Typing Stories

I decided not to do National Novel Writing Month this year. It’s not that I don’t enjoy it. I have three posters advertising the month-long literary pursuit hanging in my house — one for each year I 'won' NaNoWriMo. For the past three years, I proved (mainly to myself) that I can crank out 50,000 words in 30 days with a loose story in between, and still survive.

This year, though, I didn’t really feel like writing an entire novel in November. Perhaps subliminally, I didn't want to be the writer who only did NaNoWriMo and then never bothered to get a book published.   

I have also just been uncannily grumpy for a long time. I suspected that piling 50,000 words onto my schedule (and not getting paid for it) would add to my overall bad mood.

I’ve always had a cranky side to me, but motherhood has brought it out in full force. 

I blame the lack of sleep and the numerous stressful events in my life, including, but not limited to, my brother's death, moving to a new city (and moving two more times within that city), having a baby, the Sailor’s promotion to Captain and haphazard schedule, a twin miscarriage and the hospitalization of my mom. (Pro tip: when a crisis happens to someone you know, just show up.)

I tried to blame my mood on everyone and everything, but in the end, the Sailor told me I needed to find my purpose. I found myself tearing up at his words, but he was right. He often is.

I have been foundering for a long time, and even though deep down I knew I was sinking, he offered me a life ring. 

A year ago, I purged a ton of Pyrex and started selling stuff I no longer wanted around the house. In doing so, I realized not only how much junk I’ve accumulated over my life, but how many jobs I’ve had and how many identities I’ve carried around with me.

I have been, among many other things, a runner, traveler, writer, thrifter, maker, crafter, daughter, caretaker, teacher, canoe instructor, cook, server, journalist, volunteer, friend, soccer player, photographer, wife.

And then I added mom to that list, and everything else seemed to dissolve away, because, well — kids are intense. Of course I know that children are the greatest gift. But sometimes our identity gets so wrapped up in mommyhood that we forget who we were before this child came into our life. It almost feels like someone stole my identity and left me with a sleep-deprived, angry, grumpy one in its place. 

Motherhood does that to a person.

The Sailor told me to pray about it. And while I have always had a deep faith, over the years I have been somewhat blasé about it. For fear of offending people, I have shied away from even admitting that I am a praying person because of the reputation sometimes cast upon believers these days.

Living in the South will do that to a person.

So I silently prayed for my purpose. I knew the answer before I saw the literal sign. I have a framed picture of a typewriter on my wall, near my desk that reads, ‘Your story matters... Share it with the world.’

 

Your story matters.

There's a lot of truth in those three words. 

Within every ‘identity’ I’ve carried, I have always been a storyteller. Often the story is mine, although for years I wrote other people’s stories — tales of incredible people in far away places you’d have trouble finding on a traditional map.

I don’t know exactly when I stopped telling stories. Mine. Yours. God’s. I think it started when my mentor died. Not many people championed my writing like he did and when he died, a little of my soul seemed to go with him.
 
Writing is one of the few things that has stayed consistent in my life when everything else has changed. I have lived in numerous places and countries, taken on various jobs and roles, but I have always had my journals, my stories. And for nearly 20 years, I always had JH to tell me I was on the right track — whether I needed to pursue the story or scrap it.

Then, he was gone. And I felt like nobody reminded me to keep writing — to keep chasing stories. For over a year, I neglected this blog, not really knowing what to share. I wondered if people even read personal blogs anymore. Staying silent is not exactly a good way to honor the legacy of the man who taught me so much about writing, however. 

Actual writer's block.

Over these past few weeks, I tried to think back on the times when I felt the most alive, when life seemed to have the most meaning. Immediately, I saw myself in far away places. I’ve traveled a lot and it’s natural that I have amazing memories from the many locations I’ve lived. I’ve always assumed that a portion of my crankiness lately is because I live in the States now, and even though we do still travel a lot, I find myself pulling clothes out of a closet more often than a suitcase these days.

(I do prefer suitcases.)

For this walk down memory lane though, the location didn't matter so much as what I was actually doing in each of them.  

I remember a hostel on the hill in Budapest. I had an amazing view of the city from my window, but what I remember even more is how my fingers flew over my keyboard, racing to make a deadline.

I remember staying up late in my shared office in Mercy Ships, somewhere off the coast of West Africa, so I’d have a moment of quiet clarity to finalize a story.

