auntbijou: (Kirk duh what??)
What is it about the number four??

Ten years ago, when the Impertinent Daughter was four, she waited until I was busy washing dishes and grabbed the pair of scissors we'd been using for some project or other, and... cut her hair. She chose a chunk on the left side of her face and cut her long, beautiful, waist length hair to her chin. Right there in front. No way of hiding it.

My wild fey little fairy had a large chunk of hair missing.

I don't know who cried harder, me or the Husbandly One. Because... it was a big enough chunk that it couldn't be hidden, or "fixed." She had to have a haircut, and oh, she didn't like it, not one bit, because she enjoyed having her hair braided, and being able to do all kinds of fun things with her hair. We took her to a salon, and she had a cute little chin length pageboy cut that made her look absolutely adorable... but we missed our wild fairy, oh, so much!

Okay, so... cut to last night. The Impossible Son is over his bout with strep and went back to school yesterday, but now I'm fighting it off, and by the time I picked the kids up from school, I was shivering and had a very nasty headache and just wanted to lie down. So I did. Miss Impertinence came in to tell me she was bored, and I remember feeling a little anxious about this because truthfully? A bored Impertinence is NEVER a good thing.

I told her to find something to read, because seriously, we have a house crammed with books that she's barely cracked one fourth of, and she wandered out, shouting something vague over her shoulder, and I sort of dozed off. She came in my room sometime later, but since she didn't say anything to me, I didn't bother opening my eyes. Then THO came home, and I heard some loud talking, and a rather... dumbfounded silence, and then the ominous words, "Does your mother know about this?"

Okay, when my husband, when talking to the kids about me, addresses me as your mother... it's never a good thing.

So, she comes ditty-bopping in and says, "Look, Mum, I cut my own hair!" and turns around so I can see the back of it.

I can quite truthfully say that I completely and intimately understand the term, "shock and awe," now.

Before I lost my battle with the Wall of Fatigue, the back of her short haircut had come down just below the base of her neck. When she turned around to show me her handiwork, it was mostly right at or just above the bottom of her hairline. Where it wasn't skewing madly off at the diagonal. Because she had used a small hand mirror to see the back of her head when she cut it.

Y'all should be proud of me. I'm pretty sure I managed to keep "aghast" out of my expression, though I'm sure the "polite interest" I was aiming for probably looked more like "crazed serial killer." Or "my eyes are about to spontaneously pop out of my head while my eyebrows ascend into my hairline."

"Do you like it?" she asked with that big grin that really means, "please don't kill me or make fun of me."

"Oh, it's... um... um..." I floundered, then finally gave up and said, "Okay, that's gonna have to be fixed." Because there was just no way I was going to be able to adequately describe just how awful it looked.

And when she finally understood what I was saying, she said, "Well, what kind of cut do you think I'll have to get to fix it?"

I said, "Um... okay, think... Emma Watson..."

And I could see panic in her eyes because... she gets mistaken for a boy now with the feminine haircut she had before she'd mangled it, and I knew she was thinking it would only get worse if her hair was that short.

THO drove her into San Marcos after ordering me back to bed (because I'm trying not to come down with strep) to get her hair fixed because... there are no salons open after 5 in our small town. No, seriously, a lot of the businesses here roll up the sidewalks and lock the doors at 5 p.m.

They managed to salvage what she did to her hair and make it cute and girly without going the Emma Watson route. And she's actually taken my advice and today wore a shirt that leaves no doubt in anyone's mind that she is, indeed, a girl. However, I told her that should she continue this trend and decide to cut her own hair when she's 24, she's on her own as I will be officially not responsible for bad haircuts, dubious fashion choices, or shoe fails. They will all be on her ticket!

Now if I could just convince the Impossible Son to get his hair cut...
auntbijou: (Default)
There are many imponderables in my life.

For instance, I had an armful of clean jeans, and walked into my son's bedroom to find him wrapping his doorknob with what I thought at first was masking tape, but turned out to be cloth bandaging tape.

"Um... why are you doing that?" I asked as he froze and stared up at me.

"I dunno," he said, and abruptly let go of the tape and went into the kitchen. He wasn't fleeing; he was walking with purpose. So I put his jeans away, and waited, and he came back with scissors, and carefully trimmed the long end off.

Okaaaaaaay...

