New Year’s Day

1.  Dependency

2.  Co-dependents

3.  Independence

The Man and I were downstairs in the Double Bed because Nanna had our room. Son 1 aged 5y 3m still managed to find us. At 4am when I woke up, there he was, burrowed inbetween us.  I went into his bed.  At 8am Son 2 aged 2y 3m woke up screaming for me. I took him into bed, he calmed and slept again. I’ve looked it up. He is apparently at his most emotionally dependent on me for the next six months. And sibling jealousy is worse at this time too.  Yippee. Son 1 woke me up. He wanted to come in too. “Go back with Daddy and I’ll come in with you,” I told him. I went straight back to sleep. The Man said he’d had to get up, because Son 1 had just lain down on the floor outside the door waiting for me.

The weather was beautiful, a clear, cold day, blue sky, the river flat and sparkling. The Bird Park, I decided.  I wanted to do a couple of trips with the boys, as I’m horribly aware that now Son 1 is at School we simply don’t get chance any more.  The Man still wanted to get the garden sorted, so he made the packed lunch  – in case nothing was open and we ended up on a seaside bench somewhere, and Nanna and I set off with the children. The Bird Park was open, but not busy. We had a brilliant time. Son 2 waded straight in.  Big enough to climb up the soft play, come down the slide, get up and down the climbing area… and bury himself in the ball pool and get himself out. Son 1 played with him and then with a younger child. There was too much roaring for my liking – he clearly got the taste when he saw the older girls off on Tuesday.  thats my boys  We had lunch, and then I played with them in the Big Uns section.  Man I’m knackered. I must have done 10 laps. Heaving Son 2 up and down ladders, netting, climbing frames, going upstairs, coming down slides…  We finally agreed to have coffee and ice creams for some quiet time, before going off to see the animals.

The otters looked at us looking at them – lunchtime again… and we took bags of goat food down to the farm. The snake was slithering around in its tank. There were only three goats – all much bigger than Son 2, and he was too scared to feed them. But Son 1 was a champ. At the penguin pool, Son 1 was picked to feed them, and I gatecrashed Son 2 in as well. Son 1 was fab, taking turns at the fish beautifully and throwing them to the penguins. Son 2 was his usual chaotic, control-freaky self. He wouldn’t let me take the fish out of the bucket for him,  threw badly and lunged towards the water.  Too young really, silly Mummy.  And now I have to think of how to keep him out next time Son 1 does it.  Oh what the hell, Son 1 first fed the penguins when he was 2y 4m.  In the days when we could do all our trips outside school holidays…

The Cat’s In The Cradle

1.  Little Boy Blue

2.  Not Today, I Got A Lot To Do

3.  The Man In The Moon

Three bloody 20 am. I heard a rustling, a scuffling, a pitter-patter with cat-like tread. I went to the loo.  Son 1 aged 5y 3m appeared in the bathroom doorway. “Mummy Santa has been, there are presents under the Christmas tree and we’ve got stockings – ” His voice was rich and breathy, he was almost dancing with  excitement. “Let’s go down and see,” I whispered. His stocking had been emptied on the lounge floor. “Did Santa leave your stocking here?” “No, I brought it down.”  I told him we had to go back to bed. “But you said I could open my stocking whenever I woke up!”  “Yes but I didn’t know it would be at three in the morning…”

At 7 the house was still, but I had to get up to get the turkey in. Going down, I woke Son 2 aged 2y 3m, but had to leave him for The Man.  I’d forgotten to get any orange juice so Mummy couldn’t have her Bucks Fizz at 0730.  Christmas Morning ruined.  The boys opened their stockings in the lounge.  Son 1, high on happiness, came running down with two bags of chocolate coins. “Mummy put these in the Trick Or Treat bucket.” He stopped. “What are you doing to that chicken?”  Shoving fistfuls of sausagemeat up and under the skin on the turkey breast.   The Man can’t watch me do it.   

