Just a mini breakdown, that's all.

In the past 2 weeks my son has been kicked out of his Spring Break Camp for running into the parking lot and throwing his food at kids, he was admitted to a psychiatric hospital and given an appointment that is still 2 weeks away, he has been suspended from riding the school bus for the rest of the year because he tried to get off the bus by taking over the steering wheel and opening the emergency exit because he didn't like the noise the kids were making. He was suspended from his after school program on Monday because he exposed himself over and over. Yesterday, I had to pick him up because he ran into the street because the cafeteria was out of mustard and then assaulted the safety officer who came to restrain him.

This morning, he practiced yoga and his violin.

He behaves when he feels safe but cannot keep it together when he is in public.

He grabbed a little girl in a restaurant and took her into the street a few weeks ago.

The only reason he was allowed out of my sight in the first place was because my in laws think I need to give him more freedom.

I've been listening to everyone's opinions ever since I had him:

Because he was born via c-section, he can't connect with others.

His father is full of negative energy and that energy infected his sperm so, ya know negative sperm energy.

He eats too much gluten. He doesn't have a gluten allergy.

He was born a Scorpio.

He's just too smart for the teachers and needs more freedom.

He needs more structure.

He needs a psychic to send him good vibes.

He needs to be spanked.

He should be drugged.

His newest principal told her staff "that it was obvious that I didn't have a clue" after meeting with me after suspending him the first time. 

I'm exhausted. 

I've never been good at trusting myself. 

I stayed in an abusive relationship for years because I thought I deserved to be treated poorly.

I have a history of poor decisions and here I am again.

I don't have a clue. 

I am lost.

Yesterday, I barely kept it together as I picked him up from school, again. 

The principal, vice principal, school psychologist, safety officer and Gifted children supervisor listing off a bunch of reasons why he is terrible THIS time.

It's been so stressful, that on Monday when I came home I was so stuck in my head with fear and grief that I didn't notice that Atticus had cut a huge chunk of hair off, again.

His therapist has been very helpful but like all the others...she says she can't connect with him.

He says what he knows people want to hear.

Except today he told me that his favorite thing is to sneak away and try to do things he knows are bad.

This kid?

This kid who gives his toys away, who desperately wants friends, wants play dates and sleepovers does everything he can to be untrustworthy and unlikable. 

My heart is breaking.

I am about to walk into a room full of school administrators who think I'm a terrible parent.

I'm going to accompanied by my husband and that means so much to me but I'm just so tired, I can't think straight anymore.

I am trying to stand up but I need some extra hands to lift me.

Last week as I was pulling into our driveway after picking Atticus up from school, 4 helicopters flew over our house in a perfect square formation.

Atticus was very impressed and so was I. 

I am impressed when people can parallel park on the first try so piloting an aircraft is pretty amazing to me.

We live right under the flight path for Davis Monthan Air Force base and quite often their aircraft fly over my house while I meditate, clean the kitchen, sit on my couch or eat dinner.

Yet, my home feels safe.

I've never worried that the planes above me would intentionally harm me.

I've never worried that anyone might want to hurt me or my family because of our beliefs but my son asked "why are they flying like that? Where are they going?"

I told him "They are practicing for various conflicts and operations around the world. We are always fighting someone, it seems".

He was surprised " Why?"

Now, we have discussed the world's conflicts before. 

Last year his school district had all the kids dress in red, white and blue in support of one of the local schools whose parents were being deployed to Afghanistan. I don't shelter him from the dark side of the world but I don't see the benefit of raising him with fear. He knows there is a lot of suffering around the world and within our own community but unlike my childhood in which, I was told the Russians and Iranians could arrive at anytime to destroy my family...I try to empower him with an understanding that as a child his job is to learn to be generous and patient. I want him to understand that not everyone will agree with one another and some people will lash out in anger when they feel small and threatened but that's no reason for him to do the same.

However, he had asked a question so I answered him " We are at war because we are trying to protect our resources but also trying to protect others from suffering but it's all very complicated...someone always wants to be right which means they tend to make someone else wrong. Instead of just allowing us to live in disagreement...we are too insecure and try to eradicate the people who don't agree with us instead of just being present with our own uncomfortableness."

It was a bit of a long winded and benign explanation,.

I didn't go into the politics and finances of the weapon industry, environmental insecurity or the history of colonialism that has influenced resentment.