And then there's this... our cats hate baths, right? But, whenever we take a shower, one or more of the cats hop in with us. Muta, especially, will sit between my feet and bat at the water drops with one paw, getting wet in the meantime. And when the Impossible Son takes a bath, Yuki and Calcifer sit on the edge, occassionaly dipping a paw in to try to catch his toys, while Muta lays on the floor next to the tub, not even twitching an ear when Mr. Manzie pours a cup of water over him. In fact, sometimes, he'll roll over onto his back so the boy can get that, too.

BUT THEY HATE TO TAKE BATHS!!!

I don't get it. I just don't get it!

When we were walking to the National Gallery last week, I watched a family ride by on bicycles, and suddenly turned to the Husbandly One and said, "You know, something just occurred to me."

"Oh, dear," he said. Yes, the man knows me all too well.

"On Gilligan's Island, you know how they'd make Gilligan ride this bicycle to charge up the radio batteries, or the lights for special occasions, etc?"

"Ye-e-s??" said THO carefully, looking somewhat worried.

"Where the heck did they get the bicycle? I mean, it was a small boat, only a 3 hour tour... where did they get the bike? Why would anyone even take a bike on a 3 hour tour... by boat???"

"Honey?" THO said, touching my arm with concern. "Do you need to eat? Getting a bit hypoglycemic?"

"And I still want to know where the hell Princess Leia got that dress she wore in the Ewok village in Return of the Jedi. I mean, she only had this small pack... where did it fit?? Really? When she was packing, did she see it and think, you know, this would be absolutely perfect to wear if I found myself in a village of knee-high teddy bear people dressed in suede."

"That's it, we're finding something for you to eat!"

And this concludes your tour into the Mind of Auntie. Please keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle, and keep your seatbelts on until the ride comes to a full stop. Thank you for choosing our tour, have a nice day, and come again!!
auntbijou: (Default)
Okay, so I have to take Miss Priss to the doctor, because she's also dealing with strep again. And I called the Husbandly One to let him know what time and all that, and he says, haltingly, "Be sure to let the doctor know that she, er... you know... um, started her... her... you know... um..."

"Her... period?" I said helpfully.

Man, you could feel the flinch through the phone!!!

"Yes!" he said, and moaned. Yes, friends, he actually moaned over the phone! "I just can't say it!" he almost wailed.

"Why? You can say it when it's me," I said playfully.

"That's different!!" he said stubbornly. "It's you! Not my baby!!"

*falling apart laughing*

I'm gettin' waaaay too much enjoyment out of this, aren't I?
auntbijou: (Default)
Did y'all just hear a wild, horror filled scream that seemed to echo around the planet a few times?

No, no, don't worry... it was just the Husbandly One when I told him that after a few months, the Impertinent Daughter's cycle will sync with mine, and we'll be starting around the same time each month.

I have no idea what that was all about... do you?

*cackling wickedly*

Hee!

Friday, September 21st, 2007 10:39 pm
auntbijou: (Default)
The Husbandly One loves me, he truly, truly loves me!  And how do I know this?  Because of what he brought me home!

Do you wanna know?  Do you wanna know? Do you wanna know??

Hee!!

He knows me SO well!!  He brought home "The Laws of the Game 2007/2008," which is the rule book authorized by the International Football 
Association Board and FIFA.  Heh.  That's soccer to us Yanks.  

He LOVES me!!  He really, really LOVES ME!!!

*laughs and whirls in a circle happily*
auntbijou: (Default)

 

So, more more Pocky meme. We just did the Husbandly One, and OH, doesn't it just FIT!!!


 

You Are Reverse Pocky

Your attitude: rebellious and clever
Non-conformist, but curiously a trendsetter
With you, up is down... and it's a wild ride!
auntbijou: (Default)

The Husbandly One, aka the Pied Piper, is currently running around our backyard, chasing the kids with the water hose.  He's still dressed in his work clothes, though I am glad to see he has taken off his work shoes.  This is not unusual for him.  I can remember times when the Impertinent Daughter was small, and was sitting in her little pool when he'd get home from work.  She'd shout, "Papa, come swim with me," and he'd shout enthusiastically, "OKAY!!" and hop right in, shoes and all.

Yes, I have pictures.

Yes, I might post them later, if I can do it without him spotting me.

