Monday, My Day

For about a year now, I’ve set Monday aside. It’s my “day off” since we all know that Sunday -what should be a day off for Mom’s -really isn’t a day off at all. Between getting kids dressed, clothes pressed, diapers messed… it’s just tiring. If we’re lucky, we get a nap and we need it. After getting Sunday dinner on the table then off the table, we’re worn out.

So I staked claim to Monday. I don’t plan anything if I can help it.
And I don’t feel guilty for watching a movie in the middle of the day.
Or heading outside instead of fixing dinner:

While Trenton slept, the girl and I ventured outside. I sat down under a tree, leaned my back against it, held her on my lap, and asked her to close her eyes.
“What do you hear?” I asked.
“Birds. A train…” she said.
“I hear the wind making the leaves move.” I said. We opened our eyes and went hunting for leaves. I taught her about the “lines” in the leaves and how they use those lines to get their food and water from the tree to grow bigger. We found leaves with bug-eaten holes in them. We found dead leaves. We found thin leaves, thick leaves, crunchy leaves, baby leaves…
And smack dab in the middle of The Great Leaf Hunt, we found a giant dead moth.
We flipped it over and counted it’s legs and the ribbing on it’s body. We found it’s eyes and talked about its wings.
Lacy wanted to keep it, so she emptied her purse.
And put it in:
Trenton woke up, heard us outside and joined us for Leaf Hunting and Dead Moth Marveling.
Then the worst happened: the dead moth’s brittle wing broke.
And all at once, The Dead Moth wasn’t interesting anymore. I was asked to babysit while the kids went back to hunting leaves.
Trent hunted with his Black and Decker Jr. Saws.
And I laid down. A few seconds after I got comfortable, Lacy declared, “MOM! You’re having a baby!”
“What?” I said.
“I hafta cut it out with a stick!”
The stick, it turned out, WAS the baby. And her name was Perla Girl.
Soon after Perla Girl made her entrance into the world, Trenton delivered Perla Boy… also a stick.
As I held my two new babies next to me, my kids fixed me up. As it turned out, I had a broken leg, broken arm, broken toe AND a broken ear. No worries, though. It wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed by a couple of glow sticks and a toy hammer.
Meet the babies and the leaf I got for being “such a good girl” during all of my surgeries:
Of course, no one should have a baby without a BABY SHOWER, and Lacy made sure I got one. She even grabbed my camera.
“We hafta take a picture of you opening your present!” She said.
It was a sock full of rocks which turned out to be JUST what the babies needed:
(excuse the blurry picture, it was taken while my darling boy shook me.)
And just then, like magic, the neighbors drove by with their cow:
“HI, SISTER DEETS!” The kids yelled from inside the truck.

Yesterday, one of those same neighbors (a ten-year old boy who takes piano lessons from me) helped Lacy bug hunt for 30 minutes. The spoils were incredible and included TWO dragon flies.
Did you know my sweet, delicate girl can catch flies with her bare hands? She snatches them up by the wing.


Ahhhh, Mondays. Everyone needs a “day off” at least once a week.

Sure Fire Pick-Me-Ups

(This video is about 2 1/2 years old, but I can’t get enough of it.)

My husband and I stumbled across this video, and I instantly fell in love.  He?  Not so much.  “Our kids aren’t ugly!” He says.

And here’s the latest recommendation from Steve:

And if none of those put a smile on your face, please go and read THIS story. It isn’t sappy or sentimental… it’s downright AMAZING! I can’t believe it. WARNING: it includes a crazy x-ray photo.

Cast Your Votes!

Yesterday the kids and I were putting of doing chores googling Halloween costumes.  After we looked through innumerable princess and super hero costumes, the kids lost interest but I didn’t!  I googled the snot out of couples, my head positively spinning with costume ideas.

Here’s what I came up with… which do you like best?  I’ll tell you at the end which one my husband decided we should go with.
Cleopatra and Marc Antony:
Seeing as how I’ve never seen “Cleopatra” I’m not actually sure if that is Marc Antony with her… but I imagine the costuming would be the same.

Boonie and Clyde:
Methinks we’re not skinny enough.

JKF and Jackie:
Every time I look at her hair, I think of John Travolta dressed as a woman saying, “I like to believe her hair is naturally stiff.”

