Been a Long Time, Been a Long Time....

Blogging now at a new location: www.katrinagray.com. Come join me!

In Case You're Wondering Where I'll Be On Wednesday, May 13th 2009 at 5:30pm....

I'll be headbangin' and mosh-pitting at Nashville Birth Network's Your Best Birth Event!

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Vanderbilt School of Nursing and 9 Months & Beyond, LLC invite the community to a FREE evening event featuring:

Live Webcast Q & A with Ricki Lake and Abbi Epstein, producers of the groundbreaking documentary The Business of Being Born and authors of the new book Your Best Birth.

Where do we go from here? A panel featuring local experts in childbirth and healthy pregnancy including doctors, midwives, childbirth educators, doulas and childbearing parents. Come with your comments and questions and be a part of the conversation!

A non-profit resource fair - Tables with information on how you can get support for things like a healthy and holisitic pregnancy, breastfeeding, Cesearean avoidance and support, choices in childbirth and more.

And best of all, we will have the brand spankin’ new book, YOUR BEST BIRTH available for purchase. All profits will go to support the local chapter of Birth Network National - The Nashville Birth Network. Purchase a book for your own personal library, to give to your local library or give to a pregnant woman you love!

The mission of the Nashville Birth Network is to promote the awareness and availability of Mother-friendly maternity care.

Doors open at 5:30pm
Live Nationwide Webcast featuring YOUR questions begins at 6pm
Followed by panel of Local Childbirth Experts and Non-profit support group resource fair. Come learn about groups like ICAN, Holistic Moms, the Nashville Birth Network, La Leche League, Tennessee Midwives association and more!

Location: Vanderbilt School of Nursing Annex Room 155
For more information please email info@ninemonthsandbeyond.com or call 1-877-365-6262.

May I Help You?

Clearly, John and I are sources of endless amusement for Jack. Here he is making fun of us. (Or, "modeling," as it's called in Waldorf circles.) This is his first (okay, second--Dad had to run get the camera) faux-phone conversation. His comb never runs out of minutes and never needs charging. He's a practical guy.

Your Best Birth

It's a book! 

Congratulations to Abby Epstein and Ricki Lake for the birth of their new book, Your Best Birth: Know All Your Options, Discover the Natural Choices, and Take Back the Birth Experience. I got my copy on Saturday, and I finished it last night. 

It's officially my new favorite book to recommend to expectant parents. The information is extremely accessible, it's dead-honest, and it is conversational enough to not be preachy. The birth stories of Cindy Crawford, Laila Ali, Melissa Joan Hart, and others are added bonuses. There are many, many mentions of Ina May Gaskin, which is great to see because she is full of knowledge that the world needs to know. 

Now...on to book club plans for the Nashville Birth Network. This will be our first selection!

p.s.--Check out the Facebook-ish site that Abby and Ricki created created for mothers, birth professionals, birth junkies, etc., and go ahead and join My Best Birth if you're so inclined. I'm loving it!

Heeey, Good Lookin'!

Whaaatcha got cookin'?

Howzabout cookin' somethin' up with meee?

Placenta Pizza

Here in our freezer--beneath the various Trader Joe's frozen items and beside the ice--resides my placenta. Technically, it's Jack's placenta, but let's not get into semantics. 

Here's a closer look...

The placenta was born almost a year ago, and I have not done with it what most homebirthers do: no encapsulation, no burial, no bonfire, no stew (yes, some eat it like meat--the only meat, by the way, that does not require killing an animal). So, what to do? And why have I held on to it?

I didn't want to bury it under a tree in our yard because I hope we move soon, and I wouldn't want to leave behind such an intimate piece of my DNA at a house that I'm not completely connected to. It's too late to dehydrate it and put it into capsules. And I'm not sure what its expiration date is, as far as eating it goes. Plus it's probably freezer-burned. And I was too busy raising a baby this past year to think of other options. So there are my reasons for hanging on--or at least the surface ones. 

It goes deeper, I think. This placenta was Jack's constant companion for 39 weeks. It fed him; it cushioned him. And it was my link to him before I got to touch his face and hold his little body. This placenta is so heavy with deep meaning that I can't seem to part with it. But I will, and there will be a ceremony, prayers, and sage-burning. Maybe some candles and moondancing. It will be honored. More honored than it is sharing the same space as Kashi GoLean waffles.