Oh oh, I see the Impossible Son has commandeered the hose, and is now chasing the Husbandly One around.  

Sometimes, I think instead of two kids, I have three.  Two small ones, and one really big goofy one.  And yes, kids still knock on our door and say, "Can Mr. J. come out to play?"

At this point, it's kinda hard to tell who is having more fun, THO, or the kids.  Of course, this is one of the reasons why I married him.  When I took him to the Blonde Sister's house to meet her family, my then four year old niece looked at him, then took his hand and said, "You wanna come play Barbies with me?"

He blinked, then said, "SURE!" and she led him off to her room.  My sister and I looked at each other and my sister said, "Um, is that okay?"

I said, "Let's give them a few minutes."  So, ten minutes later, we tiptoed to the bedroom and peeked in through the open door.  There they were, sitting on the floor, having that stilted falsetto conversation Barbies ALWAYS seem to have with each other.  "Well, Barbie, do you like my dress?  Isn't it pretty?  I really like my dress because it's so frilly and foofie!  It goes with my frilly, foofie hair, don't you think?"

My niece was just a mass of giggles.  She couldn't stop, and my sister looked at me and said, "Oh, you have to have to marry this guy."

"Yes, because Barbie skills are so important in a husband," I said, laughing.

Well, I did marry him, after all, and not for his Barbie skills.  And not for his dancing skills, because honey, I have to tell you, there is no worse disaster than the Husbandly One and I on the dance floor.  I can dance with anyone, but my husband.  Heaven knows why.  Well, I'll amend that.  We can do the oldest dance of all pretty well together, and that might be one of the reasons I married him.  That, and he's a pretty darned good cook.  Oh, and let's not forget his skills at buying chocolate to chuck in the house when I'm on a tear!

All in all, not a bad start to the summer.

Hugging my F-List

Monday, May 21st, 2007 05:30 pm
auntbijou: (Default)
The Husbandly One and I want to thank you all for your kind words and sympathy.  Pop was a character, and he will be sorely missed.  His death wasn't unexpected, but you know, even if you are expecting it, it still comes as a surprise and a shock when it actually happens.  I know the Husbandly One wasn't quite ready to lose his father, but he's also glad to know he's no longer suffering.  That Pop was ready to go, and he went quietly and peacefully.

His mother has been surrounded by family, and is finally getting some rest.  These last few months have been hard on her, as she has been his primary care-giver, and that is so stressful, and hard, no matter how much help you have.  Mostly, what we can do now is listen, and just be there for her.  

As for the Husbandly One, he is sad, and stressed, but he's handling it well.  When my turn comes, and yes, I can see it coming, if I handle it even half as well as THO is, I'll be a pretty together person.

I loved Pop, and I'll miss him something terrible.  He was cantakerous, stubborn, irascable, eccentric, and as full of mischief as a wilderness of monkeys.  He loved to hunt, and to fish, and was one of those guys who used every single bit of what he took.  I'd never had venison spaghetti until I met the Husbandly One.  It was an odd experience, and of course, they didn't tell me until afterwards.  I thought it was just an unusual bunch of spices they were using, but it didn't really taste all that different.

He was loud, had a tendency to shout and be sometimes belligerent, but it was affectionate and teasing most of the time.  Every time we visited, he'd start complaining the second I walked in the door if I didn't hug him right away.  This was an unusual experience for me, because Pop was shorter than me, and he would peer up at me and say, "Still married to him, eh? Must be worth sticking to, I guess."

"Yeah, well, you raised him, Pop, you oughta know," I'd say, trying not to laugh.

"That's why I can't believe you married him!" he'd shout, and start laughing.

He liked to yell at the politicians and the newscasters on the television, and would shout to Ma to tell her what was going on, even though the TV was turned up full blast so that even the neighbors five miles down the road could hear it, so there was no possible way she could have missed it.  "Hey, Ma!" he'd bellow, "them crazy politicians in Ar-kan-saw are at it again!"

And she'd pretend she'd missed hearing it so he could bellow it all to her from where he was sitting.  

I think a story I told quite some time ago rather sums up Ma and Pop's relationship nicely.  In fact, it spawned a saying that we still use, and it's just so ... appropriate.  

From my journal posted June 8, 2006...

My mother-in-law woke her husband up one night, shaking him frantically, and he jumped awake, thinking she had had a nightmare, or she'd heard something outside. "What? What is it?" he asked, trying to kick-start his brain into alertness.