I just wanted him to understand the basic human ego because it is the driving factor behind everything else.

But even with that fairly tidy and somewhat naive explanation, he said "That's just messed up."

And it is. 

I don't have any big answers, either.

Considering the amount of tension and bitterness that can quickly swell into a fairly dramatic situation at the kitchen table...I can't expect that any us will ever get over ourselves at the same time.

I minored in Anthropology in college and what I learned was that civilizations keep repeating the same cycles of overconsumption, greed and self righteousness over and over even though every time it turns into an epic fail. 

But we keep doing it, anyway.

Again and again.

We stick our heads in the ever warming sand with a belief that we won't suffer the same consequences as those who followed the same footsteps before us.

We are somehow better equipped THIS time.

OUR God wants US to succeed.

OUR land will never let US down.

OUR way is the right way....we won't starve, become ugly, mean or become what we despise.

Not us.

Not us.

I recognize that the wars we face are linked to so much more than I can explain. 

Poverty, ignorance, prejudice, beliefs, resources...they all are parts of the chaos that we continue to struggle with as a planet and I can't fix this madness for him on my own.

But when I was younger, I thought my generation would be the one that dId.

I participated in a High School walk out during the 1st Gulf War and royally pissed off my dad but I thought it was worth it. 

I believed that my voice mattered. 

I handed out condoms and pamphlets regarding HIV and AIDS to strangers as part of an education program through Tucson AIDS Project because I thought that if people just had the facts then they would stop demonizing a whole group of people.

I volunteered for our school environmental group and tried over many family dinners to explain to my father that caring for our planet wasn't a communist conspiracy.

Information can be powerful.

It can wake people up from being ambivalent but it doesn't seem like it's enough, anymore.

I know that there has been progress.

Quite a bit.

However, I have a mental block to policies that are irresponsible or hateful.

I don't get religion.

I don't understand our attachments to oppressive beliefs systems...I have yogi friends who think questioning old practices and origin stories is arrogant so I do understand the blinding power of devotion and belief fanatics but I am finding myself feeling very hopeless.

Maybe, hope is just another blinding belief because after thousands and thousands of years there doesn't seem to be an awakening of consciousness globally.

At least that's how I'm feeling.

Lately, I've been drowning in the sorrow and rottenness of the world: mass shootings, racist rants, violence and ignorance seem to be the daily headline and it's so heavy that my body almost can't move anymore.

I'm tired and heartbroken with the world that I brought my son into, despite the goodness of my own life.

I'm finding myself falling into the same sort of defensive fear that creates the problems that have left me feeling so very sad.

Will change come?

I've spent my life with those planes and helicopters flying over my head and am fortunate that I still do not fear for my own safety. 

My child is the same but do the children across the border have that same sense of protection from violence like mine does?

Hell, even the color of his skin gives him more of a sense of ease in our neighborhood then it does for kids not born 'white' or living on a reservation just miles from my home.

I'm not going to just 'Thank God' for my blessings because that's bullshit and it means I am complacent to the violence, the ignorance and poverty that permeates our planet but...

I want to help the world.

I really do.

I just do not know how to and I have to remember that I can't do it all by myself.

Running is prohibited.

There have been many times over the past year, in which I wondered if my son would be better off without me in the picture.

I understand that is a terrible thing to say but I never thought I was fit enough to be a good mother. I worried I would be much like my own: anxious, unstable and unrealistic.

But 7 plus years ago and after years of my partner wanting to have kids...I decided to throw my hands and legs to the sky and say "let's see what happens" and what happened?

A gorgeous little boy came into this crazy scene.

And like so many other moments of naive hopefulness, I believed that if I just wanted it enough, I could become a wonderful mother AND I would never explode like my mother did, 

I would never pressure my kid to be perfect, 

I would never yell or say shitty things and he? 

He would be awesome.

Easy.

He wouldn't be a mess like me.

He'd be so much better than me.

But he still is a lot like me.

And it turns out...I'm a lot like my mother.

When Atticus was born, I was told that the 1st year would be the hardest part of but then came my divorce, toddler insanity, my manic dive into beer, men, tears and poor judgement.

All of this, in addition to continued sleepless nights while trying to smile with food stuck in my hair and grossness dribbled on my clothing meant that year 2 and 3 were not easier. 