We had to get Nanna up to open the presents, so Son 1 yelled: “Nanna! Are you getting dressed or do you want a dressing gown?”  She wanted a dressing gown.  So. Nanna in my cuddly Portuguese towelling robe… The Man without his teeth… and me were the audience for the main event. Son 1 sorted the presents into piles.  “Son 2’s presents are all bigger than mine!”  Fortunately, on the way back with Nanna yesterday, we stopped off at a toy shop and bought a Playmobil carry case Castle. Massive box. Small castle. Everybody happy.  “I knew Santa would get it for me,” Son 1 said, contented, opening it and instantly moving onto the next one.   If only he knew. Son 2 drove him nuts by sitting down happily to play with his first present – a Hot Wheels lorry – and ignoring all the others.  Son 1 opened the Early Learning Centre rocket which he’d asked Santa for. The one which worried me, because it’s aged 18m to 5, and of course my child should be doing nothing but aged 7 – 14 Lego.  His face sparkled. “I have dreamed and dreamed of getting this!”  Wonder Nanny had bought them The Polar Express DVD so we put that on. “I don’ loik it,” said Son 2. “I scared.”  I had a new purse from the boys, and “Tender” from The Man.  The Nigel Slater cook book I asked for,  but we could pretend it’s a mark of his feelings…

From 12 onwards I fought the bloody turkey. Size of a bloody ostrich and too big for our oven, which is great at the top and doesn’t bother at the bottom.  The crackers had all been popped by two small boys who like crackers. Nanna was fading into oblivion because she hadn’t had breakfast, The Man was telling me to relax and I was worrying my little vegetarian head off.   We finally ate at 1430.  They enjoyed the turkey, the boys ate a bit of most of the vegetables. I cleared up. I put the leftovers away. I did the washing (yes, yes, but there was so much we could hardly get in the downstairs loo.)  I made cups of tea. ”Sit down, Serenedays,” said Nanna.  I got the boys crackers, carrot and cucumber for tea, and read them their Christmas present books. “Again, again,” said Son 1. 

We got them to bed and at last I collapsed on the sofa with Nigel Slater. The Man pulled out our remaining, unopened presents. The pyjamas weren’t the ones he wanted. In fact they were the ones he didn’t like. He didn’t like the lounge tops I got him to wear with them. And I don’t think he wants his boxer shorts either.  They are all back in their carrier bag waiting to be returned to Marks.   Oh well. Christmas is already cheaper than I expected.

Parties

1.  Son 1’s Party

2.  Son 2’s Party

3.  The Office Party

Hah.  Wear Your Own Clothes Day at School and we got Son 1 aged 5y 2m there in jeans and a rugby shirt. We have two previous convictions for Failing To Notice. Here’s one:   last day of term  Can’t find the other one, which completely negates the whole Capture Their Childhood part of doing the blog.  But never mind. It’s Son 2’s School Christmas Party, and the teachers were wearing fairy wings and tinsel halos. I dropped him off and then spent the day as I’ve spent the week, racing around Late For Everything. How do people do it? On Tuesday I met a brilliant woman, younger than me, just achieved a distinction in a professional qualification in a men’s field, single mother, working full time. And of course, Christmas shopping done “I do a lot online.” “I bet you make your own cakes for birthdays and school things too,” I said, again in that place where marvelling and envy mix. “Oh no.  I just make our Christmas cake and that’s it.”

Wonder Nanny took Son 2 aged 2y 3m to the Playgroup Christmas Party. There were apparently games, dancing, Christmas lunch and Santa.  His present was glitter. He is apparently noted at playgroup for having hugely enjoyed playing with glitter pens in craft sessions. I knew that. I have taken him to Church, where they do crafting for kids ahead of the service.  Son 1 and I just made it back home before Wonder Nanny left.  There was glitter all over the floor, in Son 2’s hair, on his face and on his clothes. Several very nice glitter pictures, ideal for home-made cards – were drying on the windowsill. Wonder Nanny had a piece of glitter in her nostril.  She laughed and wiped it away.

And The Office Christmas Party.  In the middle of nowhere – 47 miles on the clock to get there. I had to leave at 6pm, to Son 2 crying real tears and stretching out starfish hands: “I don’ wan’ Mummy go party. I don’ wan’ Mummy go work. I wan’ Mummy home wi’ me.”   Cheers for that Son 2. I’ll getcha later. “Mother always makes me feel so guilty at the end of my  monthly visit to Sleepy Corner Nursing Home. “  So I walked out and left him. It was a Good Do, everybody went, good food, good entertainment, and our table won the pub quiz, thanks to our detailed and contemporaneous  study of Eighties Music.

