Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

Logan talks to himself.

Freaky, isn't it?

I bet he's hearing every single word he's saying to himself.

Just smile and nod

On no less than four occasions on Saturday I said something to Logan and he didn't hear me. He looked like he heard me, he smile and vacantly nodded at me and then claimed he had never heard a thing I said.

We drove to the Henry Ford on Saturday and on the side of the freeway there was a huge sign that said, "The Henry Ford, next exit". We were in the far lane and so I suggested, maybe he needed to get over. I said this gently because Logan hates when I drive from the passenger seat. One of his favorite jokes is: "Oh no, I like to drive...that way we both get to drive!"

'Isn't that the exit you want?' I suggested gently. He vacantly nodded into the distance and drove right past it. I thought he had a different way he liked to go so I said nothing. Then 20 seconds later he said, "I wonder which exit I want."

So what did he think I said when I asked if that was the exit he wanted? What was he vacantly nodding about? So okay, we found our way. We decided to stop for lunch before going to the museum where a disgusting sandwich costs $4,000. We'd rather get our disgusting sandwiches at McDonald's for just $2.

As we got ready for our order I said, "The kids want a fountain drink." (Rather than the milk they typically get with their Obesity Happy Meal.) I said it to his face, he was looking at me when I said it. He arrived at the table with two milks.

The children started whining and I said, 'That's not what they asked for.'
He replied, "But that's what I always get for them."
I said, "And that's why I told you they wanted a fountain drink."
And. He. Said. "No you didn't."

I got a little snippy at that point. My head exploded and I'll admit I didn't speak kindly to my spouse as I questioned what the ever loving hell he thinks I'm saying TO. HIS. FACE. when he nods and doesn't hear a thing I'm saying? What is he saying yes to?

My attitude infuriated him and that was a really nice outing with the family!

On the way home from the museum I decided we would have to enunciate in our conversations from now on and at the end of each sentence I'll say 'Over' and he'll say, '10-4'. So we both know we've been heard because the affirmative head shake doesn't seem to mean anything. Logan looks at me while my mouth moves and hears nothing and just smiles and nods.

It's fine if he just wants to nod and not hear me but why does this selective hearing not work for important things like, "Does it really matter if the world knows I don't like your family?" or "I kind of like this color of paint for the living room?"

No when it comes to those things there is no vacant nodding and it's just not fair.

Did you hear anything I just said?

In other news: Would you like to see a childhood picture of me and the other lovely bloggers from Blogging Baby? Of course you would! If you can guess who each of the bloggers are, you could win a chair! A CHAIR!

My picture will be obvious to you since I have hardly any baby photos of myself. I'm going to have to raid my mother's house very soon. My picture is from my days at Bo Jangles Preschool. Bo Jangles people.

This would NEVER fly today in our ultra PC society, especially since the city I grew up in is eerily caucasian.

You're vacantly smiling and nodding aren't you.

I've never felt older or less blonde.

If you would like to feel especially old, go out on the night before Thanksgiving.

On Wednesday night, long known as the Biggest Bar Night of the Year, we asked our friends to come with us to Swanksgiving at the Clarkston Union. We love that place and there was to be a Johnny Cash impersonator, what could be better?

Nothing.

It's a bit of a trot to get up there and with urban sprawl, it's horrific at rush hour. But we're cool people and cool people don't care about things like a drive! Except that the weather didn't cooperate. It turned snowy and icy and in our first move as old people we decided it was too far to go for a night out.

So instead we went to Dick O' Dows in Birmingham. Where we were offered an AARP discount at entry. Not really. At first we looked normal, like the other people at the bar at least. Then around 8pm the crowd began to change.

We first realized things were taking an ugly turn when behind us there was nothing but a sea of blonde squealing girls. They all looked the same. Like robots.

I was wearing my very practical Land's End down coat because it was so cold in the bar. But behind me were girls in their underwear. Or camisoles I guess the young people call them.

It got worse though when one of the scantily clad young blonde robots asked Tom if there was room for her to sit on the same bench seat he was sitting on. He said sure, and then had to move his walker out of the way. That was embarrassing.

Those girls pushed their luck though when they suggested we might feel more comfortable someplace quieter. Like Bill Knapps!

At 8 o'clock we packed up and went to bed. But first we stopped at the store because Logan had a craving for prunes.