They were a shit show of how truly functionally dysfunctional life could be.

 

Time moved forward and things got harder.

When he turned 4, I thought I had finally figured this parenthood, relationship and career business out.

I met a wonderful guy who loved us both and really wanted to create a family.

I was becoming a grown up BUT then we stepped into the world of Pre-school, Kindergarten and Elementary school!

(Cue the dramatic music, it's needed)

I had no idea what we were in for. 

Not a clue.

I grew up in Sahuarita, Arizona.

I had one school option.

It was full of the children of migrant workers, copper miners and Mormons.

There was no bullshit to be had.

If I misbehaved, Dr. Holtzmiller gave me the paddle. 

If my mom found out about it...then the belt and wooden spoons came out.

I got a lot of firm reminders throughout my childhood but they never stopped me from being a stubborn and defiant child so I promised myself that I would never be that kind of parent.

Which was great except I didn't have a Plan B.

So when Atticus acted like an ass?

I didn't do anything but plead, cry or lock myself in the bathroom because his misbehaving was infuriated me to a point of rage. 

I didn't know how to talk to him which meant that he didn't know how to function, either.

He wouldn't sit still, he said crazy things, he inspired revolts.

Literally.

When preschool mutiny happened, it was epic.

He was kicked out of his 1st 'real' preschool because he led the kids out of the building to the playground and locked the teachers inside of the building. Upon his expulsion, I was told to drug him or be prepared to visit him in prison during my grey years. 

After that, I found him a very liberal preschool that he loved.

So, for a time he had the perfect situation until we could no longer afford it.

Kindergarten was a challenge but ended okay. 

We were encouraged to remove him from his designated school at the beginning of the year by that school's counselor and transferred him to a Montessori school. I figured he'd thrive with more creativity but his teacher had to create a whole new set of rules for him so that meltdowns and full on tantrums weren't a daily experience.

Again, once we got through Kindergarten, I thought things were going to get easier but after the 2nd week of 1st grade, it was clear that the Montessori atmosphere wasn't a good fit for him. 

He was back to finding ways to runaway from school, master his use of profanity and alienate most of his classmates.

Suspensions happened. 

Principals calling me with my son begging to come home in the background became regular occurrences.

It sucked.

I was truly losing my mind. 

So, for the past several months, I've been holding my breath and waiting for phone calls, leaving work early, scheduling meetings with teachers and psychologists, emailing his father, his teachers and trying to keep my breakdowns fairly secret.

I've texted friends at all hours of the day for advice and stayed up way too late reading every recommended book on parenting a child who is now officially labeled as 'gifted' and 'emotionally disabled'.

I've been almost entirely focused on taking care of and advocating for my son. 

Each day, still showing up for work, walking into rooms and lecturing strangers about how to keep their shit together while they've pressed me for my faults so that they can feel better about themselves.

Random folks giving me unsolicited advice that they copied from someone's Facebook page.

They mean well, I know... but it hasn't stopped my own feelings of wanting to runaway.

I have not been all that confident that I was the right person for the job to be raising Mr. Atticus Ronin Brindamour.

This kid who hugs everyone, who asks questions that I can't answer...

This kid became lost in 18 pages of documentation that said he was a problem.

And it's been unbearably shitty at times.

It has been full of a lot of misguided moments of frustration towards the people I love the most...

My boyfriend, my teacher, my friends and my co-workers who are my family and deal with my everyday ramblings.

It's been a year of having to get up and feel my feet on the ground, each day.

I've been a mess but I've still shown up and I've learned that running away doesn't get you any further away from the parts of life that you don't like.

My son needs me.

Our school system is fucked but our teachers our good.

They are exhausted.

They are underfunded, underpaid and our kids are being dragged through a system that often lacks insight.

It's really nuts. 

Truly. 

Thankfully, the bigger picture has found heroes in the corners who spend their days listening to both Atticus and me.

We are at a new school,again.

Atticus is still awkward and defiant but he is given so much more patience and guidance then he was.

He is doing much better.

My phone isn't something I gaze at with trepidation and wonder 'is that the school's phone number'?

No.

It's been much better... 

We are much better and I am not going anywhere.

I'm staying right here and I still believe I can be the mother he needs but I'm not crossing my fingers, anymore.

I'm taking some deep breaths and staying put.