Leave It to Grammy....

Yesterday was a pleasant, loungy Easter. Jack and I woke to beautiful church bells chiming down the street. He tried to bob his head in some kind of groove, but eventually settled on listening intently, squinting his eyes and leaning his ear in, as if he were a music producer listening for "it." You know, it. That quality that you know when you hear it. Some otherworldly something that speaks to the soul of the masses.

Mom came over to watch Jack while John and I went to the Todd Rundgren concert at The Belcourt, which is what everyone does on Easter, right? This, of course, gave Mom the perfect opportunity for another one of her photo shoots. She has the uncanny ability to capture Jack's inherent Jack-ness, or his it.

They're Here!

Jack's Waldorf playstands and play kitchen are here! I added his wooden and wool veggies, and he immediately got cooking. See? (Never mind the wooden potato and egg in the sink;)
Then I organized his other goodies, and voila! A playspace! Note the silkscape I made with Hillary a couple of months ago....
Jack loves his new space. It's a reading nook, an imaginarium, a house, a storefront, a puppet show stand, a hideaway...whatever he wants it to be. I've discovered that he likes things to be organized so he can mess them up. There's not really any fun in messing up what is already messy, now is there?

Attached at the Heart

This past Saturday, John, Mom, Jack, and I all went to Davis-Kidd Booksellers for a booksigning event. Barbara Nicholson and Lysa Parker--cofounders of Attachment Parenting International--signed Attached at the Heart: 8 Proven Parenting Strategies For Raising Connected and Compassionate Children. AP moms (and singer/songwriters) Carolyn Dawn Johnson, Kim Carnes, Ashley Cleveland, Oddessa Settles, and Jonell Mosser sang "Baby of Mine" before Barbara and Lysa spoke about their 15-year journey of researching and writing the book.
Meanwhile, Hillary and I were thinking the same thing: "I'll bet there's a book hiding in me somewhere." Jack just wanted to know why the music stopped.
Afterward, we hit the children's section, and we couldn't resist buying Jack this supercool Melissa and Doug stacking train. We played with it as soon as we got home. 
My guys aren't just attached to my heart: they be all up in it. Aiiight? Peace.

Ewwww....Gimme Some More!

Tonight, Jack had strawberries and blackberries for dinner. He exhibited his usual fruit behavior: eating, shivering with a sourpuss look on his face, then smiling. He's initially disgusted, but eventually delighted.

Being the generous soul he is, he shared with me, and cracked up when I made my own sourpuss face. Then I ate his hand. Clearly, I crossed a line.

But then he cracked up again. And again and again and again. That kid has the best laugh on the planet.

Well, Jack, it appears that fruit has taught you a little something about contradictions. Things aren't always black and white, and there's usually something good in things that may seem icky at first. And it's okay if you can't make up your mind about something right away. You can always change it back, too, and you can give stuff a second chance. Take the journey, even if you don't arrive anywhere. Life is as complicated as sweet-and-sour fruit, but it's also that delicious.

Mmmm...Eat it up!

Driveway-Trippin'

Some of you are already familiar with the mutual crush shared by Henry and Jack. Out of all five of our dogs, Jack is most lovey-dovey with Henry. And Henry is the only furry guy who doesn't get lost when Jack pets him with force. Like, lots of force.

Henry likes to go on rides, too. He'll howl for a ride. Well, my sister Victoria got Jack a Radio Flyer wagon for Christmas, and she just mailed it last week. So it's here, and it's put together, and it's getting a workout. Which is a total score for Henry.

Today we went driveway-trippin'--just the three of us. As you can see, Jack brought his kazoo for some tunes, though he just holds it at arm's length and blows air through his pursed lips, which does not create the sound of a kazoo, but the sound of air blowing through his pursed lips. No matter.

We had fun on this chillysunnyspringy day. I still can't believe I have son. Now I can't believe I have a son who's old enough to cart around in a wagon. We are going to have so much fun. And yes, Henry: by "we," I mean you too, you big silly.

Rocker Dude

Jack totally looks like Butthead with his arm in the air, making the awesome-est headbanger face he can muster. This is his new thing.

There was, however, no music playing at the time of this photograph.