Decorations

1.  Holly And Star

2.  Smarties

3.  Tinsel and Glitter

Worked Late At The Office yesterday, didn’t get back till midnight, so didn’t see the boys. Peeked in at them when I came in. It was freezing cold, so I put my big towelling dressing gown over Son 1 aged 5y 2m.  I  think I spent last winter thinking he wakes up at night because he’s only got a 3.5 tog quilt.  Shall I/shan’t I get him a warmer one to see what happens? Guess what. With the dressing gown, he stayed in his bed al l night. And then we were all up late again because Mummy overslept.  La la la.  While I was working, a large Christmas Tree appeared in the lounge. And a wreath in the kitchen, waiting to go on the front door. “We’ve got two new fish,” said Son 1. “That was supposed to be a secret to see if Mummy noticed,” said The Man. “Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha” said Son 1. We now have Fluffy, Flossy, Floppy, Zizzy, Sulky, Coupon, Holly and Star.  We are going to keep buying Son 1 fish just because we like the names.  

I hardly saw Son 2 aged 2y 2m.  Up, cereals, quick bit of reading, in the shower, dressed, scoop up Son 1, kiss bye bye and out. Even though we left late, we got to School early. Less traffic on Fridays. A Good Thing . I brushed Son 1’s hair frantically as he got out of the car. He looked half decent. He met a Little Reception Friend on the Muddy Path and they ran off hooting. By the time we went in he was back to the cornfield-after-a-rainstorm look. LRF’s Mummy was proud bearer of a promising-looking cake tin. It is LRF’s birthday today.  All Mummys, except one, bring cakes in on birthdays. Well how was I supposed to know?  Son 1 had the first birthday in the year, and no-one told me.  ”Did you like the birthday cake?” I asked Son 1. “I liked the Smarties.” That’s my boy. 

I picked him up and we had to hurry home to decorate the tree. The decorations were in a massive paper bag, all mixed up and tangled together. “This looks like you just stuffed them away in a temper,” I said. ”I probably did,” said The Man.  Son 1 was adorable, carefully hanging gingerbread parcels and snowmen and balls and penguins and Santas on the lowest branches on the tree. The Man draped Christmas Lights. Son 2 trotted up and down, cartoon breathy in excitement, dashing back and forth with more things to dangle. “Win Pooh,” he said, carefully hooking a plastic Tigger on.  I lifted him up and helped him with angels and bells and drums and toy soldiers. He was so gorgeous that I got the video camera – unused forever – out.  But by the time I’d remembered how it works, everyone had fallen out, and Son 2 headed downstairs to plunder the shopping.

Unconditional

1.  Red Eye

2.  Red Alert

3.  Red Roses

I’ve been up with Son 1 aged 5y 1m every night this week.  He’s cried, he’s wanted water, he’s wanted squash, he’s needed Calpol, he’s been hot, he’s been cold, he’s climbed into bed with his Mum.  Then last night, he slept like a stone, all the way through, and in the early hours of this morning was still in the same position he’d fallen asleep in.  Me?  Up since 0230.   Doing Office emails at 0400.  Crashed out at 6am, with two boys buzzing me.  “EithergodownstairsandseeDaddy, orcomeintobedandgivemeacuddle,” I mumbled, closing my eyes. Son 2 aged 2y 2m pad-padded off, Son 1 clambered clumsily over the pillows. Little arms went around my neck. ”Son 1 gone downstair,” said a high, little voice in my ear.   It was Son 2, and he was gorgeous.  

The Office were strangely unenthusiastic about the presence of someone with a rattling loud cough, splashing sneezes and Scarlet Fever at home, and this afternoon I gave up and left early. I rang the Surgery for Son 1’s strep test result. Not back. Try again on Monday.  No hurry there then. No wonder they whack the children straight onto antibiotics rather than wait for confirmation.  Back home, Wonder Nanny said Son 1 had seemed much better today. He’d eaten well at lunchtime and said his throat wasn’t sore any more. His rash seems to be lighter too.  It hasn’t gone – it’s still all over him, but it’s gone from being very red to pinky.   He is itching his head like mad.  Yes I have checked and checked and I don’t think it’s livestock. I wonder whether he’s got the rash on his scalp and the hair is irritating it. 

