, today we wrapped up our swim sessions - maybe Wichita's greatest value - with the wonderful Miss Linda. For 12 weeks, she's worked with the boys on swimming basics and, today, they took their first jump of the diving board:

How Hot Is It?

I'm sure I used to hear about Midwest heat waves and wonder: what's a heat wave? And where's the Midwest?

But here I am, smack in the middle of both.

So, how hot is it, you ask?

First off, it's so hot that all I talk about anymore is the heat. So, yeah, I'm a pretty lively conversationalist.

But just how hot is it?

"Feels like you're in a blast furnace" is how the weatherman described it, but I think it's more: "Feels like you're drinking hot coffee and eating soup while wearing a wool turtleneck sweater and blow drying your hair in a never-ending Bikram Yoga class."

Whatever the case, it's so hot outside today that even the ice cream man had to stop in for a cold one at our local liquor store. (Is it possible they're working on a merger? If not, I may have just discovered my million dollar idea...)

And, back home, it's SO hot that sibling rivalry has been replaced by sweet sibling lethargy:

 
But if you really want to know how hot it is, here's our week's forecast. (Add about 5 "feels like" degrees for humidity):

Here's looking at you, Monday! I anxiously await your promise of one glorious cloud. Happy hot weekend!