Mom and Dad got married when they were 19 years old and they lived in the married dorms at the University of Florida while they both went to school. It was a small efficiency. A single space with a kitchen, living area, and bedroom all in one. It had another feature typical of low-cost housing, very thin walls.
One night, as Mom and Dad were going to bed, they heard a guitar blaring through the wall. It was the early 1970s. Everyone was into rock & roll and the college kid living next door was no exception. It was well past midnight, so Dad banged on the wall to hopefully let the guitar hero know that he was being too loud. No response, other than continued guitar slaying. Dad banged again, harder. Nothing. Then a third time, he really hammered and banged against the wall. The only response was obnoxious shredding like there was no tomorrow.
At this point in the story, one common reaction would be to call the police with a noise complaint. That’s happened to pretty much every garage band kid practicing at their parent’s house, including me. Dad wasn’t one to call the police though. He was someone brought up in a time when neighbors knew each other personally. Neighbors didn’t just live next to each other, they were a part of the same community that shared life with each other. In that context, calling the police was reserved for the most extreme situations, so Dad was someone who always tried to resolve conflicts in person. We have continued this in our lives, so when we saw 2 pigs, 2 goats, and a cow trotting around our front yard one night, we knew exactly which neighbor to call.
In this instance, in a college dorm, Dad had the same mindset. Repeatedly hammering on the wall hadn’t worked. It was close to 1 AM. They were trying to get to sleep and it seemed like Greg, the neighbor, was of a mind to “rock and roll all night.” There was only one option. Dad had to go next door and loudly knock until the door finally opened. “Greg, it’s late! We’re trying to get to sleep. Can you tone it down?”
As is usually the case, talking man to man resolved the issue quickly. Greg was extremely polite and apologetic. “No problem Rob, but hey, next time I’m too loud just bang on the wall.”
Early in 2023, we reached out to social services about becoming foster parents. It was a long process involving classes, background checks, multiple visitors in our home, and many questions about our marriage and parenting style. Over the many months, we continued to simply take the next step to see where it would lead. A few times along the way we second-guessed ourselves and decided not to do it. Then we’d hear a story about a child who felt love for the first time from their foster parents. Through our tears, we’d decided again that we’ve GOT to do it. A short time after being approved as foster parents we are driving down I-95 and get a call asking if we can take an infant for care. We could and we did. She’s tiny and sweet and she has the sleep schedule of a typical infant. We constantly tell her that she is safe and that she is loved. We’re rooting for the parents to get her back as soon as possible, but in the meantime, we’re going to shower her with as much love and care as we can.
For as long as I remember, one of Dad’s favorite sports was racquetball. I think he picked it up in the Navy. The first courts I played in were in a standalone building on base. A sidewalk along one side, with little hobbit doors, opened into dark, cavernous spaces. We’d choose one and he’d turn on the fluorescent lights. Once they flickered into luminescence the door shut behind us and we were in our own world. Dad’s world. The court was his domain. He reigned supreme. I played him countless times. I never won.
When he was on active duty he played multiple times per week. The Navy gave him 2 hours for lunch if he used it for PT (physical training.) He became a good player with all those hours on the court. After he retired he would go to the base or the YMCA and play pickup games every week. He delivered and received his share of donut shaped bruises from getting hit in the back with the ball. One time the ball hit a guy right at the base of the skull so hard that it knocked him off his feet. The guy said he felt paralyzed for a second. A few minutes later he was back out there like nothing had happened. Ah, the good ‘ole days.
Oftentimes, he’d leave before 7 am and be gone all morning. He’d play for 2 hours, and then talk for 2 more. Those folks were part of his community. Racquetball was a big part of his life. He even coaxed Mom onto the court quite a few times to play. His social media feed was filled with racquetball tidbits, like this:
Racquetball in the early morning hours is a good thing. We need to do things that pump the heart and move the body. God made us that way.
Dad was able to see lessons and truths in everyday life. He saw God’s hand at work in the way bees organized their hives. His student’s curiosity was an example of how God designed us to learn and grow. Racquetball also had some truths to teach us.
Racquetball has a mental aspect to it. If you think you can win, that mindset helps you go forward. Got to watch out for pride though.
He was so skilled that it created a problem for him. One of the primary reasons he enjoyed playing was for the exercise, but he wasn’t able to get much of a workout when he played against mere mortals. So he devised a handicap for himself. He started playing left-handed.
