Milestones

We have had some pretty big steps taken by young men in our household recently!

(Anything in the last 2 months is recently to me.)

Sam got braces.

It is not that we are freaking out about the aesthetics of his merely 8 year-old smile, it is that he had a pretty bad cross bite that needed braces, in addition to a palate expander. He's been very stalwart about the braces. They're no prob! The palate expander, on the other hand, has us all longing for ear plugs at the dinner stable...er, table. *Ssssshllurp!*

Joey lost his first regularly-scheduled tooth.

He is eating gingerly these days, with 2 more wiggly teeth getting ready to launch.

Adam learned to pee into an empty water-bottle.

It was an emergency...a DIRE emergency. We were STUCK in a traffic jam, surrounding by witnesses, and the pitch of his whimpering warned me that we only had about 30 more seconds to disaster. What was a mommy to do? He didn't spill one drop--what a champ!

No mommy could be more proud.

Be sure to expand this picture, because it's a great one.

Check out the massive cuteness:

We got new suits for the boys, and I thought they were sooo GQ!

These guys are my personal armed bodyguards.

"Lybi's Angels"

How could any woman not feel like a princess walking into church with so many dashing excorts?

The Glow

Just for the sake of posterity, check out how weird this is....

From the front I don't really look pregnant.

But WHOA! When I turn sideways a big ol' tummy appears like magic.
I am adjusting to my new size and shape. No more turning sideways to fit through small spaces. Front entry only! Unless I want to back in...beep...beep...beep!

I am always looking for an opportunity to lay down. Even in a photo shoot. Must...conserve...energy. How much do I really want that small item that just dropped to the floor? Usually, not enough to actually bend over and get it.
But lounging can be lovely, can't it? A time and a place for everything.

Thanks, Catherine, for taking these lovely pictures! You are amazing!

Star Girl--Saturday Salute to Grandma Farnsworth

This is my Grandma Farnsworth--my father's mother. Isn't she beautiful? I'm proud to say that 25% of my genetic make-up comes from this woman.

Of course, she looked somewhat different from this picture when I met her--curly gray-white hair, horn rimmed glasses, soft wrinkles around the eyes and jawline. But she was always beautiful and fascinating to me. When I was a little girl, I loved to feel her super soft skin and the smattering of very light peach fuzz on her neck. (She didn't like it when I did that!) But it wasn't just her skin that was soft. She was soft, and harmless as a butterfly--but less gaudy. She had the quiet beauty of a star--nothing too garish. Subtle, quiet, easy to miss even, if you aren't looking. Prone to be taken for granted, probably.

Thelma Ruth Sexton (Farnsworth) joined the Church of Jesus Christ when she was a teenager. She said it "felt like coming home." That is where she had the opportunity to meet my grandfather--an affectionate man prone to talking your ear off. (Love you, Grandpa!)

Grandpa was immediately taken with her deep blue eyes. He said he had always liked blue eyes best, and hers were the bluest he'd ever seen. (She was generous enough to share her blue eyes with me. Of my 4 grandparents, she was the only one with blue eyes. She gave them to my father, and he gave them to just 2 of his 7 children--Laura and me.)

She was an efficient little lady. Grandpa always said she could clean the whole house from top to bottom by 10 am, and then set about her other business. She spent years and years of her life researching her geneology and preparing names for temple work. She also did the most difficult puzzles I've ever seen! 1,500 pieces of a black and white photo of zebras. Aaaaah! How did she have the patience? (I honestly don't know. She was not generous enough to pass on this particular trait to me...) She was sweet, modest, and unassuming, but you'd better believe she'd get the job done if it was within the realm of her percieved duty.

Grandma Farnsworth died of cancer when I was just 18 years old. We were actually en route to her house in Arizona to see her one last time when she passed. I felt awful that I didn't get to see her...didn't get to say goodbye. And I had spent the previous summer in Washington state when the rest of my siblings went down to see her. I lamented it for a long time.

When I got married, I was presented with this beautiful quilt:

See how the light goes through it? It is a very light, Arizona appropriate quilt, in a beautiful star pattern. Grandma Farnsworth made it for my wedding before she passed away. Isn't it wonderful?

This quilt is one of my favorite possessions of all time. I get it out for special company, and especially when my dad comes to visit. I figure he'd like to sleep with his mother's handiwork comforting him. And sometimes I wrap it around me just to feel close to Grandma.