My Jack-Jack hears music in his head, just like I do. And he has a band in his mouth, just like me! I'll explain: it's like beat-boxing, but with your mouth closed. You swish your spit around, and pry your tongue away from the roof of your mouth with a force of air, all to some sort of rhythm. When I was a kid, I was amazed that I had found a band in my mouth. I wondered if anyone else had one. I only told someone about this a few years ago, but until then, it was my secret. Shhhh...I'm telling you this in confidence.

Well, I heard the tiny music of Jack's mouth-band a couple of weeks ago. He has "the gift." Not only that, but he'll rock out to anything. The solemn music on anti-depressant medication commercials is the best. He even rocks to Dan Fogelberg and Faron Young.

Yep. That's my boy!

Old Soul Jack

Jack is 10 months old, and he's a potty pro. He took to "potty learning" right away last month. There was no pressure on him at all; we just made another option available to him. We didn't start natural infant hygiene at birth because I just couldn't wrap my brain around it then, but it's worked out. I think 9 months was the perfect age for this, really. Jack loves his potty because he loves anything that makes him feel like a big boy, and we're psyched about washing fewer diapers. It's a win-win.

He looks a grown-up guy here, like he's an old soul stuck in a kid's body. What a cutie.

Pop It With Some Green!

One of my high school art teachers, Mrs. Pendegrass ("Pende," as she was called), would look at someone's landscape painting and say, "Pop it with some green!" Then she'd grab that person's brush and dip it in some paint and dab it here and there and say, "See? Pop it! Just pop it, just like that...." And then she'd pretty much finish the painting.

Well, spring has popped it in my backyard. See? Soon the kudzu will take over, and the "pop" will be more of a "blob." Kudzu would not make Pende proud. But these sweet little trees? It's almost as if she grabbed the brush from spring and demonstrated how it's really done. It's that good.

The Garden of Forking Paths

Jorge Luis Borges has a hold on me today. I'm living in one of his stories. I'm finding synchronicity in everything, and therefore, finding life everywhere I turn. Nothing is static; nothing is meaningless.

I remember taking this photograph in County Wicklow, Ireland in June 2004. I was at a crossroads in my life, wondering which way to go, and I laughed at having to make yet another choice on my soothing walk through a garden. But now I look at this picture and I am reminded that I can either stop in front of two paths and think with my head about which way to go, or I can notice a fork in the trail and fluidly feel where my spirit leads me. Decisions are only as difficult as we make them, aren't they?

Messy-Hair-Day-Sunday-Morning

The time has come when I don't mind if people see me looking icky. This is, I suppose, a big step for a gal who, not too long ago, preferred walking her dogs in a dress and make-up. (That would be me wearing the dress and make-up, not the dogs.)

Pregnancy and birth did this. I was reminded on a cosmic level that there are more important things in life than appearances. A healthy baby means much more to me than slim hips. A gentle, primal, intuitive birth means more to me than "holding it together." A smiling little guy matters more than a hot shower.

Not to say that slim hips and hot showers and the appearance of fortitude are worthless or meaningless; I am rejoicing louder than anyone that my figure is once again getting "girlish." But I've found out that people don't notice me as much I notice myself. This is a true revelation! So if I feel good, looks come second. My body is a vehicle for my spirit, and as long as my spirit is dancing, it makes no difference if I'm wearing heels or flats.

Twirl me around, life!

Happy Birthday, Beckster!

My niece's birthday was an entire week ago, and I still haven't called her. Darn, darn, darn. I even had the thought on March 13th, "I still have time to call Rebecca!" But 4pm turned into 6pm, which turned into 8pm....

Anyway, I think she got it telepathically. She is a Pisces, after all. When my mom (her grandmother) told her that I really wanted to call her but was having a rather busy month, Rebecca said, "Oh, I know. She'll call me. It's okay!" I love that kid.

So, Rebecca, this is your official shout-out. I'm so glad you were born! Otherwise, I would know nothing about how to sculpt Crayola Fusion, what Jack looks like as a Wii character, or what in the heck Hollister is. I'd be so uncool.

I Survived Meiosis and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt

I've been waiting for this moment since sixth grade.

I've held this super-awesome joke inside since I heard about cell division in science class. I turned to my best friend Stacy and said, "There should be a baby shirt that says, 'I survived meiosis and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.'" I swear, I thought it was the best joke in the history of jokes, at least until I came up with my next zinger.