PHANTOM!… and that girl he sings with.

Sandy and Danny from “Grease.”
I would, of course, go with her “lousy with virginity” look and NOT her skin-tight black skin suit look. Can you imagine what I’d look like in that? EW! No! Stop thinking about it.

Scarlett and Rhett:
I just want an excuse to make that dress, in all honesty.

American Gothic. This was my first choice.
I actually wanted to get engagement pictures done like this, but my husband is, you know, normal and all that.

At the end of the day, I presented each of these ideas to my husband. And do you know which one he picked?

Johnny and June; unlisted.

And so it goes with our relationship. I spend too much time making things harder than they need to be and my husband comes along and BLAM-O! Fixes everything with the best possible answer that I would have never thought of.
Also: my husband will make a smashing Johnny Cash.
We’re going to start rehearsing “Jackson.” Look out.
AlsoAlso: we’re officially on the prowl for a cheap guitar on account of we don’t want to use our nice ones to prance around town in. If you hear of one, let us know.

Monsters are Real and Very Scary

At night, we do scripture reading. Lately, we’ve been streaming New Testament scripture stories on youtube. They’re the same stories I enjoyed as a kid -only these have been made into videos. As soon as we watch a few clips and discuss them, the kids always beg to watch Julian Smith videos.

I had NO idea what that video would be about -needless to say it scared the diapers off my kids.
“I want to watch monsters again,” my daughter said, shaking.
“No,” I said.
“I don’t like monsters,” she said, “We can watch it again. We can. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to watch it.”
“It wasn’t a monster. Someone just played dress-up and dressed like a monster to be silly,” I said.
“But I don’t want to be a monster for Halloween!” She cried out.
“What do you want to be?”
“Snow White!”
“What color is her dress?” I asked.
“I don’t know!” She crumpled into a ball.
“Blue and yellow… it will be so fun to make.” I said.
“NO! We just -we just…” her lip began quivering, “We just needa BUY it at Wal-Mart!”
“But think how much fun it would be to make!”
“OR I could be a monster…” she said.

At this point, I realized that she was beyond tired.

“I could be a grey bunny monster and I could say ‘rwar!’ and scare every body!” She smiled.
“Yeah, what would grandpa say?”
“He would just say ‘AHHHHHH!’ like that.”
I turned to Trent and asked him what he wanted to be.
“I don’t like munnsters,” He said, “I wanna be Iron Man for Halloween.”
I turned back to Lacy.
“I don’t want to be a monster!” She cried. “I don’t LIKE Halloween! I think I will be sick. My head…” she put her hand on her forehead, “My head is getting so warm.”
“No, it’s not.” I chuckled, “But that’s fine. You don’t have to go to the big Halloween party.”
“Party?” She took her hand down from her forehead.
“Yeah, there’s a bunch of GAMES and KIDS and CAKE… and then after the party we go trick or treating and we knock of everyone’s houses and they give us candy. So much candy! But you can stay home with Daddy and rest in bed because you’re sick. I’ll just take Trent to the party with candy and then we’ll go trick or treating without you.”
She thought about that for a minute and then she said…
“I can be a pink monster…”
“That would be so fun!” I gushed.
“But then I would be so scary…” her voice started quivering and building higher and higher as she spoke, “And then I would knock and then every one would run away because they would be so scared and I wouldn’t get any CANDY!”
And the dam in her eyes broke.
Tears spilled everywhere. She got up from the couch and fled into her room to fling herself on her bed (Belle style). Once there she sobbed.
And sobbed.
Oh, the HORROR of being such a SCARY PINK MONSTER that you SCARE EVERYONE and then you WON’T GET ANY CANDY!
It’s too much.
It’s too much.

Let’s just skip the whole idea this year, shall we?


A few months ago, I wrote about some things I was doing to be more healthy. I wanted to update you -let you know how things have been going.

I read in a magazine somewhere (and we all know magazines DON’T lie) that your body needs 12 hours to completely sort through all the food you’ve fed it throughout the day. For example: if you eat dinner at 7, you don’t eat breakfast until 7. I thought, ‘Hey -I can do that. That’s easy enough.’ So I did, and I made sure to let myself have the reigns. If I want a brownie at midnight (which only happened on my birthday) then I just don’t eat breakfast until noon.