"This moon ain't made of cheese!"

We were invited to the University of Michigan vs. Ohio State game by a vendor Logan works with named Kim. Here is Kim:

I am not particularly a sports fan, in fact you could say I know nothing about football and don't really want to know anything about football. Our friend John grew up in Ann Arbor and is a huge football fan. When Logan told him we'd be going to this game, John said, "You know, if anything were to happen to Melissa...you make sure you call me so I can go with you." It was then that I began to fear for my life.

So it's true, football isn't really my hobby but they had other things I do consider 'hobbies' there. Like this and this and also this. So when you think about it I actually love football. The spread was nice and the game was awe inspiring, even if it made absolutely no sense whatsoever to me.

Look at all those people!

Everytime I'm out all these funny things are said and I can't remember them the day after, not because I was too drunk, please don't insult my ability to hold my alcohol. But because my brain is like mush and I can barely remember to brush my teeth in the morning. I do remember there was an astronaut among us and we became totally awestruck once we heard that.

We openly stared. Then we came up with things we could say to the astronaut. Like, "Do you like Tang?" or "What did you do with your poop up in space?" and "Those weren't really moon rocks were they?"

We liked thinking about all those things we could say and how he'd just stare at us thinking, "What a couple of class A losers." And then Logan took us over the edge pointing to his (well-shaped) ass and saying "Hey Astronaut Guy! This moon ain't made of cheese."

Which made us laugh, but then we all sat there looking confused. And Logan said, "That one would really freak him out! I mean, I don't even know what the fuck it means!"

God we entertain ourselves.

Oh and then there was the Awkward Elvis Thing, where I felt so stupid and awkward and I wasn't even wearing a white bedazzled jumpsuit.

Woah.

It was a great day and thank you to my beautiful friend Andrea and her charming and funny husband Mark (they don't always look that good, only on special occasions), we were able to go without kids and my God it felt good being without them. I mean no offense kids.

Suburban Bliss: Serving Soap Opera Fanatics!

While searching Google for something on this site which subtly explains the situation with my in laws, for something I'm writing for Flogging Baby, I came across this quote from a message board.

Someone had asked what exactly blogs were and this woman replied:

Don't have one but avidly read 2. Dooce.com and suburbanbliss.net

The second one is a friend of mine's sister in law who they are estranged from. She used to write mean things about her inlaws (including my friend) but stopped when she was outed by my friend. So it is like my online soap opera. I have since started to secretly like this woman and find her blog enjoyable. Just don't tell my friend.

The first one I found as a link on the second one. She is like the most famous blog out there I think. Last month she was on ABC nightly news, The New York Times and Day to Day on NPR. She is cool.

Other reports from the weekend coming soon. Including how I nearly died from urine poison on the ride back from Ann Arbor. Logan laughed. A man with the world's tiniest bladder, should never laugh as one suffers from a painfully full bladder. We met an astronaut! We were overwhelmed by the incredible mass of people in UofM's stadium. We went to a tailgate unlike any I'd ever been to before. I went to bed at 8pm!

Pictures and story coming soon.

Updated: I guess I'm not even allowed to share what other people say about my in law situation. The rules are so difficult to keep up with!

Go team go!

I don't really like football. So you can imagine I am feeling a little guilty that we've been invited to a big game this weekend in Ann Arbor. On the other hand, I love a party and this will be a party. Score a goal! Go team go!

Also on my mind:

*Maddie's birthday party was tonight. It was a faux sleepover, which means, essentially that the kids acted like hyper lunatics and then they went home and refused to sleep. Their parents then cursed me for feeding them sugar on a Friday night.

*For my birthday in September, Logan bought me a gift certificate for a bra fitting. Remember how I was so concerned about the twins falling down? I still haven't made it over to the store (for the locals, it's Bra-Vo in Royal Oak) to make a purchase. Why am I being so weird about this stupid thing?

I think a large part of the issue is dreading the actual fitting. If you thought my hugs were awkward you should see what happens when a stranger comes near my breasts.

Hopefully sometime next week I'll make it over there to let a woman fondle me and then my breasts will be new and improved! Life will then be good.

Happy Birthday now GET THE HELL OUT OF ME!