Well, I had this shirt made for Stacy's daughter Sophie. After Soph outgrew it, she sent it my way. And now, I present to you, a joke twenty years in the making:
Jack's just the guy to pull it off. He's a jokester--the ultimate king of comedy. See? He has a crown and everything!

Nature Table / Wine Rack

I thought it would be years before I would be able to welcome a nature table into our home. The thing is that to a toddler, any little new tidbit of anything appears digestible, or at least mouthable. Bringing in pine cones or flowers or acorns seems wholesome in theory, but in practice? No, no. Definitely not.

Enter my newest flash or brilliance. Jack has not yet discovered the wine rack--thank God--so I figured I could add a few things to the table part of it, which has a lip to keep out prying fingers. I had already put my cast iron tea set on it, along with a plant and a candle. It seemed natural to add a few little fun things among them. Like Jack's new wool-felted nest with wool-felted baby birds and a wooden mama bird:
Or a wool-felted fairy and Jack's birthday spiral friends:
In the back, you can see a Waldorf art card with a sweet painting of children welcoming some bluebirds to the world, and you can even see our peace lily at the edge of the frame:
So, welcome to our home, spring! There's always a place for you. Even if we get more wine.

Rockin'

Here's my latest contribution to "saving handmade." I got this horsey for my Jack-Jack on Etsy. It's the perfect height for a nine-month-old, and my guy took to it right away. (Note the sneaky expression on his face.)

It's gotten to where I'm only buying his stuff on Etsy. It's great quality, and the people are so nice. And it makes my spirit giggle with glee to get little packages from all over the world. These crafty folks put their hearts into their handiwork, and those good vibes have got to flow to Jack when he plays with these goodies--I just know it.

The Humbled Hipster

John, Jack, and I took a little jaunt to Borders on West End Saturday to pick up the hot-of-the-presses Donald Barthelme biography, Hiding Man by Tracy Daugherty.

Now, this may have been totally lost on Jack, but he sure enjoyed saying hi to everyone in the store. For me and John, this was a big deal. Barthelme is one of our favorites, mostly because he stands for freedom. I was introduced to his delicious stories in May 2004, just before I went to Dublin for the Bloomsday centenary. It was a time in my life when I was exploring what personal freedom meant to me, and Barthelme fit right in. To him, a story was an object to craft and polish; it was a work of art. And it was a playground. He was, perhaps, the first true postmodernist. He turned the world on its ear with silly stories and novels that required a bit of a twisted imagination and dry sense of humor.

John studied with Barthelme's brothers, Steve and Rick, at the University of Southern Mississippi Center for Writers, and Rick directed his doctoral thesis. John read Barthelme's The Dead Father in bed the week after Jack was born. He probably influenced John more than any other writer.

This was a big day. We got to purchase a small key to this elusive man's life. And we got to imagine how we might be viewed one day, long after we've written all we're going to write, and after we've lived as heartily as we could. Slick photos in the center of a book of me pregnant with Jack, of John working feverishly at his computer with a baby on his lap. Snippets about what inspired us and how we inspired each other. An author's declarations about our contributions to life. There will be someone interested in all of us one day--how we lived, who we loved. We are biographies in motion. We are books: walking, talking, breathing books.

Did I Forget to Mention...

...that my son earned his wings on our way to Santa Fe in January? It was a pretty big deal, so I'm not sure how I could have forgotten. The pilot just moved out of the way when he saw this guy coming. Said the pilot, "Experience, schmexperience."

Make Way Toot-Sweet!

Get a load of this handsome guy! I'm not sure at what point Jack's smile became adorably crooked, but crooked it is.

Today we took one of many steps toward creating his Waldorf-y playspace. He generously donated the recliner in his room to the Salvation Army today. I, for one, am elated. I have been trying to put this recliner out of my mind since I met it in John's old place on Music Row. But when Jack was born, I had to admit that it was a comfy place to sit with him in my arms.

Jack's a big boy now, and would rather climb my head than be rocked on my lap, so it was the perfect time to convince ol' Dad to let go of it. I know it was secretly hard for him. For years, it had been an awesome place to grade papers, and it was also his favorite place to meditate.