That said: I’ve always had blood sugar issues. I can barely fast for ONE meal on Fast Sunday, and at the end of the fast, I’m a mess. My husband always gently guides me out of the church with one hand on the small of my back. He speaks slowly and calmly… “Let’s get you home…” and I answer in a series of groans, “uh… yu…”
Once home (and after the fast is broken), I eat and then I lie down for about 45 minutes. By then, I’ve returned to normal and I hop up to make a brilliant Sunday dinner.

Since I’ve been doing this 12 hour thing, I haven’t had hardly any problems! I don’t believe it’s due entirely to my 12 hour thingy, but I do believe it is a HUGE contributing factor. I’ve been eating less sweets than I normally do (not everyday, but most days. So that’s something) and that has helped tremendously as well.

I signed up to get daily health secrets emailed to me from the Good Doc that spoke to us at “A New You.” A few weeks ago, I read this on Dr. Stan’s website:

I feel strongly that fasting is healing for most people. When we eat, we place our body in a state of stress, which is why we should not eat late at night. Then our repair hormones are suppressed by the stress imposed on the body late at night.

When we are fasting, the energy of the body can be put to the task of healing, rather than to the task of digestion, absorption and utilization of food. When we are ill and not hungry, we should not eat unless we feel the desire to do so. When the body is ready for food after an illness, it will send a message to the brain that it is hungry.

In the early 1900s and late 1800s, fasting for days, or even weeks, was not uncommon; and those who did so recovered more quickly than those who ‘ate through their illness.’

It more fully affirmed to me that what I was doing was right. Had you ever thought about eating as putting stress on your body? I certainly hadn’t! NOW I do. Every time I reach for a piece of toast/cracker/what-have-you out of boredom, I retract my hand and remember that putting stress on my body is a bad, bad thing (as concerns eating).

While at the retreat, Dr. Stan also mentioned that it’s necessary to take a supplement of vitamins and minerals on account of it being pretty impossible -even if you eat organic -to get all of the vitamins straight from the source. He marked soil depletion and early harvesting for shipments as causes. Makes sense. I’ve been taking a supplement that they gave us at the retreat AND I’ve been religiously taking:

Not for any one cause, really. But this little supplement has done nothing bad for me. I’ve been taking it since March, and for the last month I have noticed a difference in my energy. It took a few months, but it was well worth the wait. Also: my lactose intolerance has disappeared entirely.
And my nails are thick like they used to be when I was in high school. I only mention it because the condition of your nails can speak volumes about what’s going on in your body.

Have I been doing yoga? walking? Well… not so much. I’m still working on that.
HOWEVER, last night I DID dream that my sister and I were chased my bears that were giant! THEN I dreamed that I was the host for a gigantic family reunion that looked less like family and more like one big high school reunion that included (but was not limited to) people I went to high school with and people my siblings and parents went to high school with. Incidentally, most of us are related. Yahoo for small towns.
Then my alarm went off.
Then I silenced it and accidentally fell back asleep and dreamed that I ran my buns off on an elliptical machine. When I woke up and realized the sensational burning pain I was feeling in my calves was imagined, I rolled out of bed and ate a hunk of cookie dough.
Also, I broke my 12-hour rule this morning by eating COOKIE DOUGH at 8:30 instead of at 10. I usually don’t break that rule.
But, come on. I just out ran bears, hosted a huge party, AND worked out. Cookie dough was the best thing for me given the circumstances.

Here’s to making the rest of the day better -more healthy!
It can only go up from here!

Click HERE for Dr. Stan’s website.

Clean Carpets and Kiddos

My husband loves to clean the carpet. He does. I mean, he won’t admit it. He won’t come out and say, “Is it time to clean the carpets yet? I’m DYING! I can’t wait!”
But he does get a certain thrill over running the cleaner over our always-less-than-spotless brown shag (stylin’!) carpet. The past two nights, he’s done a different section.
If everything goes as planned, the carpet will be cleaned back to working order by Friday. This is no real hazard, but it is a pain in the b’hind.
We won’t even talk about my kitchen suffice to say: I can not get in it.
Today I’ve claimed my southwestern print (stylin’) love seat as my own little Island of Elba. I’m going to do laundry all day because -frankly -that’s all I can do. It will all be worth it in the end. Clean carpet makes everyone feel better.
I’d just finish the job myself, but I’d hate to take away the pleasure of cleaning from my husband. And I mean that in ALL seriousness.
The kids are handling it well. They don’t mind messes so much.