That’s how he played against me and my brothers at first. We were all racquetball weaklings, not fit to strap on goggles compared to his unrestrained power with the ball and racquet. Eventually, we got good enough that he would play us right-handed because he didn’t like to lose. I beat him at the Regent University gym. He switched hands and destroyed me. I never beat him right-handed. Grant doesn’t think he ever beat him one-on-one either. Mark, the young stud of the family, claims that he was winning 30%-50% of the time when Dad played right-handed. Mark also makes dubious claims about his Crossfit prowess, so take that with a grain of salt. Clay thinks he won a few times when Dad was in his 60s. Great job beating down an old man riddled with cancer, Clay.
From what I can tell, based on Dad’s tweets from 2009, Clay wasn’t always so successful.
Racquetball at the YMCA Riverside. Will whomp up on Clay some.
Next tweet.
Playing racquetball. Beat Clay 3 X
Dad’s best racquetball story stemmed from an encounter at the YMCA. They had a challenge court set up. You signed your name on the sheet and played whoever was next. Dad was playing someone he’d never seen before and the other guy didn’t look very athletic. Dad decided to play left-handed but found himself falling behind. In between points he stopped play, smiled at his opponent as he slowly took off his left glove, and said, “You are quite good, but I know something you don’t know.”
The guy was perplexed by the theatrical display but responded, “What’s that?”
Dad slowly put on his right-handed glove, gripped his racquet, and replied, “I am not left-handed.”
Unfortunately for the other guy, this isn’t like the movies, and he wasn’t able to switch hands himself. Dad proceeded to dismantle him and of course, win convincingly. I imagine that guy now, regaling folks with a crazy story about the guy he played who switched hands mid-game. Dad was a legend.
When my Dad passed away we were so blessed by all of the people who came to his funeral. Middle school students who were impacted by his teaching. Players and family from Ava’s softball team. Former members of our church who had moved away. Coworkers. Family. Friends. So many people took time out of their busy schedules to pay their respects.
I had the microphone at the end of Dad’s funeral and I remember thinking how great it was to share memories with everyone, but also that it didn’t seem like enough. His life was so much more than what we could cover in 45 minutes. Then I looked around at the faces and I knew that it WAS enough because everyone there was taking a part of Dad with them into their lives.
the funeral was for me
On some level, people attend funerals to honor the deceased. But really, what do the deceased care? People also attend funerals to get closure for themselves. We can say “goodbye,” and reminisce. It is cathartic. When I saw all those faces crying and laughing, and when I got to hug so many of them, I understood that the funeral was for me. Sharing these stories with real people who knew Dad was what I needed to take that next step in the grieving process. Now I try to attend as many funerals as I can. I make sure to hug the family members and share a funny story with them. I hope that it helps in some small way.
Ava just finished performing in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella at ODU. It was a celebration of hope and possibilities. It was NOT a funeral, but I was reminded of Dad’s funeral when I heard that friends and family had purchased 30 tickets for one of the shows. They were hoping for a fun night out for themselves, but they also wanted to show their love and appreciation for Ava.
At the shows, we saw so many people who we hadn’t seen for many years. We reconnected and caught up. It was great. Ava felt so loved and I was proud and blessed for everyone to see Ava perform. It was meaningful to me. Now I’m going to try to attend as many musicals as I can … and plays … and sporting events. I’ll enjoy them, and hopefully, I’ll be a blessing at the same time.
We recently spent some time with a 90-year-old family friend who isn’t doing so well. She told us about her small-town school and the theatrical plays she performed in. She remembers that her mother went to every performance. She is 90 and she remembers her mom being there and how much it meant to her.
Showing up for our kids and our friends is a simple thing, but it shows that we care. Maybe we can’t coach or be stage managers, but we can take an hour out of a Saturday morning to go watch some soccer. We’ll have fun and we’ll be a blessing at the same time. It’s a win-win.
So I’ll see you at the next funeral or musical. Hopefully, it’s a musical.
I was standing in front of 500 parents and athletes at our home school sports awards presentation. I had some jokes to tell. That always made me nervous. As I stepped up to the microphone I took a huge, cleansing breath to steady my nerves.