Today is Madison's birthday. On this day 7 years ago I was in pitocin induced labor for over 12 hours and after nearly 2 hours of pushing the doctor asked if I'd like help. Puzzled, I said, 'Yes! My God! What are you doing! HELP ME!!!!'

I didn't know the 'help' was forceps and ouch! My life and my vagina have not been the same since.

I thought about not letting Maddie celebrate until her official birth time, 7:52pm, because she made me wait, in horrible pain for that long! But then I thought she'd tell me to stick a couple of metal clamps on my head and see how I feel. Also I thought it was immature of me, so why don't I grow up already?

I've been talking a lot about Maddie and I lately. About our relationship and the fear I'm doing it wrong. I am mostly thrilled with who she is and who she's becoming but, yes, sometimes I worry I've totally screwed her over. The same way she tore my vagina to absolute shreds upon her exit.

We're going to dinner tonight and she'll have her party on Friday night. On her first birthday I watched the video from the day she was born, and sobbed. It was the most powerful moment of my life.

Before it happened I told Logan the only thing I didn't want to do was scream, "Get it out of me!!!!" like I'd heard a mother do on 'A Baby Story'. I didn't care about epidurals or c sections or anything other than a healthy baby. I just didn't want to scream in such an undignified way about my baby.

It's not an 'It' it's my baby and this was a magical moment: waiting to meet our baby!

After over 12 hours of labor and two hours of pushing, guess what I said? It was the first, and certainly not the last time I said something I didn't think I ever would.

(Still holding steady on the list: "Maybe George Bush isn't so stupid.")

Maybe it started then, I'll never be the mother of my dreams. I'll scream 'Get it out of me!' and I'll fuck up and I'll keep hoping I'm doing the best I can and that it's all good enough.

I love you Madison. I love you so much I'm not entirely familiar with that feeling. It could be a heart attack, it could be undying love....either/or.

I hope you'll always be sure of that.

Featured elsewhere....

Sometimes I just leave the comments closed because you guys are all so nice (except the occasional lurker who has, and I quote, "Had ENOUGH!" and lays into me) and sometimes maybe I just feel like releasing things and not really hearing anything back? Does that make sense? My dearest friends understand what I'm saying and so many of you understand what I'm saying and honestly, you've all told me over and over you understand. And what do I need? A sky writer telling me you understand? When will I listen? See that's when I feel like I'm cannibalizing my brain, what do I want anyway?

I don't know. All I know is this is what I think a lot about as I go about this job as a mother and it's one of those things that also gnaws on my brain.

So I don't mean to shut down the conversation but I wish I would stop whining and move things along.

Since I don't have the energy to write anything new tonight maybe I'll just link you to some of the things I wrote at Blogging Baby today.

There was this post about a middle school in Berkley, which if you live here you know of, where a father was insistent that a folk song about cotton picking in the south was glorifying slavery. I was torn on the issue but when a school official called it a 'perky' song, I saw pretty clearly the school was missing the point about the history of the song.

As an aside, I learned to say, 'Get your cotton picking hands off of that!' at some point in my childhood, from television I assume because my parents never said it. I really didn't realize until high school that it was referring to the slaves who picked cotton and my goodness, what an insulting thing to say to another person. But see I had no idea...so was this a similar thing? I don't know but the school ended up deferring to the African American father's insistence that it was an insensitive song about slavery.

I also wrote about reading Cookie magazine at the bookstore this afternoon. I can't say this at Flogging Baby but HOLY SHIT what a ludicrous magazine. It's supposed to be an escapist magazine and yes it could be. But I am a recovering shop-a-holic-ish person and that kind of mass marketing of the $200 boots your three-year-old needs and the 'must-have' $1200 purse is what feeds a lot of our consumer debt ridden society. All these 'must haves' and 'needs' and now even parenting isn't safe...we have Cookie!

But the best part is the feature about the first birthday party where everyone dresses up in beautiful $500 outfits, eats foie gras and gets totally shit faced and a baby is held up uncomfortably wondering who these assholes are who have given birth to her.

Finally, the most ire-inspiring thing I wrote today was, surprisingly, about Max and his hopes for a yellow room. Not just any yellow but a soul-burning, retina-frying yellow. I was called a control freak and even a liar! I would rather LIE TO MY SON than let him have an electric yellow in his room! I must be a horrible person! I thought it was just paint.