“What about Son 2?” Everyone has asked.  Bouncing around like Tigger.  “Mummy come back work.”  He needed to be picked up, to be cuddled, to be held.   I had a pile of Office calls to take and make.  Son 2 found it very difficult to keep away.  He’s adorable.  Lovely to tickle, to cuddle, to hold, to talk to, to hold hands with, to kiss.  Even The Man sighed this evening “Son 2 is beautiful, isn’t he?”  At bedtime, Son 1 has his bath; I read to Son 2. Then Son 2 has his bath, I get him out, he cuddles me, he lies on his back on the floor and pulls my face next to him, he fights me as I clean his teeth, he plays while I read him his dinosaur book, he lies in his cot and pulls me down to him so my face is next to his.  I Have Never Been Loved Like This Before.

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The Best Life

1.  Looking

2.  Listening

3.  Learning

Hell fire it was hard this morning.  Son 1aged 5y 1m has needed navy blue swimming trunks since term started.  Here we are after our three week half term, with his baggy white Monsoon shorts still damp and packed somewhere in the suitcases.  I was in Asda at 9pm last night pushing a trolley round George looking for trunks. I asked an assistant. They are, apparently, seasonal items. They come in to the store in Spring and go in the Sale in July. And that’s it.  My fallback plan was a pair of  navy and red Aged 3 swimming boxers I’d found in a bag of hand-me-downs before we went away.  But what had I done with them.  Wonder Nanny had also been sorting clothes. She’d taken my random pile and put the clothing away in the most logical place. Which was where I found them.  This was a Good Thing.  Son 2 aged 2y 1m cried and clung, but Son 1 got to School and I got to The Office on time. 

At The Office a colleague had done something so Useful and Important for me that my first morning  back was a breeze. I took her out to lunch to say thank you, blasting holes in my Holiday Resolutions of watching my spending and my eating.  I managed to offload a great pile of Nachos on to her plate in revenge.  In the afternoon, the contrasts.  The Man rang. Son 2’s Godfather is gravely ill again. And then I had a long conversation with someone I know whose young daughter, nearly three, is terminally ill.  “We never recorded her voice while she could still speak,” he said.  Wonder Nanny, who is very qualified, very competent and very caring, took Son 2 round to play there about a month ago. The father felt it was a success, so I’ll ask her to go again.  There is something very crap about the Mother who sends her Nanny round to help the desperate family.  But I just don’t know what to do. 

I picked Son 1 up in the closing minutes of After School Club.  He had his school photos, which are gorgeous.  At home, I just wanted to cut out pictures of my two gorgeous children and put them in their little cardboard frames, ready to send to Grandparents and Aunties.  The real-life versions of the two gorgeous children scrapped and screeched and shrieked for my attention.  Which they got. Words from earlier floated back:  “Her span is only going to be short so we’re trying to make sure it’s the best life possible.”  I will be less snappy with my children.

Lost Boys

1.  Big Boys

2.  New Boys

3.  Hello Boys

The Rat Man says we can ring him if we find any more bodies, and he will come and clear them up.  This is a Good Thing, as The Man has left on another Business Trip. Unfortunately, The Man cannot remember which Rat Man we are using.  He found him in the Yellow Pages, he’s very nice, and he’s been back in his discreet, unmarked van to check his boxes and put more toxic waste in them.  But frankly I’d tolerate a van saying THIS HOUSE HAS RATS with a big arrow pointing at us if  it meant his mobile number was stencilled on the side as well.   The Man left at 3am, so yet again I am wandering around like a zombie.  Son 1 aged 5y 1m ended up in the Big Bed, and came down shortly after I got up.  He used to flit around like a little wraith.  He now sounds like a team of rugby players coming down the stairs. It was slightly spooky listening to him… knowing there was no other adult in the house and yet hearing great clunking footsteps powering down. And then a little figure in Lightning McQueen pyjamas pads in, holding his willy and rubbing his eyes. 

