“Time is what prevents everything from happening at once.”
~John Archibald Wheeler
Most of the time when it’s my turn to pick up Max from preschool, I admit, I’m running at least a little bit behind. Often, I leave my desktop scattered, but do all I can to ensure the clouds in my mind are clearing by the third red light. My alone time with Max is well earned and I owe it to both of us to make certain I’m able to draw the most from our minutes.
Last week I finished a batch of work early, too late to start something new but just enough time to decompress without rushing my drive. I can almost always use these few extra minutes to decompress, but rarely do I indulge. I parked the car, crossed the lawn, and found myself standing in front of his classroom a full fifteen minutes before pick-up time, all alone amid a surprisingly sudden spring chill.
When I fell to sleep that night, it was with an extra quarter of an hour well worth remembering forever.
Opportunities to observe my children without them knowing are few and far between. I would surrender all I had and slowly pay it back were I offered the chance to nestle inside their heads for a while or more. I was thrilled for a chance that afternoon to be a fly on the wall. Max was in class, back to the window, his teacher pretending not to notice me on the other side of the long pane of glass. The door was closed but the walls were thin, and among the dozen voices singing in a circle, I could clearly hear the one who carried half my DNA.
It was wonderful to see Max as a student without him knowing I was there. He sang, he danced, he took turns. He said thank you, he smiled, he laughed. With just a few minutes to go before the door would swing open and Max would yell, “DADDY!” as he furiously ran into my arms, I realized with the iron weight of the innevitable that it was likely the last time I would ever have the pleasure of seeing him as an unguarded preschooler.
In the fall, Max will start kindergarten and the first chapter of my children’s lives will have finally faded into yesterday.
The sudden certainty was a dull mallet thudding against the soft skin of my slowly beating heart. This summer will bridge the gap between who he was and who he will be. In the fall he will be spending days as his sister has for the last two years, far from our eyes and constantly surrounded by the sights and sounds of a separate life. This is the natural order and all is as it should be, but I still feel it turning in my gut like the aftermath of a rich holiday meal.
The next day, I drove to pick up Mia from school while Max took an afternoon nap. Our family friend Fay just turned six, so the two of us stopped by her house for a moment to drop off a small gift. We hadn’t been there for a few months, but Mia immediately dropped to the same spot where she’d drawn on the concrete during the last visit, making long arcs of washed out color while I talked to Fay’s dad and grandma, keeping watch from the corner of my eye.
The months have only made her more beautiful. She looked so big there, drawing her name in chalk no different than she did the last time. Her letters a little loopier and her Y a little longer, legs now spilling a little past the edge they merely met before. My thoughts immediately drifted back to Max who seems to have shot up three inches in the last month as the last of the toddler disappeared from his cheeks.
I know I talk about the passing of time an awful lot. It’s one of my most consistent themes, both here and in my most private pages. I can’t help it. My favorite stage of the rose has always been when the blooms are full and the petals are about to drop – the perfume so pungent it permeates the air.
The rose in that moment will never be more striking, it’s scent never richer. The petals drop and all is left to memory.
About Sean Platt
Gorgeous.
This is gorgeous.
Sniff…
Shade and Sweetwater,
K
Gorgeous.
This is gorgeous.
Sniff…
Shade and Sweetwater,
K
Gorgeous.
This is gorgeous.
Sniff…
Shade and Sweetwater,
K
Sean, simply fantastic. Time is a complex and interesting subject and I love how you carefully embed the theme of time into your writing. I’m glad you take full advantage of the wonderful memories you have had. Your kids are lucky to have a father as great as you.
Life is all about memories.
I spent the majority of today reminiscing the memories shared between my girlfriend of 16 months, and myself. This was after we parted ways as she boarded a plane to Switzerland, where she hopes to indulge herself in the life of hospitality. My calling? Journalism at Mizzou. With 4786 miles between us we decided it was best to both go our separates ways, this was difficult for our souls are still connected.
Parting ways with her was of course not easy, and I spent much of the day wishing I could add one more memory to the memory bank. Yet as I began to think about all things we would soon be unable to do, I quickly began to recall the things we did.
While my soul is deeply saddened at inability to now create memories on demand, I realize that we have shared plenty. I already have a plethora of wonderful moments to revisit in my mind. Within seconds I can revisit our first and last kiss. Within seconds I can revisit the countless nights that we lay searching for the Shanghai stars. Within seconds I can revisit all the laughter and the tears.