Said, woman, take it slow. It'll work itself out fine.

I'm going to give myself a medal for patience and let it hang from the rear view mirror of my car.

I drive almost 50 miles a day, 4 days a week to get to my job where I work as a yoga and meditation teacher.

That gives me at least an hour and a half each day to practice patience and a bit of forgiveness.

Traffic isn't as bad as it is in L.A. or other big cities but the constant waves of construction, snowbirds and texters can make for a challenging commute.

There is only one road that gets me to work so it is easy for me to become angry as I make my way to and from, however, I've gotten pretty good at catching myself and redirecting my attention to the road, the mountain views and reminding myself that everyone else is just like me...

Wanting to get somewhere sooner than later.

Just.

Like.

Me.

Navigating traffic with equanimity was a big first step for me as replacing anger with patience has only recently become a strength of mine. Somewhere during these long drives, I have finally realized that I don't have control over how quickly the red light changes or need to know why someone cut me off in traffic. I can just take a breath and keep on my way without dragging all the little things that annoyed me into the rest of my day.

I mean, I still have my moments but they aren't as bad as they used to be or as regular. 

If I'm bored enough, I can still plant seeds of paranoia throughout my brain and then incessantly feed them with attention until they grow like weeds.

But, honestly I'm just getting too old for some of this stuff, I'm tired and don't want to have to deal with the overgrowth of tension that winds up planting itself all over my mental landscape, anymore. I'm trying to notice when I'm even considering about giving an impromptu performance of an adult temper tantrum so that I can talk myself down before embarrassing myself or hurting someone else with careless words. 

It ain't easy.

I was born into a family dynasty of drama queens and over the years I honed my skills.

I've had many great moments worthy of an award or two: I've stormed out of parties and restaurants, accused boyfriends of affairs, thrown dishes, run away, cried myself to sleep over stories that never happened and argued endlessly in my head with people over situations that were totally made up so that I could at least win a debate within the jury of my semi-conscience mind.

As a teacher, I might be wise not to share so much of my madness but it is a new year, after all and I'm hoping somewhere in this rant I will finally come to reveal the improved me, the better me (which is really the same old me but not so full of bravado me) within these paragraphs of self reflection so please try not to be too critical. 

I'm just like you and thankfully, I have the benefit of knowing some very pleasant but straight forward people who are able to see when I'm starting to walk up the stairs to my podium of self righteous self pity and say "are you serious, right now?"  Often, they are greeted with my very confident "Fuck off" but after I lick my wounds, drink some water and eat, I'm usually grateful to know that even though my madness may be solitary, it's only temporary and I can always choose to be a bit more gracious, a bit more patient and a lot more forgiving.

It's taken me a long time to understand that forgiving someone wasn't a weakness.

Forgiveness and patience is courageous and liberating.

It doesn't erase the scars that are left once the pain has subsided but it does allow you to itch and stare at them less. It gives you the opportunity to see the bigger picture and for me it was much needed.

Anger and resentment has been a companion that I have carried with me throughout my life.

Like any addiction, I have allowed it to own me in every way.

It's kept me from living, it has kept me from experiencing joy and laughter. Instead of looking around me, instead of seeing what was good in my life, I've often reached for anger and found ways to be offended even when it wasn't justified.

I've drunk it down over and over, believing that eventually the bottle would go dry but it turns out that anger can be infinite.

You can try to swear it off but eventually it shows up like a shot glass poured by a charming bartender who smiles and says " it's on the house" so you smile back, throw it down and then snap your fingers so you can order another.

For me, it finally came down to asking myself how do I want to continue to live?

Do I always need be right, to be in a hurry, to be angry?

No.

And oh my...is it a hard habit to break. When you've become very good at something it's hard to walk away from it no matter how destructive it can be but I started it by simply taking my time as I drove up a long road. 

Taking my time as I walk from my car to my front door.

Making myself slow the fuck down which is so not how I've down things. 

It's not how I was raised, that's for sure.

I'm going to continue to get pissed off over really dumb stuff from time to time but the reality is that there is real injustice that deserves my attention.

There is much in the world to be angry about but if I spend all of my energy fuming about the stop and go traffic, the person in the left lane going too slow or the ridiculous caller on NPR, then I don't have energy for the things that require real tenacity.