I like to think about how her nimble fingers touched this quilt in every possible place. See the tiny handstitching?

Sometimes I flatter myself that she was thinking about me when she was working on it. Blue eyes AND a wonderful quilt besides? Thanks so much Grandma! I love you.

My Favorite

My mother always told me that you love all your kids equally--they each get all the love you possibly can hold. But if you press her, she will admit to having "favorites." It is always whichever of her children is sick, or struggling, or suffering. Basically whoever is most in need of love.

Joey after eating his Christmas pomegranate 3 years ago.

Well, today my favorite is Joey. This scruffy little guy just had oral surgery today. What? you say...Surely he is too young for oral surgery! Yes, he is young--only 6, and small for his age at a minimal 38 pounds. But he is no stranger to surgery. Actually, today was his 5th surgery. None of them have been serious surgeries--2 eye muscle surgeries for strabismus (crossed-eyes), and 3 oral surgeries.

*****

It is all my fault, of course. I consciously choose a path that would ruin 4 of his baby molars forever. But let me 'splain!

When Joey was first born, I noticed that he tended to choke a little bit every time he nursed. He always had to cough a lot and nursing was a slow going process. Still, he gained weight and seemed to be doing fine. Look how cute he was at 6 months:

He has "Bambi Eyes."

Sometime around 6-8 months we started having real problems feeding Joey. He didn't seem to want to eat--solid or liquid food. He would pull off while nursing a lot, like he was too excited or wiggly to eat. I started to loose my milk. He stopped gaining weight. I had to transfer him to formula around 7 months. It was SO hard to get him to drink even just 3-4 oz. at a time. When I took him to his 9 month appointment, I told the doctor about the problems we were having with him. The pediatrician said not to worry and that he was just a skinny little guy--and too interested in everything else to eat much.

Joey began to have chronic diarrhea and continued to refuse to eat. When I took him back to the pediatrician at around 12 months, his pediatrician was hysterical. She said he was in the "failure to thrive" category. I still remember how traumatic that visit was. We had him tested for allergies, for parasites, for lactose intolerance, for genetic diseases that might cause his ongoing diarrhea. I tried different formulas, I took him to "natural" doctors, I tried hokey alternative treatments, such as fancy oils, homeopathic medicine, chiropractice (the weird kind), difficult diets. Nothing produced results.

By the time he was 18 months, we had enlisted the services of a feeding therapist as well as a physical therapist and an occupational therapist. It was discovered that the "choking" problem was due to poor muscle tone in the esophagus.

Here is the part where I ruin his teeth--I started feeding Joey almost nothing but pediasure every day. He liked it and would drink almost the full 8 oz. But he would only drink it on one condition. He had to be completely alone--with no distractions, laying in his crib.

Every day for at least 6 months, probably closer to a year, he drank 4 pediasures a day in his crib. Often he would fall asleep with the bottle still in his mouth. I knew it was bad for his teeth. I KNEW it. I had read all about it in my child developement classes, but I didn't care. I was too worried about his brain and the rest of his body. He had started to seriously lag behind in physical and even cognitive developement. (He didn't walk until 18-19 months.) Drinking the pediasure was good for him in lots of ways. He started to gain weight again. He got back his adorable chubby cheeks.

*****

Around his 2 year mark we had a breakthrough as to what was causing a lot of his problems. Joey had never really slept well at night. He woke up coughing almost every single night--croupy, often. I had to put him in a steamy bathroom during the night about 4 times a week, so he could start breathing easily again. I attributed this to his tendancy towards asthma. And there was always a large drool spot on his pillow in the morning. Always. The doctor finally put all this together. Coughing at night, spots on pillows, refusal to eat=really bad acid reflux.

*****

Remember the low muscle tone in his esophagus? The acid from his stomach was coming up and burning his esophagus and throat. This made it hurt to swallow food. He had learned that eating was a painful thing. It had also caused inflammation of his airways so that it was very easy for him to catch every illness on the planet, and get croupy at the drop of a hat. I'm not sure, but I think that the inflamation in his throat was somehow related to the inflamatory response in his intestines that was leading to the unending diarrhea. All I know is that everything fell together when we started treating his reflux. The diarrhea stopped, he started responding to the feeding therapy, he gained weight and he looked this adorable by the time he was 2 1/2:

Perfectly healthy, right? Well, almost...