Stomach butterflies can’t tell time.
Every moment we shared was magical, even the less glorious moments in which we stubbornly looked to push the other to the max.
While I am still letting my emotions unravel and missing her greatly (it’s only been 12 hours) , I am eternally grateful for the many wonderful memories we had the opportunity to share. While it is hard to say goodbye, the hundreds of memories we made, is well worth the price.
Sean, simply fantastic. Time is a complex and interesting subject and I love how you carefully embed the theme of time into your writing. I’m glad you take full advantage of the wonderful memories you have had. Your kids are lucky to have a father as great as you.
Life is all about memories.
I spent the majority of today reminiscing the memories shared between my girlfriend of 16 months, and myself. This was after we parted ways as she boarded a plane to Switzerland, where she hopes to indulge herself in the life of hospitality. My calling? Journalism at Mizzou. With 4786 miles between us we decided it was best to both go our separates ways, this was difficult for our souls are still connected.
Parting ways with her was of course not easy, and I spent much of the day wishing I could add one more memory to the memory bank. Yet as I began to think about all things we would soon be unable to do, I quickly began to recall the things we did.
While my soul is deeply saddened at inability to now create memories on demand, I realize that we have shared plenty. I already have a plethora of wonderful moments to revisit in my mind. Within seconds I can revisit our first and last kiss. Within seconds I can revisit the countless nights that we lay searching for the Shanghai stars. Within seconds I can revisit all the laughter and the tears.
Stomach butterflies can’t tell time.
Every moment we shared was magical, even the less glorious moments in which we stubbornly looked to push the other to the max.
While I am still letting my emotions unravel and missing her greatly (it’s only been 12 hours) , I am eternally grateful for the many wonderful memories we had the opportunity to share. While it is hard to say goodbye, the hundreds of memories we made, is well worth the price.
Sean, simply fantastic. Time is a complex and interesting subject and I love how you carefully embed the theme of time into your writing. I’m glad you take full advantage of the wonderful memories you have had. Your kids are lucky to have a father as great as you.
Life is all about memories.
I spent the majority of today reminiscing the memories shared between my girlfriend of 16 months, and myself. This was after we parted ways as she boarded a plane to Switzerland, where she hopes to indulge herself in the life of hospitality. My calling? Journalism at Mizzou. With 4786 miles between us we decided it was best to both go our separates ways, this was difficult for our souls are still connected.
Parting ways with her was of course not easy, and I spent much of the day wishing I could add one more memory to the memory bank. Yet as I began to think about all things we would soon be unable to do, I quickly began to recall the things we did.
While my soul is deeply saddened at inability to now create memories on demand, I realize that we have shared plenty. I already have a plethora of wonderful moments to revisit in my mind. Within seconds I can revisit our first and last kiss. Within seconds I can revisit the countless nights that we lay searching for the Shanghai stars. Within seconds I can revisit all the laughter and the tears.
Stomach butterflies can’t tell time.
Every moment we shared was magical, even the less glorious moments in which we stubbornly looked to push the other to the max.
While I am still letting my emotions unravel and missing her greatly (it’s only been 12 hours) , I am eternally grateful for the many wonderful memories we had the opportunity to share. While it is hard to say goodbye, the hundreds of memories we made, is well worth the price.
You are the McCartney to my Lennon.
You are the McCartney to my Lennon.
Beautiful.
And it appears our Maxs’ lives are mirroring one another. Mine will be off to ‘big school’ in September, and I shall miss many things, observing him at nursery one of them.
Beautiful.
And it appears our Maxs’ lives are mirroring one another. Mine will be off to ‘big school’ in September, and I shall miss many things, observing him at nursery one of them.
Beautiful, Sean. Poignant and beautiful. I’m glad you let us stand by your side, arms around your shoulder as your writing stretches time and lets us all watch your children blossom, unaware of our presence.
My son, the youngest, and now almost as tall as me, goes to high school for the first time after the summer break. It’s making every moment of his last few weeks at primary school heartbreakingly intense. My daughter, my oldest baby, could be going to university or leaving home for work in four years. Lord help me.
You and Cindy are so right to capture these precious moments now. Thank you for sharing them and reminding us all to do the same.