I can't pause and think clearly about the things that matter like standing up for my kid or calling out bigotry and inequality. That sort of bravery requires patience. It requires the ability to stay calm in traffic for hours on end and most certainly wasn't what I expected when i first found myself gritting my teeth and waiting for the light to change.

Man, it's a long drive. 

But, please excuse me, I've got a medal to go craft for myself.

Thanks and I'm old.

It has been almost a year since I tip toed into my 40s.
I took it easy and was able to plan the perfect stroll into full fledged adulthood. 
Ever since, I have been patiently taking the time to pause and breathe so that I can see the path of my destiny clearly and without obstruction as I finally embrace the responsibility of my age and let go of childish yearnings and whims.

Ha. That is a lie.
I am so not that organized or thoughtful.
Not me.
My truth is that I ran into my 40s with lights flashing, bells ringing and an "Everybody...look at me, look me! I'm 40. Did you know?"
And then the day after, I woke up with a hangover and crawled from one room to the other like a Golem suffering from vertigo in search of the most precious glass of water and an aspirin to end my suffering.

Yes, this year of 2015 has been quite something.
I've become more Mama Bear and less Party Girl but the question is...
Have I grown up?
A little bit.
I have more wrinkles. 
Anything below a joint has become more lined and saggy but I've decided to believe the boyfriend who says he likes me just as I am and honestly, who freaking cares?
The world is being maimed by overconsumption and we are killing each other over ideas.
It's insane.
Literally...folks get more riled up and passionate about an Olympic athlete being labeled a hero for coming out as transgender then they do over the possibility of a racist spoiled brat hotelier being considered the next President of the United States?
Seriously?
I'm trying to grow up and take responsibility for my actions and my words.
I'm learning to bite my tongue anytime I see one of my privileged friends post an "All Lives Matter" rant or "The Universe has a plan for me" meme but I don't know if that's a sign of maturity so much as a reaction of apathy and laziness in a world that seems so draining depending upon the feed of the day.
 
Oh, 40!
What have I learned from you?
I've realized that I can't be all things to everyone and putting all my energy into worrying about how I can fulfill the role I think others want from me is exhausting. 

To my mother, my son, my boyfriend, my friends, my co-workers, my family and fellow beings...
Tell me your needs but be direct because my creative mind is still easily confused and prone to insecurity. Shoulder shrugs, emotionally ambiguous emojis and "that's interesting" comments still leave me in a state of "what does it all mean?" and it's just too damn much!

To myself,
Oh, Alysa. Be kinder to everyone but also sit your ass down more.
Be still.
More.
Oh. My. God...and put down the shiny electronic rectangle with all its little alerts, apps and reminders. It doesn't love you, like you or even care to know you.
Siri isn't your girlfriend and she doesn't actually like your jokes so stop it.
Lastly, say "yes" to hanging out and listening to the people you know and ask the people you don't know more questions or at least say "hi" and "how are you?" and wait for a response.

That's all the wisdom I've come up with.

So far...I'm grateful that I'm drinking less and less often.
I quit and then I binged. 
I quit again and for the past month, it's been a beer here and there but it's not a requirement to be social.
I don't find myself liking the taste of beer anymore which is strange because I thought beer was my tongue's fine wine...like I could get paid to be a beer taster because I loved it so much but I guess that's a dream I can let go of.

Now, it's all about me finding gratitude in raising a kind son and dedicating myself to being a really good parent to an awesome but aggravating as all get out child.
He is a brilliant but annoying pain in the ass.
A bit like me.
This year, I have learned that being a good person for myself and others is what success means to me. Waking up and liking myself is much more important then wondering how I can ever advance in a career that isn't about money.

I'm learning not to turn every criticism that my boyfriend may have into an opportunity to slip in the term 'mansplain' and then walk away.
Quite often, he has a point and I can always learn to be better,
So?

My life. 

I'm a grateful for life but I'm also heartbroken by it.

I want to lead the change I want to see in the world.
I want to have a heart to heart with the very people who think I should be silenced and I want to believe that it's possible for us to have peace between us even if our stories don't make sense to one another.
But, I also know that it's so hard even moment to moment to always have peace within myself.