So, thanks, Daddy John. When you see Jack-Jack's safe, soft, peaceful playspace, it will be worth it--I promise. He will have his own place to imitate you grading papers. He will have a mini-man-cave where a pine cone will hold a world of wonder. You will walk in on him one day, and catch him trying figure out how to hold three wooden blocks with two little hands. If you squint and part the curtains a little, you'll see meditation in motion.

motherbirthsource.com is LIVE!

My perceived absence has not not been because I haven't been spiritbirthing--oh, nooo....My life has been full of soulful excitement lately.

After months of waiting and figuring stuff out and then waiting some more, motherbirthsource is dipping its cybertoes in Lake Internet! (And for the record...I'm still figuring stuff out, so please, please be kind. Or at least hold all pithy comments until I can cover my ears and close my eyes and sing something really loud.)

Anyway, I'm really proud. And I'm so honored to be able to spread the Birthing From Within word.

Peace to the world, peace to birth.

SilkiesSilkiesSilkiesSilkiesAndPlusAlsoMoreSilkies

What we have here are silkies. Lots of them. Silkies and two pug lovebirds sharing an afternoon delight on el sofa.

On Monday, I spent a lovely afternoon at my new friend Hillary's house dyeing raw silk pieces that we bought. And Jack totally got to meet a girl--Hillary's precious daughter Tait, who showered him with kisses and attention. We made a great team, the four of us, and the nontoxic dyeing process was ridiculously simple. I have stained a bevy of Formica countertops in my lifetime with Kool-Aid, but I had never thought of using it to dye anything else. But Hillary found a great recipe online, and that was that. (Now I'm wondering about the state of my intestines from childhood Kool-Aid consumption...Are they bluepurpleredgreen still?) So that was our secret ingredient. OH, YEAH!

And now Jack has little playsilks and big playsilks for all his open-ended-play needs. He will have a canopy to drape over his playstands (on order as I type). He will have hankies to stuff up his sleeves and perform delightful little magic tricks. He'll have capes and fort walls and mummy-wrap a-plenty. And lots of other things that my grown-up brain can't even imagine.

So, I Was Thinking...

John is teaching T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land" tomorrow, and he reviewed it in bed tonight, asking my opinion on this or that. I've also been perusing Fictionaut--our friend Jurgen's (sorry, Jurgen--I don't don't how to make an umlaut) online fiction-publishing-reading-commenting-etc. community. I've even been tempted to whip out Tom Robbins and read a favorite paragraph or two.

So, just when I thought that literary works had all but drifted out of my life, they are popping up organically. I have been reading mostly childbirth and parenting books lately--very interesting nonfiction--and I have been writing mostly nonfiction as well. That has been fine with me, but I have been feeling less and less like an artist, especially now that John has just turned the 150-page corner of the new novel he's writing. But, ready or not, here it all comes back to me in sneaky, secret ways.

So, I was thinking...the artist is back! I'm reading and writing for pleasure again!

Welcome back, little artista! Welcome back to delicious words and the juicy poetry of life. Welcome back to stolen dog-eared moments and thin veins of Helvetica marching across pages. Welcome back to words that do not have to make sense, as long as they create an image. Banana elephant trumpet palm river basin! Giant purple peanut slumber visions!

This is good timing, too, considering that there has been a lot of chatter about John and me hosting yet another summer of writing workshops. I am taking the leap right here: the Nashville Fiction Workshop is back! [Now that I'm feeling writer-y again and stuff...]

My Funny Valentine[s]...

This is the first year I've had two Valentines since a particularly fun stroke of luck my sophomore year of high school.

It was cause for a celebration. Dr. John and his sidekick Jack knew that Thai food always sounds good to me, so they made a reservation at Golden Thai. Yum.

I have love in my life. How great is that?

Prince Jack

Jack has a crush on Henry. Henry has a crush on Jack. They're bestest friends.

I have five dogs, but Henry is getting the most attention these days--now that Jack is mobile and can dole out affection. Sometimes the others get a little jealous, but usually--such as when Jack takes a big, hairy bite of Henry's neck rolls--they say, "I'm glad I'm not that guy."

It tickles me to see my little son develop his personality. He can do stuff now, and he totally gets jokes. He makes them, too. Not bad for somebody who wasn't even here nine months ago.

Hail, Prince Jack!