@Bud, here’s a hug from a stranger. Thank you for sharing this with all of us.
Beautiful, Sean. Poignant and beautiful. I’m glad you let us stand by your side, arms around your shoulder as your writing stretches time and lets us all watch your children blossom, unaware of our presence.
My son, the youngest, and now almost as tall as me, goes to high school for the first time after the summer break. It’s making every moment of his last few weeks at primary school heartbreakingly intense. My daughter, my oldest baby, could be going to university or leaving home for work in four years. Lord help me.
You and Cindy are so right to capture these precious moments now. Thank you for sharing them and reminding us all to do the same.
@Bud, here’s a hug from a stranger. Thank you for sharing this with all of us.
Beautiful, Sean. Poignant and beautiful. I’m glad you let us stand by your side, arms around your shoulder as your writing stretches time and lets us all watch your children blossom, unaware of our presence.
My son, the youngest, and now almost as tall as me, goes to high school for the first time after the summer break. It’s making every moment of his last few weeks at primary school heartbreakingly intense. My daughter, my oldest baby, could be going to university or leaving home for work in four years. Lord help me.
You and Cindy are so right to capture these precious moments now. Thank you for sharing them and reminding us all to do the same.
@Bud, here’s a hug from a stranger. Thank you for sharing this with all of us.
I could see it in my mind, so clearly. A big smile on your face.
I don’t have children but I feel the sense of the inexorable motion of time. Someone might say that this is why we have children, to remind us to stop and treasure the little moments.
Thank you for sharing this, Sean.
I could see it in my mind, so clearly. A big smile on your face.
I don’t have children but I feel the sense of the inexorable motion of time. Someone might say that this is why we have children, to remind us to stop and treasure the little moments.
Thank you for sharing this, Sean.
I could see it in my mind, so clearly. A big smile on your face.
I don’t have children but I feel the sense of the inexorable motion of time. Someone might say that this is why we have children, to remind us to stop and treasure the little moments.
Thank you for sharing this, Sean.
I wanted to thank you for sharing this, as it’s made me really stop and think about how much I see my toddler. I am the family breadwinner following a swap with my husband – I had severe post-natal depression and we decided that the only way for me to get out of it was to work again.
It lingers.
I still have a fear associated with time spent alone with him, as so much of those early experiences are polluted by the depression. So I work and work and work, spending time with him when I can, but probably not as much as I should.
But he won’t be this small forever, and he is at such a beautiful stage. Your thoughts here make me mourn what I have lost already to that awful illness, but also remind me to not let it keep stealing this time away from me.
I wanted to thank you for sharing this, as it’s made me really stop and think about how much I see my toddler. I am the family breadwinner following a swap with my husband – I had severe post-natal depression and we decided that the only way for me to get out of it was to work again.
It lingers.
I still have a fear associated with time spent alone with him, as so much of those early experiences are polluted by the depression. So I work and work and work, spending time with him when I can, but probably not as much as I should.
But he won’t be this small forever, and he is at such a beautiful stage. Your thoughts here make me mourn what I have lost already to that awful illness, but also remind me to not let it keep stealing this time away from me.
I wanted to thank you for sharing this, as it’s made me really stop and think about how much I see my toddler. I am the family breadwinner following a swap with my husband – I had severe post-natal depression and we decided that the only way for me to get out of it was to work again.
It lingers.
I still have a fear associated with time spent alone with him, as so much of those early experiences are polluted by the depression. So I work and work and work, spending time with him when I can, but probably not as much as I should.
But he won’t be this small forever, and he is at such a beautiful stage. Your thoughts here make me mourn what I have lost already to that awful illness, but also remind me to not let it keep stealing this time away from me.
Kyddryn: Thanks, Kyddryn. Sniff indeed. You should’ve been there when I read it out loud.
Bud: Thanks Bud. Giant slap on the back man. Thank YOU for sharing. You are an impossibly mature young man, FAR more than I was at your age. You will go far.
Matthew: You are the Marshall to my McCartney. BTW, I’m finally getting around to writing that M&M post I’ve been wanting to write since starting WD – it just won’t be here.
SingleParentDad: It hurts doesn’t it? I get ouchy just thinking about it. Give your Max a GIANT hug.