He caught up to all the regular developemental milestones quickly, running, jumping, talking, counting. The one casualty in this whole process (besides my mental health, possibly) was his teeth. Those months and months of drinking in his crib led to really bad decay on his first molars. All four had pulpotomies (root canals) and had to be capped (surgery #1). I felt a little guilty, but I still think it was a fair trade. Teeth or brain? So he had 4 silver little teeth in the back of his mouth. We got used to it. This is Joey at 3 1/2. He has 4 silver teeth, but who can tell?

Then one day about a a year and a half ago, one of the bottom silver teeth just popped out. I freaked, I shreiked, I cried... The dentist told me that he had never seen anything like it in his whole career. Sometimes, he told me, the teeth don't like the fillings from the pulpotomy, and the roots start to dissolve a little in protest. He had seen this VERY occasionally in his practice, but he said he had NEVER seen the entire root dissolve, until Joey. (Of course HE would be the exception!) So surgery #2 was placing a spacer to hold the spot for when his adult tooth finally comes in (around 11, I think).

Then last week Joey bit into a raw baby carrot and said ow! He indicated that his bottom silver tooth on the other side was hurting. I touched it, and it wiggled precariously. Ug. Here we go again. It fell out, but THIS time, the root was not completely dissolved. 2 shards of root remained embedded in his mouth below the gum line.

Sooooo, today I took my little sweetheart to the dentist for his 3rd oral surgery. He had to drink something nasty, and breathe in a funny gas until he was quite loopy. The dentist removed the 2 pieces of root (which was difficult, he told me later--he ended up having to remove some bone tissue to get them out) and placed another spacer. Now my poor little Joey is in my bed, with bloody drool coming out the corners of his mouth. But he was such a little champ. He did not fight the dentist at all.

So it's been a little bit of a bumpy ride for Joey, growing and eating and all. I still stress a little bit about his eating. I always wish he would eat a little more. But all's well that ends well, right? He is a healthy, active little guy. He is at the tip-top of his class at school, and his permanent teeth will eventually grow in and replace his spacers. So all is good in the long run.

*****

But for today, he is my very favorite-ist of all little kids. Ever. I am going to sing to him and spoon feed him apple juice until he is lucid enough to hold his own popsicle. And sometime tonight we might be brave enough to venture a cracker or two.

Well...Ultrasound Results!

Are you curious about our ultrasound results? Did you have a hard time falling asleep last night because you were so excited? Did you wake up before your alarm went off this morning, positively itching for the day to begin? No? Just me then.

As you all know, I have been hoping against all possible hope that our next baby would be a girl. Almost my whole marriage, I have often found myself thinking about the things I learned as a teenager that I want to pass on to my girls. I go on and on in my head explaining the importance of wearing modest clothes and make-up, etc. I get pretty far into these discussions with these imaginary female descendants, until I realize that I don't have any girls, and there is a very good chance I will never have a girl. And though I have been blessed with just about every ardent desire of my heart, I could still work myself up to the point of eeking out a tear or two at the prospect of being girl-less forever. So you know my hopes...

But this morning I woke up with the feeling of certainty. It is a boy. I just know it. And he will be cute and blonde, and I will treasure him forever and ever. But for the second time in my life, my motherly intuition on gender prediction led me completely astray. See?

A GIRL!!!!!!!!

If you can't tell it (SHE!) is a girl from this picture, don't worry, you are not alone. But the ultrasound tech was quite convinced, and she typed those little letters in the left corner "GIRL" that mean so very much to me today, so I believe her!

Wanna see some more pictures? Warning: it looks like her head is about to pop off because her neck is so kinked, but the ultrasound chica assured me over and over that she is, in fact, okay and normal.

Profile of head, chin to chest. Cute, huh?

Head, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes, knees and toes...and look at those little fingers!

Are you shocked! Are you stunned into silence? I was. If I had been less excited to find out it was a girl, I would have shouted "yea!" right there in front of the doctor and everything. But I was SOOOO excited, I couldn't talk--I couldn't say a word. The tech must have thought we were hoping for a boy. For the second time this pregnancy, I just couldn't express my happiness with words and just let the tears roll down. (Read about the first time here.) I feel like I just won the gold medal at the olympics. Every simple, normal, little life is entitled to just a little bit of absolutely exceptional joy, and today was one of those days for me.