"Al!" she said intently.

"What?"

"Al!" she said, gripping his shoulders as she stared deeply into his eyes, her expression nearly frantic.

"What?"

"Al!" she said, trembling as she bit her lip, trying to make him understand.

"What??" he nearly shrieked.

She blinked, and stared at him, then moved closer until they were practically nose to nose, and then she said, "It will all... come up... in the toaster." Then she turned around, pulled the covers up and went straight back to sleep.

"What... the hell??" he said weakly, staring at her, and couldn't get back to sleep. Every time Al tells that story, I laugh so hard no one lets me have a drink any more, because it will surely end up splattered everywhere.


And he always told that story with great relish.  So, here's to you, Pop, and remember... it will all come up in the toaster!

The passing...

Saturday, May 19th, 2007 08:06 am
auntbijou: (Default)
Pop passed into the Summerland in the wee hours of the morning.  Blessed be.

Love and loss

Friday, May 18th, 2007 01:28 pm
auntbijou: (Default)

Okay, so I guess I'd better explain about yesterday.

As you might remember, the Husbandly One's father is in the end stages of lung cancer, and he opted not to be treated for it.  After all, he's in his nineties, and it's his choice.  A couple of weeks ago, home hospice care was scheduled for him, three days a week, because Ma is just exhausted with caring for him.  And he needed more care than she could give him.

Well, Uncle Scientist called and informed the Husbandly One that the hospice care had been stepped up to 24 hours a day, and that Pop wasn't expected to live for much longer.  He hasn't eaten in over a week, and he's barely able to drink...

I managed to convince the Husbandly One to take time off from work to drive to San Antonio to see his father one more time, because when he said his mother told him that the blood was leaving his extremeties, I knew it wouldn't be long.  In fact, I'm considering calling Uncle Scientist and telling him to step up the schedule and not wait for Saturday to go see Pop. Go now.

This is hard.  Even though we've been expecting it, it's still hard.  And I hate it that I'm not going to be able to see him again, which is profoundly selfish of me, I know.  But it makes me angry.  I've mostly come to terms with the fact that I have asthma, and that sometimes, there are things I just can't do.  But every once in a while, like now, I find myself resenting it like hell.  I COULD go see him, but at the cost of ending up in the emergency room, because, while I'm so much better now, any one of my Big Three Triggers, cigarette smoke, strong perfume, or mold, can drop me in my tracks.

The Husbandly One said, "Honey, it's much better this way.  Really.  He doesn't look anything like you remember him."

I say nuts to that, but... it can't be helped.  What will be will be.

When he got home, I drew him out onto the back porch, and we curled up on the old couch together, watching the cardinals chase each other around the yard while he told me what had happened, and how Pop looked, and I let him hurt, and listened, and just wrapped my arms around him and listened some more. 

The next few days are going to be sort of rough.  So... be patient with me.

Checking in

Saturday, April 21st, 2007 08:28 am
auntbijou: (Default)
Hi Y'all,

Sorry I haven't posted for a couple of days, but as you can imagine, I've been rather busy with the Husbandly One.  He's not supposed to do things like run, lift the kids, haul groceries, etc, so I'VE been doing it.  Not that I mind.  In fact, where groceries are concerned, usually I bring them in, and he puts them away.  Why?  Because he's taller than me and has longer arms, and I got tired of having to haul the stepstool around the kitchen.  And I'm faster at bringing the stuff in than he is.  He tries to be organized and bring the cold stuff in first, so he looks for it.  Me, I just grab things and start walking.  And I grab as many bags as I can carry, which is a surprising amount.  Sturdy little thing, I am!

Anyhow, he's doing much better, and even looking better.  Just a few minutes ago, he popped his head in here and said with a sense of wonder, "I can smell the coffee!!"

His sense of smell has been sadly lacking since October.  Possibly longer.  And yesterday, he said, "You know, I didn't realize how much that thing was affecting me, but you know, now that it's gone, I can feel it.  I mean, my head feels lighter.  And my vision was getting distorted.  I was seriously thinking maybe I need glasses, because I was getting headaches, but now... I see just fine.  And the semi-permanent headache is gone, too.  I mean, I had gotten so used to it, I didn't even really notice it any more, but now... I feel so different!"