I looked out over the crowd and started speaking, “Wow! I haven’t seen this many homeschoolers in one place since the last Chick Fil-a cow appreciation day.” There was a momentary pause followed by the laughter I so hoped to hear.
The art of showing appreciation is underappreciated. How often do we tell those around us how much we appreciate them and why? It isn’t often enough. I’ve sat in many funeral services where friends and family members share about how wonderful and amazing their loved one was.
He was always willing to help. She took care of me when I was sick. I wish you could have met her.
This helps us remember those we’ve lost and is a way to share their life with others. But why do we only do this AFTER someone has died? We would have such an incredibly positive impact on our loved ones if we shared those feelings with them while they are alive.
For Lianne’s birthday, I asked some people to share what they appreciated most about her. As she listened to those encouraging words, she started to see herself through their eyes. She got to hear firsthand, how much they loved her and were thankful for her. Afterward, she said, “It makes me want to be a better person”
What an incredible insight! As parents and spouses, we often focus on the negative. We’ll use constructive criticism and negative reinforcement or maybe we just complain about the stuff that annoys us. When someone does that to us, we can use it for our benefit. We can recognize those specific areas that need to be worked on and try to improve. However, it can also destroy our motivation. If we can’t do anything right, why do anything at all?
Alternatively, when we see and hear how we are doing well, it reinforces those good traits and gives us the motivation to continue doing them. We want to live up to those ideals and expectations. We gain an awareness of how our lives are benefitting others and we want to do more.
I will talk to Lianne about how I admire different people in my life and I will talk to my friends about how amazing my wife is. That’s fine, but I’m treating life like a funeral service.
Instead of expressing my appreciation FOR someone, I should express it TO them.
“I’ve always admired the way your children show respect to other adults.” “I like your sense of style.” “You are such a great listener. I love having a friend like you.”
Those words are powerful. By showing gratitude we improve our own happiness and by expressing our appreciation for others we encourage them and spur them on to even greater things. This is particularly important with our spouses and children. We interact with them every day and we tend to take them for granted. Let’s take a moment and consider how blessed we are to have each other, and let’s express that appreciation more often.
I decided to share my appreciation for Lianne as well, so I made this little video for her. I’m so sweet.
It was the Summer of 2018. Beach Breakers homeschool sports gave me the go-ahead to launch a boys volleyball team. Davin loved to play, and another homeschooler, Aubrey, loved to play. The only way for them to play competitively in the Fall was to start a varsity team, so that’s what we did. Taking this step was squarely outside of my comfort zone. New situations make me uneasy and I don’t like taking risks. I was a nervous wreck in the days leading up to tryouts. I couldn’t stop worrying about the turnout and whether or not we’d even have enough players to field a team. Then, even if we did, I’d be responsible for four practices a week and finding other teams to play. An underlying sense of dread was my constant companion, but that yin was countered by the refreshing and exciting yang of starting a new adventure.
There was a decent turnout at the tryouts, two seniors, Dylan and Jared, who made me feel more at ease. Brant walked in late. He was 6 foot 3. There was an 8th grader named Albie who was over 6 feet tall, a cute kid named Austin who knew the basics and was eager to learn, and a pair of brothers, Timothy and Elliot who were dancers with some athleticism. Add in Davin and Aubrey and those nine made up the team. We had enough players to form a team! This was actually going to happen. My nervous fear was becoming nervous excitement. Those nine players stuck it out that season for those nine games. Nine players. Nine games. Nine losses. We didn’t win a set and I couldn’t have been prouder. I blogged about the awesomeness here “Winning Isn’t Everything.”
2018 Beach Breakers Boys Volleyball
In 2019 we won two games against another homeschool team and finished the year 2 – 13. Progress! We practiced in 2020, but due to Covid most schools weren’t fielding teams so we played in an adult rec league, which was tough. Then came 2021. Tryouts went great, for the first time ever I had to make cuts, but I was also able to add in some solid, younger players, including a public school transfer, an experienced club player, and a basketball player. We looked like a competitive volleyball team. Turns out, we were a competitive volleyball team.