I had to go to The City, which is the best part of a two-hour drive away. When I’d finished, I went into The Shopping Centre, because I’d promised Son 1 I’d go to the Disney Shop to look for squirty toys to take on holiday.  And then… Hold The Front Page, Don’t Faint, Shoot Me Down In Flames… they had a set of Peter Pan figures.  Including The Children and The Dog.  This is an Excellent Thing.  I have spent hours on the internet, trying to find the children for Son 1. I have trailed around Disney Shops (Oxford Street: “Yes we’ve got them upstairs because they’re not very popular.” 20 mins later: “Sorry we’ve sold out.”)  We have plastic Peters in several sizes, a finger puppet Peter and Wendy, three or four Captain Hooks, a fair few crocodiles, several handfuls of  Indians and Lost Boys and pirates, pirates everywhere.   Son 1’s Peter Pan obsession began with a charity shop Disney book I bought for 49p in Feb 2007. He got his first Peter Pan things the following Christmas, and he has longed for John and Michael ever since.  So what I’m saying is, yes I bought him yet another toy.  No, I haven’t thrown out/sorted out any of his old ones. And yes, Son 2 aged 2y 1m had to have a Nemo squirty toy bath set to be fair. 

There were comments about more presents from Granny and Grandad, who were waiting with the boys because I was way too late for Wonder Nanny.  Never mind. The Best Thing today was The New Swimming Costume. Not the one I wanted, not one I would have picked out… but it’s slimming, it fits nicely and it was in the sale.  I was excited for a few minutes because the label said 14E.  In better light, I realised that was the Australian sizing. I’d been worried I was stuck with the skanky baggy swimsuit for the holiday. I got put off the Bravissimo website because I needed to think of a password. (Really sorry, can’t. Got a pile of passwords to remember anyway, and a head so full of Other Stuff that not one more fact can be jemmied in. )  I tried another website. Ordered a beautiful costume on Wednesday. Ticked the box for faster postage to beat the strikes. And got an email saying they’re not expecting them in till next week. Today really was my Last Chance.  I don’t think I’ve worn a halter neck in my life but Granny thinks it’s great.

Plough The Fields And Scatter

1.  Fed And Watered

2.  The Breezes And The Sunshine

3.  Soft, Refreshing Rain

Son 1 aged 5 and I arrived at School. It’s Harvest Festival Day.  His class, all dressed as scarecrows, is singing a song. Son 1 will pop up wearing a straw hat. I said I would try and get there. And was then told the time.  2pm.  No bloody chance.  “Are lots of parents coming?” I asked Mrs Smiley. She smiled, as she always does. “Oh yes. There’ll be a very good turn out.”  Outside the school, I rang Nanna, and Wonder Nanny. They can go. “Have we got to take something?” asked Nanna. “I’ve got strawberries.” Nope. I sent in a bag of groceries earlier in the week. I hunted high and low in the cupboards. I found two tins of Lite Evaporated Milk which were Best Before Apr 2005… and a tinned Fray Bentos steak and kidney pie so old it didn’t have a sellby date. I looked for things I wouldn’t use.  But deducing that someone getting a School food parcel would not feel too grateful for Chestnut Puree and Aubergine Pesto, I put tea, coffee, tuna, baked beans, soup and tinned tomatoes in a bag instead.  

Not the easiest day I’ve had at The Office, mainly because I did 16 hours yesterday and I’m knackered. Halfway through I remembed a snag in the Harvest Festival plan. I’d promised Son 1 an after-school trip to Tesco.  Last night Son 2 aged 2y 1m had done some blackbelt tantrumming because I wasn’t there… and Son 1 had behaved beautifully.  Plus he’s managed to get up for School for more than 6 weeks. I rang Wonder Nanny. Can they take him to Tesco as well if he wants to go.

When I got back home Son 1 was throwing small plastic balls which transform into aliens around. Son 2 was sitting in his highchair eating strawberries and sweets, giggling. ”I wan’ si’ on Mummy’s lap.”  It was late, so we rounded the up for Books And Bath And Bed.  Maybe The Man was making up the behaviour last night. Could this shiny-cheeked cherub with dancing eyes, sitting in the shower, laughing and splashing Mummy, possibly be the roaring banshee who was put to bed without a bath, without teeth cleaning, and without anything?  Teenaged Niece bought the boys new pyjamas. Son 1 was dashing in bright red Lightning McQueen, Son 2 in oversized bright green Buzz Lightyear. Another Good Thing: Son 2 seems to be getting a bit bigger.  If it carries on he may even get into 12- 18m trousers…

Truly Terrible

1.   Hoarse

2.   Croaking

3.   Rasping

I’ve got a throat infection from somewhere. Voice has gone, feeling hot and bothered and sleepy. Hey ho. I spent today travelling back after a night away because of an Office Thing yesterday.  I was with three colleagues, so I didn’t have to drive. We spent hundreds of miles talking, eating sherbert lemons and ringing our mates. I was aiming at a 3.15pm appointment at Son 1 aged 5’s School – the replacement appointment for the Parents’ evening I can’t make.  I got to the School in time, and then got stuck in the queue of cars waiting to go in. Another advantage to being  a Working Mother. You have genuinuely no idea what happens at the end of the school day.