Thanks to everyone who prayed for us!

You're prayers are darn effective, I must say...now start praying for peace in the middle East, ok?

"Showing," "Quickening," and a Plea for Help

I've missed a few days, sorry! In an act of penance, I shall now show you pregnant photos of myself.

Here's the best shot. It's pretty accurate to real life. 18 weeks--4 1/2 months.

This (above) is the one in which I suck in really hard and plead with James to hurry up taking the picture so I can breathe. I am trying VERY hard not to get too humongous before my time. This (below) is what I am doing to avoid premature hugeness:

Yoga. This is the "star" pose. It's my favorite.

I had fun with James tonight showing him some of my yoga stuff. He made me laugh because he told me it was all easy, but c'mon, he was totally shaking--but he said that was just because I made him laugh. (Yea right!) But it must be said, my guy is very tough. Doesn't he look like those male gymnasts that for some reason all walk around the corners of the mats on floor looking like tin men who need oil in their elbows and their knees? (Why do they all do that?)

In other news, I can feel our little baby kicking me from the inside. Awww! But sometimes it is just gas, probably. (I figured that out after my first delivery and I thought I felt the baby kick--NOPE!) But I'm SURE that sometimes it IS real, and that tickles me to the core.

By the way, I hope you are all praying that this baby is a girl. We find out on Friday. I am nervous! Everybody--think pink! Eat lots of sugar and spice (that's what I've been doing). You may say that it has already been decided and there's nothing you can do about it, but that's just a looser's way of saying that you won't help a pregnant woman in need!!! Now c'mon, everybody--send me girl vibes!

Weevils in the Jewelry Box

A friend of mine once told me that the longer you've been on a mission, the more easily amused you are. He told stories of stopping the car in jubilant amazement, because the speedometer read "54,321". It was quite a moment for the guy who had been out 22 months, while the greenie was wondering about his companion's sanity. As added proof, he told me about how he had relayed his theory to his mission zone at a restaurant. They had debated while they waited for their food as to whether or not it was true. But the elder who had been out the longest--the zone leader from Provo who was going home in just 2 weeks--did not participate. He was too busy batting around the blind cords from the window treatment like a cat.

Well, let me tell you...being a mother is kind of like being on a mission. Before motherhood, it might take a stirring discussion on the intentions of the founding father's to blow your mind. After being a mother for a couple years, with a combination of sensory deprivation and overexposure to innane children's shows, you may go into rapture over a ball of wax that came out of your baby's ear. So just keep it in mind that I have been a mother for over 8 years....

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One of my most prized possesions is a bran flake that came out of my son's cereal bowl. It is true. I still have it, months later. I keep it in my jewelry box.

The reason it is so precious to me? I was just sitting there, eating cereal with m' boys, when suddenly Sam (7 at the time) gasped. He excitedly sifted through his bowl and ran up to me with this little flake, dropped it into my hand and said, "It's a heart! This is just another way to show you how much I love you, Mommy." And I have been gonzo for it ever since. I value novelty and creativity, and of course, my kid. I think it is the most unusual act of love that I have ever witnessed, and I LOVE that it came from my own firstborn.

*

I've considerred having that darn flake bronzed, or spraying it with polyurethane, or just letting it decompose in my jewelry box with all the earrings that I've lost one of, but still have sentimental value. Sheesh. One of these days I'm going to get weevils in there, and then how am I going to explain that to the pest control guy?

Quotable Quotes and Daily Giggles

This is my youngest son, Adam. Isn't he a doll?

He was supposed to be a girl, you know. With his 2 older brothers, I had felt like I knew they were going to be boys. But my cosmic woman's intuition (AKA wishful thinking) CLEARLY indicated that the next one would be a girl. I told everyone that I was having a girl, and commonly referred to my monstrous tummy as "Suzanne." To this day my boys still occasionally ask me where Suzanne is. There was never a woman at her 20 week ultrasound as surprised as I was. I am fallible? Oh noooooooooo! He he he.

I already had two little boys. I knew what I was in for--destruction, noise, hour long sessions of baby wrestling during sacrament meetings. All the books pulled out of the two bottom shelves...once a day...every day...for 2 years. Daily percussion performances (pots and pans). Pencils on the wall. Little action heros buried daily in my large potted plant. Sharpies on the couch, etc. etc. Did I have the energy for this? Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!