When you truly enjoy an activity, you can experience joy while doing it, regardless of the outcome. If you love music, write a song, and nobody listens to it, you still get some fulfillment out of the creative process. If you love a sport, play it, and lose, you still have the satisfaction of honing your skill and being on a team. You can have fun singing or playing a sport, regardless of the outcome, but it’s much sweeter when you can sing your songs in front of a packed audience. It is so much sweeter when you can go 14 – 3, win two tournaments, and see the benefits of years of hard work and struggle. Paul acknowledges in Corinthians that the whole reason we train is to win. Winning is the goal. It’s the only thing. I can’t describe the sense of joy and pride in these guys as we attained that goal in 2021.
Endless Summer 2021 D2 Champions
We faced an early test at the Endless Summer Varsity tournament in Virginia Beach. This is an invitational tournament for the public and private high schools in the area. It was our 3rd trip to the tournament. The first two times we went a combined 0 – 9, finishing dead last both years. In 2021, this group of ragtag homeschooled students defeated three teams ranked in the top 15 and finished 5 – 0 to claim the Division 2 championship.
East Coast Homeschool Nationals 2021 Champions
Later in the season, we traveled to Tennessee for the East Coast Homeschool Nationals. This was the same tournament that we won our first games in two years earlier, to finish 2 – 3, but this year we were hoping for more. We were missing a few guys who couldn’t make the trip, but we were easily the best team there. We finished 5 – 0 and didn’t drop a set. The team played with class and sportsmanship, and we beat a very athletic team from South Carolina in the finals. Thanks to discipline, perseverance, and growth spurts, this group of young men, most of whom had never played volleyball before, became the best homeschool team on the entire East Coast.
We capped off the season with our final home game, senior night, against Cape Henry Collegiate. They were the class of the conference. They were large, strong, and skilled, with college-bound players who hit the ball hard. We had never beaten them in four years, going 0 – 5, including a 4 set loss earlier this season. Our small gym was packed with fans. This was Davin’s last varsity game, and this was my last game as head coach. I’m a sentimental type and I soaked in every minute. I didn’t know it at the time, but there would be a lot of minutes. We alternated close sets with them, going back and forth until the final, deciding 5th set. We took an early lead in the 5th and held on for the win, beating the vaunted Cape Henry for the first time in our history.
The crowd went wild and I leaped onto the court after that final point, cheering spastically. Then I stopped and looked around at the team and the fans. This is it. I saw the smiles on all the guy’s faces and I thought back to those tryouts over 3 years earlier. I thought back over the journey, through loss after loss, which I wouldn’t trade for anything … And I cried.
Those trophies will surely turn to dust, but the memories will last a lifetime.
It’s official. I tested for the antibodies and I had both types. IgG and IgM. This means I had Covid relatively recently (IgM) and that I’ve had it long enough to start building up longer-term immunity (IgG.) This checks out. Here’s how it all went down.
I was exposed to Covid while playing volleyball at a large, indoor sports venue. Three days after participating I started feeling sick. No specific symptoms, but general fatigue and a mild headache. I slept OK that first night, but on the morning of day 2 I felt like I had a cold. Something wasn’t right.
That same day I learned that another participant had tested positive and was going through the same symptoms I was having. I had Covid. During the 2nd night this thing kicked into gear. As we went to bed, I had chills and a fever. I took some Tylenol and slept fitfully through alternating sweats, chills, and a worsening headache. My fever abated slightly day 3, but I felt terrible. My head throbbed, my lower back ached, and I just wanted to sleep. I stayed in bed most of the day and stayed in my room so I wouldn’t get anyone else sick. I may have taken another Tylenol, but I was trying to avoid any medications (whether they were meant for people or for horses.) I drank a lot of water. That evening I got the chills again, my entire body shook uncontrollably until I piled the blankets up around me like a caterpillar wrapped in its cocoon. The night proceeded much like the previous and day 4 started off the same as day 3.
Tuesday, 3 pm, I sent this to my family in an effort to get some sympathy
By this time I had spent two full days holed up in my room, occasionally logging in to work, laying in bed a lot, and not eating much. I decided I’d do something different on the 4th day. Around noon I went outside in the 95-degree sun, I took off my shirt, and I sat on a pool chair for 30 minutes. I ate a nice-sized salad and we picked up some vitamin C and magnesium supplements.