I did use the helpful suggestions given in the thread to come up with a solution I think Max and I can live with. God willing. Here is the link to the compromise but it won't be up until tomorrow at 7am-ish.

Oh God, and you should check out the Harmonica Thread. I'm amazed at the things parents can justify as something everyone just needs to accept. A little crying at a restaurant, okay. A tantrum? Well, no one's perfect! A few fries thrown on the floor? We'll all live. But a Fucking Harmonica in a restaurant? I thought it was impossible to argue that was okay but no, no I was wrong. So fucking wrong.

That does it, I'm carrying a drum kit in my purse! Life shouldn't be free of minor annoyances and if my kids want to play the drums and paint their bedrooms soul-killiing yellow I refuse to let the needs of others stop them!

Go to hell world!

Suburban Bliss, I love you so much for letting me swear wildly. Whenever I feel like it.

Farewell nursery...

I painted Madison's room just over 7 years ago. I came up with this cute color scheme based on the colors in the platter Logan had made for me for our wedding. Unfortunately, the color Madison, at nearly seven, wanted simply did not go with my previous color scheme. Which was fine except that my diamond wall, the wall I painted with a tiny brush and an 8.5 month pregnant belly weighing me down. My back begging for mercy, didn't make the cut.

Today as we painted Madison said, "I love this new color, even though I sort of want to cry about the old color."

And it made me want to say, "Madison, please stop being like me. It's hard to be me and I want you to have it easier than me."

But yes, as we painted I couldn't help but remember how excited I was when I first painted that room. I didn't know if I was having a boy or a girl. I didn't know what it would be like to have a baby at all. All I could do was paint flea market finds, a bench, and a tiny chair and the walls. I was so proud of that room when I was finished. In the weeks before Maddie arrived I would walk past the room and peek in every time I passed by to pee....because I did a lot of that. I smiled imagining a little boy or girl growing up in that room.

In the last few weeks I've spent a lot of time thinking about how the children we have are not actually blank slates we make into the people we want them to be. We are supposed to try to help them become who they are meant to be. It's hard to know when you're doing that correctly really and that's why I feel horrible sometimes. How much is who I am changing the course of who they are?

I never in a million years would have had a purple room in my house. When I was pregnant I created the baby room I chose. The room I thought of as beautiful and the perfect place for a baby. Madison is now nearly seven and it's almost too perfect that we painted her room today. We painted her room in the color of her choice and we painted over the idea I had for her "perfect" room.

I'm going to miss my diamond wall and even more so the excitement of waiting to meet a new person. But what I realized back when I painted that bedroom is that I was going to be meeting a new person. A new person who would grow and change. And now so is her bedroom.

I would eat my brain...but it's fermenting

The thing about this blog is that I like to write about personal things. It's different from flogging the babies since that's mainly finding stories and products and other items of interest to parents. I will share a story here and there but this is where I try to be myself and think about things.

The only problem is that after a while you start to feel like you're eating your own head (which I think Mrs Kennedy said but I am not looking for it right now). That's how I'm feeling, like I'm eating my own head.

Logan admits he sometimes counts on me to entertain him when he fires up his computer at the office early in the morning. After Tuesday's post he's taken to yawning at me and asking me to write "something funny" or "emotional". What odd is that I had that burst of adrenaline which is what panic feels like to me when he said that.

I've become a horrible writer lately. I just can't seem to sit down and organize my thoughts in any intelligent manner. I'm racing through because there's a lot of stuff to get done. For me to really make any sense on any topic I'm going to have to slow down a little to make any sense at all.

Which is very hard lately. I'm starting to doubt my ability to do it at all. Someone told me a while back I was maybe going through a creative pregnancy. I feel like I'm on bedrest or past due or something. Which reminds me of Madison...since my due date with her was November 9, 1998 and she was not violently forced from the womb until November 16.

So maybe there's that to talk about.

Yesterday we went to see Madison's teacher for a conference. Here is where I do my Logan imitation and I say, in the car after the appointment, "I told you she's brilliant! I told you and you didn't believe me! You said, 'She's smart, but probably average.' But no! She's a genius!"

Fatherly pride is a lovely but sometimes annoying thing to behold.

The teacher said things which made my cynical side disappear and beam. She told us our 6 year old (seven next week) is reading at a fourth grade level! She's in the top reading group, which really only means something to me since she's so young and I started her early anyway. Also because as a first and second grader I thought I was a really good reader, yet I could never break out of that God Damned middle reading group.