But God, in his infinite wisdom, gave me a big break. For my third son he sent me Adam. A true boy in every way, he is convinced that he is destined to become the Green Power Ranger. He loves to play in little boy ways, holding matchbook cars in the air and making spluttering sounds while he dashes around the house. He likes to "save me" from monsters and bad guys. He likes to attack the bushes with his appropriately green light saber, and make wounding sound effects. But you know what he doesn't do? He doesn't make my load heavier. He just doesn't! Everything he does seems to delight my little heart.

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He...hmmm, yes, he DOES make messes (although not as many or as terrifying as his brothers made at this age) but for some reason, to me they seem to be adorable messes that make me want to run and get the camera to immortalize the cuteness. Like the time he took all the carefully folded clothes from the drawers (I had just replaced winter clothes for the spring set) AND all the piles of folded clothes I had set on the floor to pack away and threw them all in a heap. When I came back from the bathroom he was pretending to "swim" in the pile.

"Look Mommy! It's the OCEAN!" I laughed until tears came out of my eyes, although one or two tears may have been because I was really tired and had woken up an hour earlier than usual to accomplish this task. But still. How adorable.

Anyway, Adam is at the age of adorableness. He has always been a very advanced talker, and his large vocabulary offers such interesting insights into the barely-four year-old mind. I'd like to share some of them with you.

• He dashes around the house, pretending to fly, and calls out "I'm Atonement Man!" Something from our family home evening lessons is sinking in, I guess!
• He came up to me yesterday and said, "Mommy, I have issues." Me: "issues? [already?]" Him: "Yes, I have booger issues. I nee-a tissue."
• Overheard while he was playing with little plastic characters, one to the other: "Accor-ing ta my research..."
• He came in and saw me putting on my morning makeup and said "What are you doing?" Me: "Putting on makeup." Adam: "Why are you doing it?" Me: "To be pretty." Adam: "Well I think you're pretty." Darling child!
• The other night he had a nightmare and came into my room. I was surprised that he didn't just wake up crying like some kids do. Instead he walked up to me and said: "I had a bad dream. In my dream there was the story of the missing eye-ball." I took him into the front room so Daddy could sleep and explained to him that eyeballs don't pop out by themselves and chase people. "If Sam had a missing eyeball...THEN what?" he perused. And we had to go through each member of our family and reassure that they would all still be very healthy and happy even if they did loose an eyeball (hopefully they don't!). Eventually I took him to sleep with Daddy and me, because this 31 year-old lady started to get a little bit scared of the dark after listening to the 4 year-old's nightmare. But Daddy made us feel safe. Lil' guy got to stay there for a short while--until he got passport revoked when he started kicking sleeping Daddy. (Why do all our kids do that?)

Someone with four kids once told me that her first 2 kids were nothing but work, and her second 2 were nothing but fun. I only had two kids at the time, and I thought she was full of SOMETHING. But now I believe! All the worries at unexpected difficulties have been used up in rearing the first 2. Now every challenge is expected, and every fun moment is enjoyed whole-heartedly--for now I know how fleeting each adorable stage is. These little guys don't last. They grow and they grow! Despite my urging them to not eat their vegetables and stay little (that is the only way to get them to eat broccoli) they continue to change, which is wonderful and a bit sad at the same time.

Anyway, every single day of my life these days Adam says or does something that makes me want to swing him in my arms and laugh my happiest of all happy laughs. He was sent to be my angel.

Whale Song

You know what I'm supposed to be doing? I'm supposed to be guest writing a post for my awesome friend Lyndsay. She has been doing a series on "Supermoms." She wants me to write about "the Spiritually Prepared Mom." But the problem is, I'm not feeling like a spiritually prepared mom. I really feel and behave differently from the way I was 5 months ago, as a super enthusiastic ward missionary--testimony ablaze and eyes alight. What do I feel like now? Hmmm. A beluga possibly.





Actually, I don't want to insult belugas. They are a beautiful animal. I just, I just, I'm so much less functional (nevermind exemplary) when I'm pregnant. I'm not qualified to advise anyone on anything other than possibly just hanging in there when you feel like crap. Consider the facts.