At this point, 72 hours in, I started to wonder what the normal progression looked like. I did some searching and found that covid generally starts with a fever, progresses to achiness, and sometimes stomach issues. Then 5 to 8 days in you may lose your sense of taste and smell, followed by a hacking cough. Then you’ll start having difficulty breathing. Then you’ll get admitted to a hospital. Then you die. Pretty much every website listed that progression. What about the people who survived? Well, they don’t exist in online lists of symptoms. Online, everyone dies of covid. If I allowed myself to think about it, I could feel my throat tightening up and my breathing getting shallow. Fear is powerful. Our minds are powerful. We can actually give ourselves symptoms that aren’t there. In serious cases, it’s called psychosomatic disorder. For a couple of nights, I had to purposefully refocus my mind and attention away from the disease and toward positive thinking and peaceful meditation in order to get to sleep. Covid isn’t just a physical battle, it is mental as well.
I had a slight fever at the end of day 4, around 101. Lianne also started feeling bad and had a 103-degree temperature. She also noticed that her eyes were sore. This is something I haven’t heard much about, but I realized I had the same symptom. If I moved my eyes to look left or right, I would feel an ache on the opposite side of my eyeball. A few days later Davin expressed the same ache in his eyes, but that was the only symptom he had.
I slept a little better that 4th night and day 5 started a slow and steady progression of feeling 10% better every day over the next 7 days. I was still lacking energy and feeling under the weather, plus I now had a deep cough. I was sick and tired of being, well you know. Living in a 100 square foot room was weighing me down, so we went to the new house and I decided to push mow a portion of the backyard in the 90-degree heat. It was miserable. I sweated so much. I drank a ton of water. I hated it and then the very next day decided to put on a bee suit and check the bees in the 90-degree heat. I drenched myself in sweat once again. Continuing the theme, Lianne and I went for a long walk on Saturday. I was dragging a bit, sweating and breathing hard, but she was already starting to feel better. She is tougher than me. Through all these physical activities, I told myself I was sweating out the disease. I had spent enough time lounging around in bed. I was ready to get back to life. I don’t know if that’s the smartest move. Maybe we should rest and allow our body’s resources to go toward fighting the disease. I do know that I felt better mentally. It was good for me to go do something physical. It worked for me.
Fast forward to day 12 and I was feeling normal, with a nagging cough which lingered for a couple more weeks. I’ve only been really sick twice in my adult life. The worst was a 7-day flu I had 25 years ago. Covid was the 2nd worst. Not a picnic, but manageable. Three takeaways.
If you don’t feel well, quarantine. I didn’t need to get a Covid test to know that I should stay home. Nobody outside of my immediate family got sick from me, even though I went to church Sunday morning before I had symptoms. If you feel sick, stay home.
Lastly, mental health is important. Staying isolated inside is depressing. Go for a walk, hop in the pool, and if fear tries to take hold, meditate and pray.
The vaccine is one tool in our toolbox, but it’s not the only one. Let’s take advantage of our body’s natural ability to fight off disease and eventually we’ll beat this thing.
Lianne and I were watching Chicago Med and the doctors had to tell an eight-year-old that he was dying. The kid asked if he’d die in a week. They told him he’d live much longer than that. Then the child, filled with hope, asked if he’d live another year. They told him he had five full years ahead of him. He immediately got excited, dismissed the diagnosis, and wanted to know if he could have some ice cream. Five years seems like an eternity to an eight-year-old.
Five years doesn’t seem that long to me anymore. This is a common phenomenon recognized by neuroscientists and psychologists. It’s due in part to the relative ratio of time compared to our years lived. Five years is roughly 10 percent of my life. For that kid in the hospital, five years was over 60% of his life.
Another factor that makes time seem to speed up is that our brains processed things much faster when we were younger, and that pace slows down as we age. We don’t experience as many new things. We don’t take in as much new data. We don’t notice every detail of all of the common things around us. When we look back over the year it seems like it flew by because we didn’t process as many things happening in our lives as we did when we were younger.
I’m beginning to feel this. It’s not a crisis … but I am approaching midlife. Jaron has moved out and is married. Ava is in college and dating. Davin is driving and playing volleyball most evenings. Our nest is emptying, the calendar is moving, and it’s left me pondering what to do with the ever-fleeting time I have left on this earth.
For the last 24 years, my kids’ lives were inextricably joined with mine. My responsibility for them gave me purpose. What is God’s plan for the next 24 years of my life? I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently and I’ve come to a surprising realization.
I need to live my purpose today and that will allow me to fulfill my purpose tomorrow.