Janice: I can’t even imagine another ten years on the roller coaster to put us where you are now. You are quite welcome – Writer Dad is a wonderful place for me as well. I feel fortunate to have a venue for these public displays of private pages.
Hayden: My pleasure. I wouldn’t have guesses it before I had children, but yep, if they don’t remind us of the passing of time – I have NO idea what does.
Emma: Thank YOU for sharing. I cannot understand how you feel, but I can appreciate the courage it takes to post that comment. Have a wonderful day and give your toddler a GIANT hug.
Kyddryn: Thanks, Kyddryn. Sniff indeed. You should’ve been there when I read it out loud.
Bud: Thanks Bud. Giant slap on the back man. Thank YOU for sharing. You are an impossibly mature young man, FAR more than I was at your age. You will go far.
Matthew: You are the Marshall to my McCartney. BTW, I’m finally getting around to writing that M&M post I’ve been wanting to write since starting WD – it just won’t be here.
SingleParentDad: It hurts doesn’t it? I get ouchy just thinking about it. Give your Max a GIANT hug.
Janice: I can’t even imagine another ten years on the roller coaster to put us where you are now. You are quite welcome – Writer Dad is a wonderful place for me as well. I feel fortunate to have a venue for these public displays of private pages.
Hayden: My pleasure. I wouldn’t have guesses it before I had children, but yep, if they don’t remind us of the passing of time – I have NO idea what does.
Emma: Thank YOU for sharing. I cannot understand how you feel, but I can appreciate the courage it takes to post that comment. Have a wonderful day and give your toddler a GIANT hug.
Kyddryn: Thanks, Kyddryn. Sniff indeed. You should’ve been there when I read it out loud.
Bud: Thanks Bud. Giant slap on the back man. Thank YOU for sharing. You are an impossibly mature young man, FAR more than I was at your age. You will go far.
Matthew: You are the Marshall to my McCartney. BTW, I’m finally getting around to writing that M&M post I’ve been wanting to write since starting WD – it just won’t be here.
SingleParentDad: It hurts doesn’t it? I get ouchy just thinking about it. Give your Max a GIANT hug.
Janice: I can’t even imagine another ten years on the roller coaster to put us where you are now. You are quite welcome – Writer Dad is a wonderful place for me as well. I feel fortunate to have a venue for these public displays of private pages.
Hayden: My pleasure. I wouldn’t have guesses it before I had children, but yep, if they don’t remind us of the passing of time – I have NO idea what does.
Emma: Thank YOU for sharing. I cannot understand how you feel, but I can appreciate the courage it takes to post that comment. Have a wonderful day and give your toddler a GIANT hug.
Hubs and I were able to read together this a.m., and allowed us a glorious moment of reminiscing over those similar moments with our own fledglings. Those ‘fly on the wall’ moments of yester-year are still so vivid, some 5 and 7 years later.
Lovely to have ‘scene’ yours.
Hubs and I were able to read together this a.m., and allowed us a glorious moment of reminiscing over those similar moments with our own fledglings. Those ‘fly on the wall’ moments of yester-year are still so vivid, some 5 and 7 years later.
Lovely to have ‘scene’ yours.
Hubs and I were able to read together this a.m., and allowed us a glorious moment of reminiscing over those similar moments with our own fledglings. Those ‘fly on the wall’ moments of yester-year are still so vivid, some 5 and 7 years later.
Lovely to have ‘scene’ yours.
I really enjoyed this post! One of my main reasons for starting to blog was to capture some of my memories with my son and family. I don’t have a very good memory, so if I don’t write things down, I’m likely to forget them.
You write beautifully, by the way. Thanks so much for stopping by my blog and leaving a comment!
I really enjoyed this post! One of my main reasons for starting to blog was to capture some of my memories with my son and family. I don’t have a very good memory, so if I don’t write things down, I’m likely to forget them.
You write beautifully, by the way. Thanks so much for stopping by my blog and leaving a comment!
I really enjoyed this post! One of my main reasons for starting to blog was to capture some of my memories with my son and family. I don’t have a very good memory, so if I don’t write things down, I’m likely to forget them.
You write beautifully, by the way. Thanks so much for stopping by my blog and leaving a comment!
Me, too. There are days when I rejoice in the milestones and days when I mourn the passage of time, and there are days when I do both simultaneously.
Beautiful post.