It's Thanksgiving Eve.
I'm alone.
My head hurts, my eyes are tired but I'm grateful for my love, the love of my family and my friends.
I'm happy that I get to wake up tomorrow, put on some hiking gear and go outside and listen to the sounds all around me.
Until next year...I will patiently watch 41 unfold.
I'm totally lying about being patient. I'm probably going to tap at least one finger the whole time and sigh often.

Amen, Hallelujah and bring on the mashed potatoes.

I want some sugar.

I woke up with crusty eyes and a slight kink in my shoulder. 

The left one. 

She's always been more battered than the right.

I sat up and I said "Awakening, I smile. A brand new day is before me. I vow to live each moment mindfully and to look upon all beings with eyes of compassion."

I sighed and questioned my sincerity and began my way into my morning routine.

Tired? Check.

Thirsty? Check.

Brush teeth? Done.

Coffee or tea? Tea.

I walked into my Alysa Room.

I lit a candle.

I moved through my exercises and then I meditated.

It was a noisy sit. The same drama that's been outside my head for weeks...came inside to yell "you aren't a good parent. You are an undesirable girlfriend. You're a terrible teacher and you made boxed crappy cake full of shitty ingredients all the while knowing that you added suffering to the world but masked it with chocolate."

And then, I returned to my breath.

For another 20 minutes, the internal dialogue of yelling disappointments versus a calm 'can I catch your attention, I am quiet?' whispering continued until a chime on my phone brought me back to the 'let's get Atticus ready for school' checklist and I stood up and bid my drama adieu.

So far, I have burnt 3 fingers, ran out of creamer, I can't find my glasses and the dogs are farting.

I could leave it at that.

I could go back to bed but instead, I made breakfast for a hungry little boy.

I won tickets to The Rialto so I get an unexpected date night with my sweetie.

I get to see the eye doctor and order new glasses today so I can manage with some cheap readers for a week or so.

And I realized that my mind stirs a lot of stuff up.

Everyday.

Every moment I have a choice of whether or not I want to stir the pot.

Should I turn the heat up?

Or let it cool?

Should I use the same seasonings of insecurity and jealousy because that what I used last time?

That's what's easy to find?

It's what I'm used to.

I guess, I could.

Or I could try something new or at least different.

So, like I did as I bit into a persimmon for breakfast, I am going to give something else a try.

Something a bit bold but also sweet.

I am going to pretend I ran out of that salty bitterness of fear and doubt and scourge the pantry for some spicy hot chocolate to go with my meal.

I'm going to choose some sweetness today.

I'm gonna let it melt in my mouth and take a breath between sips and bites because I'm in charge of what nourishes me.

Lay...Baby, lay.

I'm going to be a child for a minute.

Or forever.

I am a child.

Emotionally...I'm a big fucking baby.

If someone says something sweet to me...I cling to it like cobwebs on a feather duster and if it's mean?

It sinks into my heart as if it's job had been meant to be to stop the beating and my resistance is offensive.

I'm a fully realized baby and I know it.

Recently, I was told that "everything in my life is a big deal and I need to get over it".

The truth is?

Yes!

Everything is a big freakin deal. 

It is.

I have had the privilege or curse (depending on my moody perspective) to know almost 30 people to have died.

Some of them have been close friends or family members  and some have been acquaintances but regardless...my wide eyed and mushy, gushy bleeding heart has held each and everyone was as important as the other.

If our friendship had gapped for a few years...to me?

Time is irreverent.

If we had only shared moments...it does not matter.

My heart and brain says "I love you and now... I will never know why you paused to smile at me, over and over."

I love like a fierce fire and I mourn like the gravest of the living.

I'm over the top, I guess.

So...as often happens...I am tired and writing because my brain knows that waking up the man who loves me to express how pissed I am...would be rude despite the fact that he said some super shitastic stuff tonight.

I feel broken.

Again.

I am tired and angry and confused and know that I could and should stop before I react with a lease contract that seals the deal of breaking up.

Agh...but what will I do instead?

I will write and post my 'Dear Diary' to all of the 3 folks that might read this.

Life isn't hard. 

Not for me...I have things that interrupt my day but rarely are they terrible and when they are...if I am paying attention? 

I learn something.

Tonight?

I don't want to learn.

I am going to vent.

I am going to go to sleep and fight a really good habit of running away.

I really want to run away from everything. 

I want to say " Fuck you" but I'm old and a mother and people frown upon that AND I care about stupid shit like that.

So?

Good night.