I remember stumbling into a cafe, stunned, scribbling notes in a rain-soaked journal after a moving visit to Auschwitz.

I remember drinking super strong coffee from a tiny ceramic cup, listening to the sounds of rain, while writing in a mission building in Transcarpathia, Ukraine.

I remember wandering to my favorite cafe in the Canary Islands, tucking myself into a corner with a café con leche, while I wrote in my journal with a fountain pen.

I remember cradling my 3-month-old in a sling in this city where I now live, while I wrote my own eulogy to my former boss through a tear-filled haze.

I remember typing out random scenes in NaNoWriMo while the Peanut slept next to me, hoping he wouldn’t kick the keyboard and delete 10,000 words.

I remember all of these things because I felt alive. 

Oddly, many of the things I experienced and later wrote about were not all rosy and cosy. They were messy, distressing, uncomfortable, annoying. Kind of like my life on certain days. Yet writing about them made me feel alive.

It's been a rough few years. This past year especially has been a doozy, and I have felt less than alive, most days. Lately though, something seems to be changing. Maybe it’s God. Maybe it’s the literal sign on my wall. Maybe it’s just me unearthing what was always there. 

I remember now, that I have a story to tell. 

MY story matters.

My STORY matters.

My story MATTERS.

I may not have actually published a book by the age I wanted. But I have lived more in my years than many people ever will and I have the stories to prove it.   

This month, I won't get any bragging rights to 'winning' NaNoWriMo, but I am still writing a story. My story. I hope you'll stick around to read it.

Let's Talk About Breastfeeding, Baby

Full confession time: I'm a mommy. I still shower daily. I feed my kid goldfish (the crackers! Not the real fish). And I do lots of other things I swore I'd never do as a mom. I'm eating my words, one goldfish at a time.

AND I breastfeed my toddler.

While I thought breastfeeding would be the most natural thing on the planet (like giving birth — see how my 'plan' went sideways here), there was NO WAY I was going to nurse past one year. I didn’t really know anyone who nursed their babes past 12 months... if I did, they were very secretive about it. When I tried to recollect friends who had babies before me, I mostly remembered bottles. 

When I think about it, there are a lot of things I didn't know before I had a baby. And there's a lot I wish I had known about breastfeeding, specifically. So, I decided it's time to be honest and share my story with you, plus a few things I wish I had known beforehand.

1. It might not be as 'natural' as you pictured.

I remember that first awkward nursing session with my son. I had these grand visions of some lovely bonding moment: there would be tears in my eyes from joy, my baby would be suckling like a pro, fairies would dance in the air, sprinkling pixie dust. I jest on the latter, but I did imagine a magical moment.

In reality, there was nothing magical about it. I was wheeled into a room full of other women — some of whom seemed to be laboring behind curtains. I had just been sliced open and stitched back together, and this was the first time I was actually allowed to hold my child. 

He was screeching like a banshee — a hungry one at that.

The Sailor awkwardly tried to stand clear of the hustle, while a nurse barked at me to hold my breast like a hamburger so my baby could get a mouthful. (At this point, I hadn't eaten anything for over eight hours. I secretly salivated over the imaginary floppy burger I found in my hand.)

The Peanut squealed and writhed and struggled to latch and suddenly my illusion of 'natural breastfeeding' seemed to vanish into thin air. 

I was a complete hot mess (seriously, blazing hot one minute, freezing the next. Hormones, you also get the blame.) 

The nurses then stressed me out for the next few days, telling me that my baby needed to nurse more than five minutes at a time ('snacking' is fine, by the way). I started to panic when the nurses harped on about his weight loss (a certain amount of weight loss is normal, particularly if mama has had IV fluids beforehand). 

Finally, they made me feel like my baby needed formula. (I was pretty adamant about breastfeeding only, but sometimes you DO need some help. Fed is best. And if I needed to make a decision to supplement or if I wasn't able to breastfeed at all, I'd most likely choose an organic brand like the Honest Company's non-GMO formula.)

2. I wish I had known that breastfeeding a baby wouldn't always take F-O-R-E-V-E-R.

Those first few weeks, I felt like I only got up from the chair to go to the bathroom (and even then, I often had the Peanut with me in one hand). Sure, I caught up on books and television and news of the world, but I wondered how I would ever make it to my initial goal of one year, with a child who could take up to 45 minutes to chow down, only to want a snack soon after.
 