Damn you Mrs Reynolds!

She said she's a fast and hard worker and has a real sense that school is her job. She writes funny stories (so far there have been none about me naked and screaming) and gets along with everyone. She said if she had a room full of Maddie's, they'd get so much done everyone would be ready to graduate at the end of the year.

Which I doubt because if she had a room full of Maddie's, she'd also have a very anxious group of kids. And they'd all be very small college students. Oh and we'd have no money to pay for college anyway!

I worry a lot about Madison. I feel like, and I'm turning comments off because I'm writing about this again and don't want to be accused of seeking the ass kissing, I've let her down in so many ways.

Not because I have a few too many drinks on occasion with my friends as a concerned commenter suggested (or rather projected from her own troubled childhood).

But because I come from a long line of mentally ill people. I struggle with my depression all the time. I don't love motherhood. I don't think I've given her the kind of worry free childhood I hoped I would. It's been free of the kinds of struggles I've been through. But I've made my own set of mistakes and I see it reflected in her need for order out of chaos and her fears of the unknown.

I found a sealed letter up in the attic which I wrote to myself in high school. I opened it and it said, among other things, "If you aren't able to handle life by the time you're 30 you will get therapy. AND, if you can't pull yourself together you will NOT have kids."

Oops....

I worry about the very real possibility that she will struggle with depression as a teen and adult. I worry about her 'being' is what I'm trying to say.

I want to be away from my kids because I am not good at this job. Good enough? Yes. Good? No. But then they get some distance from me, going to a huge elementary school, surrounded by so many people and I worry about her. Worry about the job I did to get her ready for the world.

I worry about how I've let her down I think.

So I guess I feel like a dried up sponge when it comes to compliments about my little girl. So when the teacher told me she loves Madison and identifies with her and that she's such a great student...I soak all that up because I am so full of doubts about myself as a mother. I need that kind of validation much more than I realized until I started to write this post.

I don't really know why this is on my mind so much lately. Logan's pointed out a few times I was incredibly short with Maddie but then two minutes later equally as patient and loving with Max. I don't understand why that would be, but I'm afraid I notice it too.

Is she too much like me? Is there a difference between the way sons and mothers interact?

Is it any wonder I require heavy medication?

Who knew this was PARTY WEEK!

I'm going to make a suggestion, even though you didn't ask for my advice. And well you're probably not as stupid as me. After Monday night's dinner where I drunkenly posted (it took me an awe inspiring amount of time to write that because I had to concentrate very very hard), we had our Tuesday Playgroup.

Tuesday Playgroup was going so well, we decided to go to Leslie's house afterwards since her husband is out of town, leaving the children in the capable hands of their fathers. We had such a great time all the sudden it was 2am.

TWO O'CLOCK in the morning. In the hours between my 8pm-ish arrival and my 2am-ish departure I drank quite a few beverages.

My suggestion to you is to think clearly and try to remember that Wednesday is going to be a long day on just 5 hours of sleep. And it's going to be an unpleasant day when you wake up and have to shave your tongue.

Also it's going to be terribly LOUD at the God Damn Circus later that evening.

Hair of the dog? Just lots more water? A frontal lobe lobotomy? I just don't know all feel about the same at this time.

Was it worth it? Well yes but try telling my throbbing head that.

This is what a dinner party will get you.

At Blogher I did this annoying thing in the hotel room I shared with Alice and Mrs Kennedy (I am, frankly, too drunk and too tired to link). The annoying thing went like this:

"Oh my God....I love you guys! Oh God! You Guys! I love you! No stop me from talking you guys.....Stop me!"

That's how I'm feeling right now. Because my friends were just here and I had a few drinks with them over dinner.

I want to tell you all about how much I love the internet and how much I love my group of girlfriends. My friends which are named Chrissy, Leslie, Andrea, Me, (and) Stephanie.

Yes! The CLAMS! Or CALMS if you want to be a smart ass.

I felt like I needed to put something up here because it's been a while but I have so much more to say about my friends. Things I would say if I hadn't had at least five beers in three hours. (you do the math).