Birthing From Within

I'm finally writing about the transformative experience I had at the Birthing From Within workshop in Santa Fe. It took me a while to process it all, and to give the experience words, and I still have my doubts that I could do it under pressure, say at a dinner party. Here I have time to think about it at least, and to edit out anything unintelligible. I felt like a bumbling idiot when I called my husband every night from my room. He'd ask how the day went, and my answers seemed to come out as "It...good."

Well, it was good. And mind-blowing. And crazy. And probably the sanest thing I've ever done in my life. Pam England herself was at this one, and it appears to be the only one this year where she is listed as a facilitator. Her presence was invaluable. Virginia and Elizabeth also facilitated, and it was wonderful to have three perspectives, three sets of ideas, and three personalities.

The picture up top is of our group on the last day. That's me on the back row between the two ladders--the blond who just had to do a quarter-turn toward the camera, like my sister did back in her pageant days. I'm hypnotized by cameras and mirrors, but at least I'm conscious of it, eh?

I initially had reservations about going to such an important even in Santa Fe because my Pluto line runs right through. Astro-cartographers usually caution against traveling or living on the path that Pluto took on its way to your place of birth, because it has the connotation of death. Yikes! I have requalified this notion after this experience, however: Pluto's high road is transformation, and that's more what I felt.

While I was there, I howled, I breathed, I mock-contracted, I meditated, I twirled, I drew labyrinths, I played with pastels, I met some beautiful, beautiful people. I saw a BFW class in action, and I saw the parents transform. I discovered how to take mothers and fathers on journeys inside themselves. I found a home. I let go. I woke up.

But anyway, for anyone trying to choose among all the childbirth education / doula training programs out there, I highly recommend BFW. Why? Because its education is not education, but mentoring. Because it prepares a woman to be a mother on a soul level. Because its philosophy is that birthing a mother is just as important as birthing a baby. Because it respects a father's journey. Because it is not outcome-focused, but journey-focused. Because it rocks.

Baby On Board?

So I took my mother to Santa Fe to watch my son while I was at my Birthing From Within workshop. She was crazy-excited to be there, and strolled my boy all around town while I was in session.

Here's the thing: my mother is photo-crazy. She takes pictures of everything, even things she's not supposed to. She once nearly got us kicked out of a Glen Campbell concert at the Ryman for wanting to capture his "Gentle On My Mind" solo. And I learned on this trip that she has even mastered the art of discretely removing her camera's memory card, lest her camera get confiscated.

Not only does she like to capture everything on film, but these days, she likes to capture everything with her grandson in the frame. The only thing about that is when he is bundled up, unable to move, resting in his stroller, he ends up looking more like Flat Stanley or the traveling garden gnome in the Travelocity commercials rather than the charming, animated master of fun that he is.

Take this pic for example. This is Jack in front of what is purported to be the oldest house in the United States. No offense here, Jack, but a well-shot photo of something ancient looks odd when it is dotted with an unenthusiastic baby in a manufactured travel system (which is marked by our "ABQ" checked-luggage tag, no less).

But I'll file this picture away and treasure it always. Why? Because it only looks like a picture of the oldest house in the United States. What is really captured here is a darn good day that my mother shared with her new grandchild, my mother's inextinguishable enthusiasm, a moment that my son may not otherwise recall, a nod that they were there. They were really, really there.

Postpartum Ballet

I finally did it. I partook in postpartum ballet activities. I stretched, I arabesqued, I port-de-brased, I degaged. So we have complete disclosure here, I should say that what I did was a half-hour warm-up. But still.

Things went well. I did not twist my ankles (though my right one had me worried during a daring jump), and I did not pull my hamstrings. Yay. This is still a concern to me, #1, because as long as I'm breastfeeding, I still have relaxin pulsing through my veins, loosening my ligaments; and #2, because it's been a freaking-long time since I've done this. And did I mention that I broke three metatarsals in my right foot a year ago, when I was in my second trimester? So today was a big deal. I proved to myself that I still have it in me...to warm up. I imagined that this was preparation for all the good things on the horizon. Yum.

And I also got to remember that I like how my feet look. No matter that I'm still about fifteen pounds away from my delicious Ann Taylor wardrobe...I feel good, and I feel pretty, and I like my feet. They are rarely pedicured, and they're not narrow, but they're sinewy, and they work. I have feet that WORK!!! How great is that?