I wish someone had told me that eventually, babies and breasts get more efficient with the process, and that I wouldn't be pinned to a chair forever.  

A milk drunk Peanut passed out in Singapore.

Eventually, I did figure that out, and as the Peanut and I got into a rhythm, I learned to take it one day at a time. As a stay-at-home mom, I rarely stayed home. I made sure to get out of the house often: shopping, walking, sitting in the park, or meeting a friend for coffee.

I found it easy to simply pack a small cover or scarf, or to ensure I was wearing a nursing tank top under a shirt so that I could discreetly lift the outer shirt up, and the shirt under it down (a trick a friend told me about) and not expose much at all. I’m all for public nursing, but personally, I’m pretty discreet about it. You see far more of my body while I'm at the pool than you will ever see of me nursing my kid. 

When I took the Peanut to South Africa, Singapore and across America, I never worried about carting around enough food. I carried the food right inside my body. Long nursing sessions or not, breastfeeding can be very convenient. 

3. I wish someone had told me that schedules stink and that feeding on demand is totally fine.  

Actually, someone did tell me this early on in my mommy game. One of the night nurses, seeing my exasperation at the Peanut's haphazard feeding schedule (initially, he liked to snack often for only a few minutes at a time) told me to forget the clock and just feed him when he was hungry, even if it was more often than the prescribed 'every three hours'. I remember feeling my whole body relax when she told me that.

I just wish someone had reminded me daily for those first few weeks, when I felt like gouging my eyeballs out with the same pen I used to keep track of the Peanut's eating habits.  
 
4. Finally, I wish I had known earlier that I wasn't alone in nursing a toddler.
  
The Peanut will be three years old in just a few short months and yes, he’s still nursing. I don’t make a big deal out of it, and honestly, sometimes I’m embarrassed to admit it, depending on who I'm talking to. There still seems to be a stigma attached to it that needs to be eliminated, which is why I wanted to share my story. While breastfeeding advocates shout that breast is best for baby, people often give the side eye when they hear your walking talking toddler still has ‘milkies’. And the Internet trolls! Don't even get me started. 

The reasons for me still nursing him are vast and varied. Believe me, I certainly didn’t expect to go quite this long. Then again, I didn't even expect to have a baby, so there's that.

Our lives are far from conventional and we are often in a state of flux. The Sailor is gone for months and then he returns home for months. In the Peanut’s short life, he’s already lived in a several different places, traveled to three continents and slept in numerous countries, states and beds. 

But one thing has been consistent throughout: milkies from mommy. Does he drink milk from a cup? Absolutely. Does he eat food like a champ. Um, yes. Ever since he took his first bite of 'real' food, he has technically been in the process of slowly weaning himself.  

So, it may seem like I'm bragging to you about nursing my not-so-little guy when I meet you at the library, but in reality, I just saw your own toddler stick his hand down your shirt, while you quickly looked around to see if anyone noticed. I know the official (and unofficial) baby sign language for 'more milk', and I want you to feel like you're not the only one.

I'm the one who will give you details for La Leche League, because those ladies saved my sanity on more than one occasion, and I overheard you say you're afraid to nurse a toddler. 

And I'm the one telling you all about various Facebook groups you should join, because sometimes, late at night during a nursing session, I too needed to know that whatever I was doing was normal, and Google and other websites were making me feel like a freak instead.

The Peanut doesn't nurse much now, and I know that one of these days it will be the last time, perhaps without any warning. While I'm kind of looking forward to that day (because let's face it, mama could use some new bras...) I also know it will be bittersweet.   

I hope I always remember how much the Peanut sometimes giggles when he asks for 'milkies'. Or when he reaches out and pats me on the chest, then gives me a giant hug. I especially hope I will always remember what a miracle it's been to offer him such nutrition from my own body.   

My little guy has taken me on a journey I never imagined I'd be on, and while it hasn't always gone the way I expected, there have certainly been some of those 'magical' moments — even if it took us a while to get there.

Unraveling

Ya'll... I questioned our move south ALL summer. Our city ranked in the top 5 in the nation for hottest summer. We had 90 plus days of 90 degree weather. It FINALLY cooled off last week, only to have the temperatures rise back into the 80s this week. We STILL have the AC on at night.