Me, too. There are days when I rejoice in the milestones and days when I mourn the passage of time, and there are days when I do both simultaneously.
Beautiful post.
Me, too. There are days when I rejoice in the milestones and days when I mourn the passage of time, and there are days when I do both simultaneously.
Beautiful post.
Oh, this post really hits home! I just attended my first-born’s 5th grade celebration, and am struggling to grasp that she’s really leaving elementary school. Indeed, the petals drop. So bittersweet.
I also can really relate to the joy of having a “fly on a wall” perspective of my kids. We live on the same street as their school, about three blocks down, so I pass it all the time—on foot, bike, or in the car on my way to run errands. Each morning I make a point of noticing exactly what my girls are wearing, so that I can easily spot them on the busy play yard if I happen to pass by. When they happen to be outside, it’s like a gift in the middle of my day.
Oh, this post really hits home! I just attended my first-born’s 5th grade celebration, and am struggling to grasp that she’s really leaving elementary school. Indeed, the petals drop. So bittersweet.
I also can really relate to the joy of having a “fly on a wall” perspective of my kids. We live on the same street as their school, about three blocks down, so I pass it all the time—on foot, bike, or in the car on my way to run errands. Each morning I make a point of noticing exactly what my girls are wearing, so that I can easily spot them on the busy play yard if I happen to pass by. When they happen to be outside, it’s like a gift in the middle of my day.
Oh, this post really hits home! I just attended my first-born’s 5th grade celebration, and am struggling to grasp that she’s really leaving elementary school. Indeed, the petals drop. So bittersweet.
I also can really relate to the joy of having a “fly on a wall” perspective of my kids. We live on the same street as their school, about three blocks down, so I pass it all the time—on foot, bike, or in the car on my way to run errands. Each morning I make a point of noticing exactly what my girls are wearing, so that I can easily spot them on the busy play yard if I happen to pass by. When they happen to be outside, it’s like a gift in the middle of my day.
Sean,
Since my six year old girl IS my life, I can completely relate. The time does seem to be going by too quickly – Kindergarten? – Gone. First grade right around the corner, and every nuance, every sentence she speaks or trick she plays on her dad, tugs at this old guy’s heart strings.
Poignant post, Sean. Kudos
George
Sean,
Since my six year old girl IS my life, I can completely relate. The time does seem to be going by too quickly – Kindergarten? – Gone. First grade right around the corner, and every nuance, every sentence she speaks or trick she plays on her dad, tugs at this old guy’s heart strings.
Poignant post, Sean. Kudos
George
Sean,
Since my six year old girl IS my life, I can completely relate. The time does seem to be going by too quickly – Kindergarten? – Gone. First grade right around the corner, and every nuance, every sentence she speaks or trick she plays on her dad, tugs at this old guy’s heart strings.
Poignant post, Sean. Kudos
George
Beautiful Sean, you made me smile.
I’ve been thinking about the passage of time a lot recently. Not to start spewing clichés but it all really just goes so fast. Especially with kids. Time is slow for them, but to an adult it’s amazing how suddenly a six year old becomes an eight year old.
Beautiful Sean, you made me smile.
I’ve been thinking about the passage of time a lot recently. Not to start spewing clichés but it all really just goes so fast. Especially with kids. Time is slow for them, but to an adult it’s amazing how suddenly a six year old becomes an eight year old.
As a child, I used to be so confused when my parents would talk about how fast time went by. How fast we were growing up. From my perspective, it was taking FOREVER to get big.
Now that I’m a parent, I understand all too well how quickly time flies by. And it seems to get faster every year!
As a child, I used to be so confused when my parents would talk about how fast time went by. How fast we were growing up. From my perspective, it was taking FOREVER to get big.
Now that I’m a parent, I understand all too well how quickly time flies by. And it seems to get faster every year!
Trina: You read WD together with your husband? That’s awesome, Trina and means a lot to me. I would LOVE it if the old WD was a couples blog.
Greta: It’s like taking pictures with our keyboard, right? It’s a pleasure, Greta. It’s good to know you.
Tricia: Thank you. I do both in tandem nearly every day.
Kristin: Lucky! My preschool’s a thirty minute drive. (UGH) It is bittersweet indeed. I love that they’re able to be away from me and practice all the things they learn at home, but it’s hard when I know it’s only a matter of time before the majority of their minutes are far from my reach.