Not Pregnant

1. Run several miles on most days
2. Thoughtful Prayer and meditation each morning and night
3. Enthusiastically pursue many fun hobbies/interests
4. Can't wait to go preach the gospel every Tuesday
5. Keep a house of relative order
6. Eat a diet nearly free from white flour, sugar, and red meat

Pregnant

1. Lumber around the house only as needed, and get breathless in the process
2. Pray in bed (for SHAME!) and often fall asleep before I get to "amen"
3. Enthusiastically pursue cookie dough when it is available
4. Can't wait until my kids go to bed so I can lay around an do nothing for the rest of the evening
5. Get by with "the minimum" including fishing clean but rumpled clothes out of laundry baskets every day
6. Eat either "whatever will stay down" or "whatever is most fattening," depending on the stage of pregnancy

So anyway, if you have any ideas on how to be an amazing and spiritually prepared mother, please leave them in the comments. I'll be happy to pretend I thought of them and send them on to Lindsay.

"Burnt" and Super Powers--My Very First Tuesday Tribute

Have you ever wanted to do something cool? I mean, have you ever wanted to do something REALLY amazing, and so you sit around thinking about this amazing thing you are going to do and practically frothing at the mouth to get started. Buuuuuuuuut by the time you get around to finally doing it, you feel a little too daunted by the fabulousness in your head to...actually...get...started? Well, this post is all about avoiding that situation. I've wanted to have a family blog for a really long time now. I've had a post in my head every day for the last several months. So many ideas! So little time. I am going to have the ultimate blog! MWAHAHAHAHAHA! That has been the tenor of my interal dialogue for the last several months, so, as you can imagine, I've been running away from the actual writing of the first post.

So to take the pressure off, I decided that the first post doesn't count. It's a dry run! It's kind of like when you make crepes. You know the first one will either be burnt or end up on the ceiling (spatula-free flipping!). I like to think of it as an offering to the disposal gods. First crepe never turns out. It's a law of nature. Same here.

So this is my burnt post. And just like the other burnt stuff in our family, Daddy usually ends up getting stuck with it. So my very first Tuesday Tribute is to....***drumroll*** my beloved husband James, or Jimbo for short.

Now I know that you probably all know that James is a wonderful athlete--marathon runner (and I do mean runner, not jogger). You probably know that he is a computer genius and security software guru. You know that he gets sunburned if any fraction of his skin is left exposed to the sun for longer than 15 minutes. You probably have guessed that he is extremely patient and forgiving just because you know he is married to me. If you know him at all, you know that he is reliable and loyal. You know he loves technology, blueberry pie, reading books over and over, playing golf with members of his family that have no skill in the area *ahem,* and watching "Dirty Jobs" on TV. BUT did you also know that he is a superhero?

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It is true. I thought he was a normal guy at first too. I mean, of course he was a hunk, and a sweetie, and quite solicitous, but it took me a few weeks to discover his secret power. Well, actually he has 2 powers that I have discovered so far. One is defensive and one is offensive...darn offensive, actually. His defensive power is to be able to calm people (me) with the slightest touch. I could be mad as heck over a small misunderstanding, and I swear (yes, I swear) that all he has to do is come over and poke me in the head with his finger...and immediately I am transported to another realm of complete peace and understanding. I melt, I quiver (not really), I agree that whatever large-ticket item of technology he wants to buy is a good idea....

I first noticed this ability of his when we were dating and he held my hand at church. Ahhh. Isn't church relaxing? Doesn't it just make you want to go around flinging flowers in the air and singing wordless songs of joy? Sure it does.

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Even more amazing, though, is all the times that I've been convinced that every single thing in the world is going all wrong (this happens on a monthly basis or so) only to have every single problem fade into the category of a slight inconvenience, or even a blessing in disguise, when he creeps up behind and wraps his super arms around me. (I try to avoid his gift when I am feeling really dramatic, so sometimes he has to be sneaky.) Inevitably we end up snuggling and laughing about said problems. I just looooooove problems, for the awesome opportunity they provide for snuggling. Bring on the expensive dental procedures! How 'bout a nice little recession! Where's the flood and/or famine? We are ready. Because, thanks to James' super power, whatever challenge we face, even if we have different viewpoints, we are still on the same team.

P.S. James' secret offensive power is sweating an awful lot of extremely repellent fluid when he runs. There is no predator alive that would be able to tell him from a water processing plant based on smell alone. So I don't worry about him when he runs off into the desert. He'll be back, and he'll need a shower. Pronto.