The other day, the Sailor wanted to braai some lamb chops we received from our farm CSA. I said we could do it later in the week. He looked at me earnestly and said the weather would be changing: he'd better do it that day. 

Seriously, folks. He acted like Snowmaggedon was coming to the South. The weather did drop, it got windy, but it wasn't that bad. 

But, it did at least turn the leaves their glorious colors.  

Even though we went to a local farm and it was blazing hot out, the Peanut still looked super cute trying to find a pumpkin. 

I do love a good seasonal change (even though it heated right back up!) It makes me want to purge closets, sort craft supplies and start cooking new meals, in between our days spent at the park, the zoo and the aquarium.

I'm also sorting digital data. I mentioned in my last post that Walter, my beloved iMac of six years, finally packed up (RIP). The Sailor managed to get the hard drive out of him, and I've been sorting through the innumerable photos I had stored on the computer. I had a TON. I was heavily into the camera club, photo shows, and a new iPhone, not to mention a vintage craze, and I had an insane amount of pictures taking up space. So, this past week, I've been sorting, shuffling and deleting. (Seriously, why do I have sooo many photos of Pyrex bowls I no longer even own?!) 

I also decided to get a few cool weather items out of the closet, when I found this scarf I'd made, full of holes. 

Moth holes. (Insert shriek of horror.)

I was not impressed. I'm quite tidy and the thought of having moths in our closet freaked me out. (Not unlike the mold fiasco of a few years ago, in our tiny and fairly grotty, PA apartment.) I am meticulous about keeping my wool yarn and other goodies storied in plastic and away from moth potential. I guess I'd forgotten about this beaded scarf. In fact, I took it out and wondered if I shouldn't just give it away, because I never wore it. 

The holes answered the question for me.

It seems to be a theme here... nearly everything I've knitted over the past few years, I've unraveled. Apart from the toys and sweaters I've made for the Peanut, I've ripped apart countless sweaters and things that I made for myself. And then I stare at that pile of spaghetti yarn and wonder if it was all worth it.

Sometimes my life feels a bit the same. I often seem to be unraveling something for one reason or another. Sometimes stuff I wanted to accomplish goes by the wayside. The Sailor could return to work any day, without much notice, giving us occasional grief with planning anything. My attempt to create deep friendships here has so far failed miserably. The slipper business I hoped to start by the end of the year has taken a backseat for the moment. 

In the meantime, I need to make my mom a new pair, because her slippers are nearly four years old, and have been well-loved. (Sidenote: until the moth issue is under control, I'm freaking out about having ANY wool laying around, plastic bags or not.)

So instead of knitting much these days, I'm working on this cross stitch monstrosity I started last year in Singapore. I decided I needed a little break from yarn projects, and I want to finish this before the Peanut turns 16.

I've been thinking a lot about how seasons change — not only with the weather, but in life. When I started this blog, I was crafting and taking photos like crazy. I was part of a knitting guild and a camera club. I had time to thrift and hunt for vintage treasures, and I spent long days at coffee shops planning projects. My giant archive of photos is a testament to the copious cups of coffee I drank, the Pyrex I collected and the crafts I created. 

Obviously, when the Peanut came along, so much changed. Pyrex got purged (although I still have a serious stash of it that I use daily!) Half of the craft closet went to a thrift store (simplify, simplify, simplify!) and lots of to do projects went by the wayside. Now we spend our days taking walks, throwing balls, watching the animals at the zoo, and trying to say, 'fish' at the aquarium, before I collapse into a heap on the sofa post-Peanut bedtime.

One thing though picked up. I'm writing a LOT more, which let's face it, is all I've ever really wanted to do some days and it's the real reason why I started this blog in the first place — to give me a platform to write. 

I may not be writing here that regularly, but I'm still writing. If you want to know more about the Peanut's birth and how I knew nothing about c-sections and then had one, you can go here. 

Birth stories aren't for everyone though; loves stories are a different tale altogether. For a more detailed version of how the Sailor and I met, you can read that here. 

And, November 1st heralds the starts of the 2016 NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). Last year I participated and managed to eek out a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. I'm going to attempt to do the same this year, even though I seem busier, the Peanut seems needier, and I'll be traveling for half of the month of November. 