I’m spending too much emotional energy on what I’m going to be doing 5 years from now while I’m missing out on what I could be doing now. In fact, one of the ways to slow our perception of time as we age is to focus more on the present moments. Ironically, another tool that brings joy and fulfillment is to fill our lives with new and purposeful things. These may seem contradictory but I believe they are complementary. My goal is to intentionally foster new experiences and to work toward my purpose today. At the same time, I want to leave margins so that I can enjoy each minute as it ticks on by.
My next few blogs will be about Lianne’s and my plans for the new house and land. We’ve already done a good amount of work on the outside, and we just started a remodel on the inside. We’ll have some new “chicks” in our nest eventually (but not too soon) and we want to be ready. Follow along here on the blog, or check us out on YouTube and on Facebook. We’d love to hear from you as we continue on this journey.
Jaron and Christine just celebrated their first year of marriage. That made me reminisce about our first year of marriage, and what Lianne and I have learned over the course of 27 years. Idioms can be useful. For example, “Happy wife, happy life.” I admit to feeling kind of left out though, what does a happy husband get you? Another pithy saying is, “Marriage is a marathon, not a sprint.” Well, marathons are miserable. Similar to marriage, when I ran a half marathon all I could think was, “When will this be over?” 🙂
Of course, that’s not what the saying means. The idea is that marriage is something you have to commit to long-term, like a marathon. My first piece of advice is to determine from the start that you are dedicated to making the relationship work. Divorce is simply not an option. This is why my Indian friends with their arranged marriages have such low divorce rates. They expect to stay married. A lack of commitment is one of the leading causes of divorce.
Secondly, get your finances in order. Money problems lead to stress and tension, particularly when there are differing views on how to spend and save. If you are both spenders, God help you. 🙂 Set up a budget and if you need it, seek advice on how to save. If you are both savers, loosen up and have some fun every once in a while. If you are a mix, recognize the positives of both approaches and agree on a way forward. Both of you need to be invested in your financial decisions.
Which ties in to my third point. Marriage is an equal partnership. One spouse shouldn’t be in charge of all the decisions, neither should one partner give up and give in to what the other wants. That’s not a partnership, that’s a dictatorship. As couples we don’t have to discuss every choice in depth, but there should be some understanding about when a major decision needs to be agreed upon. For example, early in our marriage we decided to touch base whenever we had an expense over $100. When we come into agreement on major decisions we know that we are in it together. It also prevents any blame down the road on those rare occasions when things don’t turn out the way we expected. “That son was your idea, you deal with him.”
What is one major requirement for agreeing on something? You have to talk about it! Communication is critically important, but all communication isn’t created equal. Some of us aren’t good at it, while others are too good. I think that the key is to start from an attitude of love. When something bothers you, it is important to communicate it but to do so in a non-critical, loving way. The other half of that equation is that this requires the ability to receive criticism in a loving way as well. It is even more important to communicate the positives and this is so much more than simply saying the right words. Humans express our feelings with words, actions, touch, and smiles. Show your appreciation with more than just words. What does your spouse value? What is their love language? It could be words of affirmation, but it could also be acts of service or physical touch. It may not be natural for you but finding out what is natural for your spouse is key. Do that. To show my love for Lianne, I know she enjoys catcalls and a slap on the butt, for example, so I do that often. 😀 😀
Jaron and Christine’s drive-by wedding
My last piece of advice is to quit being selfish. Marriage and parenthood are the ultimate tests of selfless love. I give myself a ‘C’ on this one. The good thing about my grade is that we’re doing fine as a couple, but if I can improve to a ‘B’ or an ‘A’ we’ll be really rockin’. I have something to work on to make our relationship even better. Most of the times that we’ve made each other angry it’s been a result of selfishness. Our tendency as humans is to think of ourselves first, so we have to fight against that natural instinct and put our families above ourselves. I wanted to watch NCAA basketball non-stop during March Madness, and I did. So that’s an example of what NOT to do. Be better Bryan!
My goal in our relationship should be to make Lianne happy. I love her. That’s what I want for her. “Happy wife, happy life.” In the same way, it is what she wants for me. If we are both consistently trying to make each other happy, how can we fail? I still haven’t had any luck figuring out something that rhymes with husband though, so I’m settling for alliteration instead.