Speaking of my kids, I forgot to tell you about the time I tried to teach the girl how to rhyme. It was Saturday. We were parking our car downtown, and the kids were on the brink of losing their composure. They were hyper and loud… so I started spouting off rhymes.
Lacy doesn’t know what it means to rhyme, and what better time to teach than when you’re in two-lane crowded traffic in the middle of summer with pedestrians walking so close to your car that you have to constantly apply the break while doing your best to parallel park?
“We are parking!” I said, brightly. “Bark rhymes with park. Bark, park! Lark rhymes with park. Lark, park! There’s a dog. Log rhymes with dog. Log, dog! bog, dog!”
“Mom, dumb!” came her chipper reply, “Mom rhymes with dumb!”
Keep in mind that she is NOT a snarky teenager. But I imagine she’ll make for a great snark someday.

Last night, I ran an errand and came home to find that Lacy had gotten into my essential oils. She snuck them into a hiding place and then dumped the better part of my lavender oil out. I asked her about what had happened -why she had done it (“I just wanted to smell pretty like you!”) and after we worked out all the details, I asked her what she should have done instead.
“Asked,” she said, crying.
I told her the oils cost money, and that she would have to pay for what she wasted. Her eyes grew the size of dinner plates.
“ALL MY MONEY?!” She asked.
“You’ll have to use your money,” I nodded.
She dropped her head into her hands and sobbed. It absolutely broke my heart. It really did. Isn’t that the worst part about parenting? I wanted to take away her tears -wipe them clean. I wanted to tell her it was totally fine that she snuck my expensive essential oils (that were a gift) and used them without asking permission.

But I also knew she needed to be taught or else she’d keep doing it (it’s been a real problem for the past few months). Oh, she cried. And cried, and cried.
I gave her a hug and went into my bedroom where my husband was watching Prison Break on his iPod. He plucked his head phones from his ears and we both listened…
“ALL MY MONIES!” Came the sobs from her room, “They’re just going to take it ALL!”
That night as I was eating dinner (alone. Not sure why), my son came in, pointed his finger and said, “You! Don’t take! Lacy’s money!”
I put him in his place, “Don’t you ever talk to your mama like that.”
And he took off.
Thank goodness, because I about died laughing. Little protective thing. I also lightly tugged at the back of his head earlier that day when he repeatedly disobeyed my requests to STAY OFF THE WET CARPET.
He ran into his room and cried and cried -more from emotional hurt than physical. A few minutes later, he emerged with his finger pointed.
“Don’t ebber touch my head aGAIN!” He ordered.
“Don’t ever get on my carpet again,” I replied.

And that’s how we roll.

Isn’t that the sweetest pile of money you’ve ever seen -all wadded up?
She confessed to me as she handed it over that she felt so much better inside -not yucky anymore.
(Here’s the kids watching the rain last evening:)
I’m glad I could take some of the hurt away. She’s already started earning her money back, by the way. She’s washed her kitchen… and sung for me.
There’s really nothing sweeter than listening to her sing the theme song from Veggie Tales The Ballad of Little Joe.

The Miracle of the Bread

Last month was absolutely crazy.  The time spent together as a family was few and far between.  Our budget went haywire, and what should have been spent on food was spent on other necessities (like gas).
It wasn’t like we were destitute. Oh, heavens, no.
With half of a cow in our freezer, it was impossible to be destitute. When we run short on our food budget and just”eat what we have” we spend a week eating steak and pot roast. Hardly a sacrifice.
But what about the other stuff? Milk, eggs, bread…

At the end of June, we went to a resort as a family. We spent our food budget on food for the weekend. It’s amazing how much more you have to spend on food to have it ready-made. As a result, we came home and had to eat what we had eaten at the resort.
We had bought 2 loaves of white sandwich bread… you know the kind. It’s flimsy and fake-tasting. I set in on the counter, fully aware of the busy week ahead of me.
We used half of the one loaf we had left.
Before leaving for Girl’s Camp, I looked at the loaf. I knew it would mold. It was monsoon season. We had a swamp cooler. It was the middle of summer. The thought crossed my mind to just toss the loaf.
But it was all we had…
So I left it alone. Anyway, I was stressed to the max -it was easier to just “deal with it later” (“later” being when it had exchanged it’s bottom half for mold).
It wasn’t until 2 weeks after I had put the bread on the counter that I picked it up again.
My husband was gone to training and the kids had requested peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It was the only bread we had.
Granted, I could have made homemade bread. I could have. But I didn’t really have the time, and anyone who makes and eats homemade bread knows that -while delicious -it does NOT make good sandwiches.