Wish me luck, and I'll plan to see you again in December! Hopefully nothing will come unraveled in the meantime. 

Itching for Fall

All around me, people are itching for Fall to begin, in more ways than one. (Heat rash, anyone?!)

This summer has been a crazy hot one... and although I'm usually a little sad to be packing up swimsuits, the reality is that this summer was almost too hot to even go to the pool, so I find myself yearning for cool days constantly. The Peanut and I stayed inside more often than not, and we spent a lot of time at indoor play areas (those outdoor playgrounds get insanely HOT. I still don't know why more playgrounds aren't built in the shade.) 

I can remember walking past mall play areas thinking that even if I had kids, I probably wouldn't ever take them to such a loud crazy place. 

And yet, at least once I week, I find myself smiling as the Peanut clamors to get to the steps and slide, running around like he has a firecracker in his pants. 

I've eaten a lot of my words about motherhood in these past two years. I swore I'd never become a mommy blogger and yet you can read my first official mom blog post over here, where I air my confessions. I will be blogging regularly at Chattanooga City Moms Blog for at least the next six months, so be sure to subscribe to their posts if you don't want to miss out! There are quite a few of us contributors on the site, so it's been neat to read different local mom perspectives. Plus, it will give me a chance to be a mommy voice in the community, without turning Typing Sunflowers into the latest mom blog. 

Besides chaos, I'm still making stuff. Like these adorable vertebrae sweaters for ALL OF THE BABIES friends are having. (Seriously ya'll... is it something in the water?!)

I'm also still breaking stuff. Walter, my dear companion and iMac of the past six years, refuses to show me anything on his screen, and it's a costly repair. I'm pretty sure we're going to have to simply bury him somehow in the recycling bin. Until I can get Walter's second brain (aka, my backup hard drive) picked apart, I don't have many other photos to prove any other craftiness to you at the moment, but I can assure you, I've made more of those cardigans than I can count this summer.   

We are now mere days away from the official start of Fall. It's finally raining outside, there is a slight chill in the air, the Sailor is home watching British football (soccer) and the Peanut is sleeping soundly. I can feel the seasons changing. And that's always a good thing.

Welcome back?

A lifetime ago, when I worked for Mercy Ships, I waved goodbye to their flagship from an ice cold dock in Germany. I spent a few weeks in England and then returned to the States to assimilate back into American culture. I slept late, recovered from jet-lag, wrote in my journal and tried to figure out pop culture nuances I had missed over the last few years in Africa.

Then I started job hunting. In the end, I took a land job with Mercy Ships. I worked as a grant writer in their short-lived DC office. When I calculated the time that I officially left Mercy Ships to the time I took the job, it had been exactly three months.

I didn’t need to leave Mercy Ships. I simply need a Leave of Absence. All long-term crew were afforded a three month break every three years. I neglected to take mine. And I should have. I was burnt out and simply needed a break.

Maybe I just needed a Leave of Absence from blogging for the summer (again). Who knows. But I'm back.

I’m a little like those Olympic athletes and coaches who say they’re retiring and then they come back for just one more season. (Okay, that's a stretch. But hey, the summer Olympics ARE on.)

And while I did indeed take the summer off from blogging, I certainly have not had a summer off.

So let’s have a little recap, shall we?

:: The Sailor arrived home in May, after passing his Master’s Unlimited exam! Those of you familiar with sea life will understand what a HUGE and monumental deal this is. The Sailor studied and put hours of hard work into this and had to endure a grueling three and a half hour oral exam. Not for the faint of heart. I’m so proud of my captain! 

:: In May, I attended a fantastic sweater unraveling workshop on an alpaca farm. The workshop was hosted by Reunion Yarn, a great startup focusing on recycling and reusing fiber. It combines my love of thrifting with my love of yarn. Unraveling thrifted or old sweaters? Sign me up! I even hauled my dear mother with me and together we attempted to dismantle a few cardigans I had previously made for both her and myself. The yarn stash is now overflowing. 

:: While the Sailor was home, we took a trip to Legoland in Atlanta. The Peanut has been obsessed with his $2 blocks from Goodwill. We figured it was time to introduce him to Legos. He LOVED it.