George: EXACTLY. Cindy and I both are excited for and don’t ever want to see the days when we have the house to ourselves. Time moves both in slow motion and at a blur. Sometimes it’s hard to find your equilibrium.
David: It’s a tired cliche because it’s had to work so hard. It’s true – an instant for us feels like a lifetime for them. December rolls like a boulder downhill while we all scurry to get everything done, but for them… it DRAAAAAAGS on as they count the the long days until Christmas.
GreenJello: Isn’t it amazing how we understand our parents more and more the older we get? Even the crackiest things my parents did have assembled themselves into the loosest sort of sense.
Trina: You read WD together with your husband? That’s awesome, Trina and means a lot to me. I would LOVE it if the old WD was a couples blog.
Greta: It’s like taking pictures with our keyboard, right? It’s a pleasure, Greta. It’s good to know you.
Tricia: Thank you. I do both in tandem nearly every day.
Kristin: Lucky! My preschool’s a thirty minute drive. (UGH) It is bittersweet indeed. I love that they’re able to be away from me and practice all the things they learn at home, but it’s hard when I know it’s only a matter of time before the majority of their minutes are far from my reach.
George: EXACTLY. Cindy and I both are excited for and don’t ever want to see the days when we have the house to ourselves. Time moves both in slow motion and at a blur. Sometimes it’s hard to find your equilibrium.
David: It’s a tired cliche because it’s had to work so hard. It’s true – an instant for us feels like a lifetime for them. December rolls like a boulder downhill while we all scurry to get everything done, but for them… it DRAAAAAAGS on as they count the the long days until Christmas.
GreenJello: Isn’t it amazing how we understand our parents more and more the older we get? Even the crackiest things my parents did have assembled themselves into the loosest sort of sense.
Trina: You read WD together with your husband? That’s awesome, Trina and means a lot to me. I would LOVE it if the old WD was a couples blog.
Greta: It’s like taking pictures with our keyboard, right? It’s a pleasure, Greta. It’s good to know you.
Tricia: Thank you. I do both in tandem nearly every day.
Kristin: Lucky! My preschool’s a thirty minute drive. (UGH) It is bittersweet indeed. I love that they’re able to be away from me and practice all the things they learn at home, but it’s hard when I know it’s only a matter of time before the majority of their minutes are far from my reach.
George: EXACTLY. Cindy and I both are excited for and don’t ever want to see the days when we have the house to ourselves. Time moves both in slow motion and at a blur. Sometimes it’s hard to find your equilibrium.
David: It’s a tired cliche because it’s had to work so hard. It’s true – an instant for us feels like a lifetime for them. December rolls like a boulder downhill while we all scurry to get everything done, but for them… it DRAAAAAAGS on as they count the the long days until Christmas.
GreenJello: Isn’t it amazing how we understand our parents more and more the older we get? Even the crackiest things my parents did have assembled themselves into the loosest sort of sense.
I like how you can paint a scene with the right words.
It sounds like Max is well behaved and does you proud. My parents weren’t so lucky when they peeked in on me. Class clown was a tough job, but somebody had to do it.
I like how you can paint a scene with the right words.
It sounds like Max is well behaved and does you proud. My parents weren’t so lucky when they peeked in on me. Class clown was a tough job, but somebody had to do it.
I like how you can paint a scene with the right words.
It sounds like Max is well behaved and does you proud. My parents weren’t so lucky when they peeked in on me. Class clown was a tough job, but somebody had to do it.
I’ll be the first one to admit that I haven’t been to Writer Dad in a while. I’m not going to fill this space with hopeless excuses rather just going to tell you this: this post will easily make me check this blog every day.
The love you have for your children sparkles among other bloggers. You are the output of a real masterpiece. Thank you for sharing.
I’ll be the first one to admit that I haven’t been to Writer Dad in a while. I’m not going to fill this space with hopeless excuses rather just going to tell you this: this post will easily make me check this blog every day.
The love you have for your children sparkles among other bloggers. You are the output of a real masterpiece. Thank you for sharing.
I’ll be the first one to admit that I haven’t been to Writer Dad in a while. I’m not going to fill this space with hopeless excuses rather just going to tell you this: this post will easily make me check this blog every day.
The love you have for your children sparkles among other bloggers. You are the output of a real masterpiece. Thank you for sharing.