I bet he does!

We wonder, too, if the constant neck pain he had was connected to that giant polyp, because that's gone, too.  It's like getting a whole new husband!  His voice is different, too.  More resonant.  I had forgotten he sounded like that.  He just looks so much happier, and I'm glad it went well!

We have soccer this morning (that's football to you Brits, and yes, I know you know that, but I had to say it), and since the Husbandly One is banned from strenuous activity (yes, Auntie is being celibate, and though she is getting twitchy, perhaps she'll channel it into some really raunchy fics) this means he will have to coach from the sidelines.  In the Under 6 league, coaches are allowed on the field with their team, though they cannot play.  They're only there to direct the team, to make sure they run in the right direction, remember to kick the ball, etc.  Remember, we're talking about 4, 5, and 6 year olds.  If they run in the right direction, and remember to ignore the butterflies, and to kick the ball and not each other, it's a big deal!  Since the Impertinent Daughter is his "assistant coach," it has been decided SHE will be the one running on the field with the kids.  And not me.  *relieved*  My knee is not up to it, since my fall last week.  This will be a challenge, as she has a game at noon, so she will literally be running from the Impossible Son's game, to her own game.  Well, at least she'll be warmed up!

Here's hoping the Impossible Daughter's team can pull themselves out of their slump!  Yay, Spartans!!  WOOOOOO-HOOOOOO!!!!

YAY!!

Wednesday, April 18th, 2007 04:55 pm
auntbijou: (Default)
He survived!  YAY!!!

The Husbandly One came through his surgery just fine.  The offending polyps were removed, and the surgeon was very encouraging.  He's currently passed out on the bed looking dead sexy with gauze stuffed up his nose, and tape across his face.  *laughs*

Y'all will be happy to know that I sat in the waiting room, crocheting like my life depended on it, and struggling not to fall asleep after tossing and turning all night, listening to the Husbandly One snore like a grizzly bear with adenoids.  I'm so glad it went well.  He's breathing so much easier now, and that's even with the gauze and packing in his nose.  

I just thought y'all would like to know, so...there you go.  So far, so good.  He's okay.

*doing cartwheels and terrifying the cats*

Love, 

Auntie
auntbijou: (Default)
Okay, so I survived the kindergarten field trip to the McKenna Children's Museum in New Braunfels.  Whew!  What a trip!  And the kids were completely and totally occupied during the entire trip!  YAY!!  And I had no trouble keeping up with my little trio of the Impossible Son, a little girl named Roxanna, and a little boy named Gaspar.  Boy, when I called my trio, only THREE kids looked up.  Nobody else had their names!  It was a DREAM!!!  

In the meantime, the Husbandly One, who has been fighting a recurrent sinus infection since October, finally went in to see an ear, nose, and throat specialist today.  He has lost his sense of smell, and his left sinus has been completely blocked.  We grew suspicious recently when a tooth on that side that had been bothering him for some time got worse, and he went to have it worked on last week.  Well, he ended up having a root canal, and not long after, the infection seemed to release.  But... he's still completely blocked on that side.  So, he went to an ENT, and while we were at the museum, my cell phone rang.  (no, I didn't jump this time, I have since found a ring tone that doesn't scare me to death, and I recognize as my phone).  "Where are you?" he asked cheerfully.

"Still at the museum.  Where are you?"

"Oh, I'm at home.  I have an appointment for a CT scan in two hours, so I thought I'd just come home and relax.  Just thought I'd let you know."

"Oh.  Okay.  So... how did it go?"

He kinda hemmed and hawed, then said, "I'll tell you when you get home, and after the CT scan.  Right now, they don't want to say much."

"Okay."  Then I had to chase after three kids (not mine) who were about to bowl over a little girl in a wheelchair, so I told him bye, be careful, I love you, yada, yada, yada, all the wifely stuff you say to your guy when you're worried but you can't say it.

So, after we were safely home, and I was rousting the Impertinent Daughter to get ready for soccer practice, the Husbandly One comes home with that tight, manic smile guys get on their faces when they hope you don't keel-haul them when they give you the bad news, but they're still hoping to charm you out of it, so they smile, not realizing they're giving it all away because that smile just doesn't hide ANYTHING.

"I'm having surgery at 10 am tomorrow morning."