:: In June and on a whim, I mentioned to the Sailor that I wanted to start looking seriously into selling my handmade knit and crocheted items. The following week, Co.Starters was starting their summer cohort, a nine-week course aimed at aspiring entrepreneurs wanting to startup a business. The first week I sat there wondering what on earth I got myself into, but this past week we had our pitch night and graduation celebration and I'm pretty proud of myself for taking such a giant leap forward.

While I'm still very much in the beginning stages and taking it VERY slow, I do feel far more equipped to eventually launch a small business selling hand knit slippers (of course.) Stay tuned for more info on this exciting endeavor! 

Cooling off in the cabin

:: In July, the Peanut and I went camping. It was CRAZY hot. We camped with a dozen moms and 45 kids. You read that right. FORTY-FIVE. I was the only mom with only one kid — most of the gals there had 4-5 each, many with newborns! Props to those mighty women. I of course was missing my summers in Scotland, but this was a good initiation into camping for the Peanut. At least our cabins had an outlet and I had the good sense to bring a giant fan. We spent a lot of time floating on the lake. The Peanut also consumed lots of junk that he's not allowed to have at home, like blue Gatorade and sugary lemonade to avoid dehydration.

:: In August, the Peanut turned two! TWO! I actually felt like a fog lifted that week. I don’t know if it’s a hormonal shift in my life, or the fact that he’s no longer a baby, but I feel a little lighter these days. The first two years with the little Peanut, while filled with immense joy, were also HARD. And tiring. So I don’t know what the reasoning is for my new lighter outlook, but I'll take it.

:: Finally, I have broken a promise I made to myself when I was pregnant. I became a mommy blogger. (GASP!) I am one of the newest contributors on the Chattanooga City Moms Blog site. I had been reading their material for a while (there are City Moms Blogs all over — find one in your area) so when they put out a call for Chattanooga writers, I applied. My first post will be on there in a few short weeks. (Excuse me while I eat my words...)

So there you have it. I'm back and hopefully better than ever. Or else I just have Olympic fever. Or I'm still delirious from lack of sleep (still), two years into this mama business. Whatever the reason, I've missed sharing bits of my life on here. I'm still not sure where Typing Sunflowers is heading, but I know like most things in my life, it's growing organically.  

I hope you'll welcome the blog back! 

February!

Yes, I know it's been forever. It's February already. 

FEBRUARY!! 

I promise you, I haven't forgotten this blog. But you know the days run into other days, and there's a constant flow of meal prep, dishes, playtime, laundry, errands... and occasionally sleep. The Sailor arrived home for the holidays and has been home for all of January, so it seemed like our days were even fuller and busier. Every time I contemplated writing a blog post, the Peanut would bring me a book, hand outstretched, wanting me to read it to him. 

And really, who can deny such a cute kid a little reading session? 

So here I am, in the middle of his nap time, wondering where all of January went besides a blur of food, laundry and library books. 

Nevertheless, I did manage to accomplish a few crafty things. I also realized that even if I'm not posting every little detail, I'm still living life and making things. And that's what really makes me happy.

I threw my friend Tianna a baby shower! 

She hosted my book shower a little over a year and a half ago. Now, she's having twins! We ate lots of yummy food on vintage wares, and showered her with gifts galore. I made her yellow and grey baby cardigans like this one (I was so busy hosting that I forgot to get photos of my own gifts.)  

I'm also in the middle of making both myself and the Peanut new slippers. (I've finally gotten around to using the wool I bought in Idaho a year ago.) They are both these felt clogs. I remembered this week that I had the pattern for the children's version as well! Perfect timing since the Peanut rips his socks off and needs a pair of these for around the house. They knit up fast and I'm looking forward to throwing these in the laundry and watching them shrink to the right size.

I also finally finished this Through the Woods hat and cowl. I purchased a kit on Craftsy forever ago and then realized it never really gets cold enough here to wear such a thing, so I kept it in the 'to do' pile. Over the holidays, I worked on it and decided it's a perfect belated birthday gift for my pal in Idaho (where it gets cold enough to wear it!)  

It looks much better on, but since we are all recovering from nasty colds and constant nose blowing, I'll refrain from posting a photo of myself in it. (I've looked better... let's just leave it at that!) 

And once again, my local yarn store had the perfect wooden buttons to go with it. 

I also feel like I should report that we have the windows open and it's positively balmy outside. THIS is the reason we moved south.