I reached for the bread. The bread that had been sitting under the influence of my swamp cooler for 2 weeks and on the counter at the grocery story for WHO knows how long and had taken a 4-hour car ride from the 100-plus-degree resort to my humid home.
I carefully untwisted the twistie-tie and peeked in.

And it was fine.
Fresh, even.

It made me smile. No bread had ever lasted that long on my counter -EVER. I couldn’t believe what I saw, and I pulled every slice of bread apart and checked over and over -certain I was missing something. There just HAD to be mold somewhere.
But there wasn’t.  The bread lasted until we were paid again.

And do I know why? Yes, I do. If you pay tithing, you know too. You know what it’s like to have food just show up when you seem to have almost run out. You know what it’s like to find that check in the mail or that $20 in your pocket. You know what it’s like to open the bread bag to find it still fresh and feel what feels like a warm hug from the inside.
You know what it’s like to feel you’re taken care of… to know He’s aware… to know He knows.
He knows when you’re hurting.
He knows when you’re happy.
He knows when you’re hungry.
He knows when you’re trying.
He knows when you’re making ends meet.
He knows.
And He loves enough to bind your heart, make up the difference, even freshen your bread… because YOU matter.

Look around.
You’ll find your own miracles.

Silent Movie Sunday **SPOILER ALERT**

When I was in high school, Turner Classic Movies used to play one silent movie every Sunday night. I tried to catch it when I could, but for some odd reason the rest of my family wasn’t keen on watching with. Did I mention I lived with about 7 other people? Getting time alone with the TV was practically unheard of, so generally I missed the silent movie.

I did catch the end of The Scarlet Letter once, though.

(image from

Yesterday my husband made Sunday dinner which was absolute perfection because

a) I didn’t have anything planned and
b) I didn’t have to cook.

I would usually say that NOT planning Sunday’s dinner would definitely not work out in your favor. Yesterday, however, was a brilliant exception. Did we eat my husband’s signature Beef and Ramen dish? Yes. Did I have to help? No.

As a consequence, I wasn’t all that tired Sunday afternoon. While everyone napped, I whipped out Netflix and started flipping through the suggestions it listed for me.
I remembered the Sundays of Yesteryear and ended up clicking on
Why Change Your Wife?
A silent film from 1920

I started watching it in bed while my husband slept next to me. I didn’t think a SILENT film would bother him all that much. The background tracks were soothing and beautiful. But my giggling? Not so much. As I tried to quietly sneak into the next room, my husband lazily called after me.
“Do you want the speakers?”
“For my silent movie?” I replied, my giggling turning into full-on laughter, “No thanks.”

The movie is a matrimonial comedy about Robert and Beth. Here’s the opening screen:
From that alone, I knew it HAD to be good. I’m a sucker for proper English, and the properness of this film just DID ME IN.
Beth drives Robert crazy on account of her nagging and intense mothering,

so he leaves her for a fun-loving lingerie model.Photobucket
He divorces Beth.
And marries Sally -the model.

Sally turns out to be rather a pain (surprise!) and his ex-wife Beth puts away her matronly dresses and glasses for a sultry new wardrobe. As fate would have it (and fate often does) the three end up vacationing at the same motel.
Robert realizes he’s still in love with Beth.
Beth realizes she’s still in love with Robert.
They can’t stand to be near each other and unknowingly take the same train home (ah, fate!). As they’re walking, Robert -I jest you not -slips on a banana peel and cracks his head open.
Beth takes him home.
Sally has a fit.
Beth and Sally get in a knock-down-drag-out and then…
Sally get alimony.
Beth gets Robert.
And now you know… the rest of the story.

I hope I didn’t spoil the film for you. You have to understand that I’m working under the impression that you’d rather die than spend an hour and half watching a silent movie. But I wouldn’t. I rather watch a silent movie than nap, and this one was rather worth watching. I wanted to share it, but I was fairly certain you wouldn’t take my recommendation and run with it.
It is, after all… silent. And rather lacking in color.