*jaw falls open, eyes pop out, brain slips out ear and flails around on the floor*

Yep, he's got a polyp that has filled the entire sinus, and it's gotta go.  To say that I am stunned, gobsmacked, flabbergasted, bamboozled, whatever, would be a major understatement.  

So, there's this part of me that's running and screaming in little circles in my brain, panicking like crazy, because my husband is going to have SURGERY!!!  AAAAAACKK!!

But the calm, sensible part of me is saying, "well, this is a good thing, because this has been ongoing for some time, and he'll feel so much better afterwards, and it'll be really nice to once again be able to say 'honey, smell this and tell me if I put in enough garlic' and have him nod or shake his head, instead of reminding me he can't smell anything."

Can I get off this roller coaster, please?

Oh, and as far as my dad goes, the docs are doing a PET scan next week to make sure his cancer hasn't spread elsewhere, the sneaky little bugger.  They think it may be part of the original cancer that didn't get eliminated the first time, but hasn't had a chance to completely grow.  Do you think I'm tearing my hair out yet?  Yes, yes, I am!  

I do want to thank all of you who have been so supportive.  It really helps.  Right now, I will take every single iota I can get!  Love you all!  *hugs her f-list and snuggles them*

And [personal profile] elaboration?  QUIT SCARING ME LIKE THAT!!!
auntbijou: (Default)
My husband is on his way to San Antonio to see his dying father.  Pop is dying, there are no two ways around it.  He has lung cancer, which I am sure has spread beyond his lungs by now, and he has consistently refused treatment.  Well, he's over ninety years old, and he's stubborn to the bone, so it's his right.  Still...

I wanted the Husbandly One to at least take the kids with him.  I can't go.  Ma and Pop are such heavy, heavy smokers that I can't even walk into their apartment without my lungs seizing up, which kills me because I love them both very dearly.  However, it's such a downer when your guest has to suddenly leave for a breathing treatment at the local emergency room, don't you think?

However, he couldn't take the kids.  Yes, Pop is in that bad of shape. Apparently, it won't be long.  I am fully prepared for either a very angry, snarly Husbandly One to walk through the door, or a very silent, quiet, tight-lipped Husbandly One.  Probably the latter.  He and his father are close, though they snarl, snap, and nip at each other constantly.  There's a lot of affection in those snarls and nips.  I know the reason he's put off seeing his father for such a long time is because he couldn't bear to see him in pain.  Pop's not being treated for pain, and it understandably makes him very, very cranky.  Plus, he was moved from a home out in the woods where he constantly rambled, exploring, working, fishing, and just doing whatever he felt like, to a cramped little two-bedroom apartment without so much as a park close by for a nice break of scenery, and nothing to look at out his front door except the metal wall of an industrial building.  I think he's entitled to his crankiness.  Shoot, I'D be cranky, and I'm pretty healthy!

I am hoping that during this visit, they at least talk, instead of the surly silence of our last visit.  Part of the surliness, Pop said, was because I was forced to sit outside.  He didn't like that, because it was cold outside, and he knows I get cold easily.  However, it was the best solution.  I have this thing about breathing.  I like to do it, often, and on a somewhat regular basis.  And yes, I used my inhaler, but...*sigh*  It was not a good visit.

This way, Pop gets the Husbandly One all to himself and they can sit and yak about the biggest fish they ever caught that one time out on the lake, or how the Husbandly One blamed all the trouble he got into as a kid on that darned "kid across the street" who, of course, didn't exist except in THO's imagination.  They might talk about Pop's ever present herd of cats when they were still living up in Douglasville, or about how the Husbandly One was always getting in deep kimchee with his older brother, Uncle Scientist.  Or how Pop finally said he wanted to meet Uncle Scientist's partner, Uncle Artist.  Boy, I sure woulda liked to have been there to see that!!  Pop's shorter than me, by quite a lot, and Uncle Artist has to be nearly seven feet tall.  I can just see Pop looking up, and up, and up, and UP!!!!

I'm waiting for the inevitable phone call.  The Husbandly One has my cell phone, and I know he's going to have to pull over on the way home, parking on the side of the road, and say something like, "he looks awful, Auntie," or, "I'm going to lose him soon, there's just not enough time!"

How can you hold someone over the phone?  I'll listen, and then I'll say, "Just come home, babes.  Just come home.  I'll be here.  I'll be waiting."

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