Mrs Smiley the Teacher was lovely. Happy with Son 1’s reading, maths, communication, It, arts and crafts and PE.  He is Popular And Has Lots Of Friends. A bit of a discussion about how sometimes he seems dreamy, unresponsive and slow to respond. Not as smiley on some days.  How’s his sleeping? Does he share a room with Son 2?  Ah, I croaked. We have had rather a mad Birthday Fest September.  He could be… er.. knackered. “Well I wouldn’t of course say that…” she said. Subtext: That’s Exactly What I Mean.   Poor old Son 1. And then of course I forgot to mention the midnight bed-hopping. “What is the first thing in your head when you wake up at night?” I asked once, wondering if he was having bad dreams. “I think: ‘I’ll go and find Mummy,’” he said. 

Son 1 was excited because he’s completed his third sticker chart. As we drove back I asked him how he’d  got on that morning with Granny and Daddy when I was away. “Don’t know.”  “Was it brilliant, all right, or Truly Terrible.” “Truly Terrible.” “What about last night?”  “That was Truly Terrible too.” Son 2 aged 2 was delighted to see me, and then wouldn’t let go.  Neither he nor Son 1 like my creature-from-the-black-lagoon voice.  Granny had made them individual cottage pies for tea, and they did all right.    Nanna rang. Teenaged Niece is staying for a College Open Day. Can we see them tomorrow. We are taking Granny back to the Airport, but we will try, I said.

October

1.  Good Behaviour

2.  Best Behaviour

3.  Bad Behaviour

The Man got back yesterday, so this morning was easier.  We were at School on time, and I had, for the first time this week, got the right combination of books in Son 1 aged 5’s bag. The Jolly Phonics book; we are currently doing e-e-e-e-e-e, the Reading Book; in which Biff, Chip and Kipper’s no-need-to-work parents take them places, have fun and cook Proper Food, and the Homework Book with Things To Draw and Letters To Write.  I got a smiley sticker from Son 1’s Teaching Assistant as a reward, and I wore it with pride.

Driving, I stopped to take a phone call, and pulled over on a yellow line – no parking from 1 May till 30 September.  There was one other car on it.  I reversed back towards it. Crunch.  Oh hell.  It was a proper crunch, not just a bump, to be waved off with my dear old Dad’s “Bumpers Is For Bumping” motoring motto.  Opposite me, a coach driver, sat outside a hotel, watching. I took a long time on my phone call. And I thought about the Good Samaritan who put my Nappy Bag, containing cards, purse and phone, on my doorstep after I’d left it in the road. I wrote my note. “Sorry, I’ve reversed into your car. If there’s any damage call Serenedays on XXXXXXXXXX.”  I got out to look at the other car.  I’m not very good at cars. I have to read the make and model from the back. This one was a 4.2 litre Jaguar with a personalised number plate.  Ah. And I thought there was a scuff on the number plate, and a possible scuff on the gleaming paintwork. But I didn’t dare touch them to see if they’d come off. Not a mark on mine. I left my note on the windscreen, and off I went.

I looked in the homework book after I’d picked up Son 1 from school.  He only got 2/10, which I thought was a bit harsh.  Until I realised it was the date. He and Son 2 aged 2 wolfed vegetable soup and pasta for tea, and then he wanted to go to the Yacht Club.  We went down, but it was closed. ”Oh come on, will someone open the bar,” said Son 1. What kind of parents have their five-year-old queueing outside pubs?  We trailed away, and then met one of the bar staff arriving to open up. “It’s October,” she said. ”Winter opening times.” The boys played on the grass with some other children. The tide was high and the river was still. We sat and watched the boats on the moorings and the reflected lights from the docks.   The Jaguar owner didn’t ring. And now I am a bit worried he (why do I know it’s a ‘he’?) just thought it was an excuse to leave my name and number on a nice car…