Whenever we start to talk about our friendship, Logan or whichever husband is present, says, "Oh God, here we go....." Then they make wretching noises because we all married ass holes. Except Stephanie because her husband stares at us admiringly when we start talking about how much we love each other.

Imagine the most overwhelming internet love-fest and that's what you get when you get the CALMS, I mean, CLAMS together.

But right now I'm so fucking wasted.....remind me though: tomorrow we're being even more self exposing.

===========================================

Update the morning after: Wow. Just....wow.

Wait...the babies...grow into people?

I finally changed my tagline. I realized long ago how obnoxious it was but the fact that even I realized what a pouting baby I was being made it impossible for me to come up with something else to put up there.

So there's the new thing which isn't funny but true.

Maddie's birthday is around the corner and I can not believe I've been a mother for seven years. Although it's easier in so many ways now, it's hard in an entirely new set of ways. One of the parts that's hardest is learning to understand who my kids are as they grow increasingly away from me. I still feel intense responsibility for who they are, but am realizing more and more how little I have to do with the essential-ness of who they are.

Having them not so reliant on me makes me feel far more sane than the days I was responsible for every single thing in every single minute of their little lives. However, this is hard in it's own ways. Accepting them for who they are and knowing that who they are is who they are supposed to be, is hard. Accepting that I'm doing what I can to nurture them and even though what I'm giving them isn't perfect, it's good enough and they'll be who they are no matter what I do. Really. Really?

Understanding that sometimes even though I want them to be the type of kids who run up to doors and collect candy like greedy little bastards, they just aren't. Wait, why is that bad?

I do love my kids for who they are, most of the time anyway. Most of the time I think Max is just smart enough to know that people he doesn't know might be Republicans. Most of the time I think Madison is so intuitive and emotionally smart, I must be nurturing that part of her soul in a way that helps it flourish.

Sometimes, like Monday night, I think I've given birth to lunatics and I feel horribly guilty because I really am a lunatic. I don't say that as a joke, I really am a soul which is fluttering through life as best I can.

But as real as the belief I'm doing it 'good enough' is, the doubts are real too. My life is made up of analyzing what I'm doing and feeling good or bad about that.

I don't know how else to do this job.

Analyzing my shitty mood:

Two years ago, when Maddie was nearly five and Max was two and a half years old, Halloween didn't go very well.

We went to three houses and at the third, you won't believe what happened. There were people actual people...SITTING ON THEIR PORCH handing out candy. For some reason these people, who were not wearing costumes btw, were really scary. So trick or treating ended in tears and we went back home.

Last year, we trick or treated again and it was big fun. The kids were thrilled and brave in the face of people sitting on their porches! We thought we'd crossed the line and now our kids were normal and enjoyed things kids enjoy. Like Trick or Fucking Treating.

What is not to like about trick or treating?

This is what I would like to know. My kids can't seem to tell me but last night we made it to four houses and half those houses found Max crying and Madison hiding behind me at the end of the walkways to homes where people were handing out candy.

I am a fairly empathetic soul when it comes to dealing with my children and their various neurosis. I'm neurotic, I have a rather large catalog of all my neurosis on this website, so I understand. But sometimes the things that freak my kids out, make me want to shake them.

Yes, I know that's so mean....but last night after tears in the walkways of houses because people were actually handing out candy....I really wanted to shake my kids. I walked home in silence, gritting my teeth and holding back tears.

Every kid has wierd things they do which drive parents crazy right? It seems though, my kids have so many things. They're so incredibly sensitive and sometimes those sensitivities translate into a form of psychosis which makes it impossible for me to be patient and loving and empathetic.

I hate when I am not patient and loving. I hate who I am as a mother and I wonder if my lack of patience and love has created these bizarre neurosis in my children. What have I done wrong? How do I have children who are afraid of people?

The next question is, "Who the hell cares if my kids go trick or treating?"

As I sobbed last night I asked myself that. I just want to be normal I guess? I want to go trick or treating with my kids and my husband and see them be happy and excited.

It's also not about trick or treating really. I guess I wonder why my kids are so afraid of people. What did I do to make them so afraid and timid in their world?

It upsets me that I hate this neighborhood so much. As a child I knew every person on my block, there was nothing to be afraid of since I knew all the people I got my candy from. We've lived here for 7.5 years and we know nearly no one and frankly, have no desire to know anyone.

So maybe that's why I woke up in such a foul mood.