I think I’ll add the words “SPOILER ALERT” to my title… just to be safe. You never know when someone might have a 1920’s film at the top of their queue.

Play Day

This year for my birthday, I wanted to go out to eat with my family. My husband suggested we wait until the weekend and we’d all go into the city to make a day of it. That sounded GREAT to me because my sister (bless her heart) introduced me to the best Greek restaurant in Flagstaff (possibly the world), and I was all in favor to eat there with my family.
As we were seated, Lacy promptly pulled her napkin out and tucked it in her shirt.
We all giggled at her, and embarrassed she said, “It’s what they do in the movies!” I pulled the camera out and she immediately pulled her napkin down.
“No!” I said, “I want a picture!” But she was embarrassed. Naturally, I made her Dad tuck his napkin in too so she wouldn’t feel so silly about it.

Such well-behaved and wonderful patrons!

And then there’s us:

And then there’s them:

And then there’s us:

And then there’s Lacy:
Isn’t there always Lacy?

After an amazing lunch, we headed downtown to the downstairs Aveda salon so I could buy some Glossing Straightener (the one on my wishlist!) and some super shades for $7.
And when I say “super” I mean “super huge.”
In 13 years, my kids will find these sunglasses in a bin and make fun of me.
Har, har… look at me. I’m a bug from 2010. Har, har…

They don’t make fun of my now though. In fact they want to BE me which is both flattering and downright darling:
Is there anything sweeter than how upside down his shades are?
Just for fun:
Speaking of my wish list… I also got to shop:
I came away with all of the supplies to make (what else?) MORE cake plates!
I think I may just have a problem.

After Goodwill, we rewarded the kids for their good behavior by letting them gawk at rats:
Who is luckier than our kids? I ask you!

At Sam’s Club, we ran into my Aunt Lil aka the kids’ most favoritest auntie in the whole wide world… and she offered to take them home with her!
As a result, Danny and I got 2 hours of alone time (one of which was spent driving, but still). He enjoyed having me at his side and never leaving it.
No matter what his mouth said… he enjoyed it.

And here’s a snap shot of the vintage purse I snagged at the clothing drop off. FREE goodies!
And the skirt was free.

Let Me Explain…

Yesterday there was a knock at the door.  It was a woman, she was apologizing all over herself for her mistake, but I could barely hear what she was saying through…Photobucket
Apparently after my meltdown and consequent Truth Speech about the way I feel concerning flowers, my husband called in the next day and ordered me a huge-o bouquet. And they forgot to deliver it.
Like I care!
I didn’t even know they were coming! To have them arrive at any time was pretty much amazing unto me!

Aren’t they beautiful? Isn’t my husband sweet?
Do I feel horribly selfish for finally admitting out loud that I prefer delivered flowers? YES! YES! YES!

Last night, I said to my husband “I need to explain something to you.”
And he said, “Ok.”
“I’m not big on flowers. If you don’t send them to me for Mother’s Day or Valentine’s Day or my birthday… I’m okay with that. It doesn’t make much difference to me. But when you do decide to get them for me -which I most sincerely hope you do on some random Thursday where you just happened to think of me -get the ordered kind. I don’t care if it’s one carnation. I don’t care if it’s one rose. I don’t care what it is! And you know something else I would love JUST as much? Hand-picked wildflowers -even if it’s just alfalfa sprigs.”

I sincerely hope he doesn’t hate me.  I know he doesn’t.  But still…
It’s bad enough he married a woman that has the audacity to tell him the truth about her feelings concerning flowers.

In other news, I came to the stark realization last night that my life will never complete if I don’t learn Italian and then get box seat at an Italian Opera.
Okay, that might not seem stark to you.
But when you live a life as action-packed as mine… stark is an understatement.

I especially like how it teaches us to say -in Italian -that we don’t speak Italian. Handy!
If you’re not keen on opera, try a modern version composed by Jeremy Sams and featured in the 1995 version of Persuasion.

You can’t object to it -you absolutely can not.
You’re allowed to object to Pavarotti, I guess:

But OH how I don’t!
And when I die, I will meet him on the other side and say -in perfect Italian …

“I need help.”