Birthday

Yesterday was my birthday. I wasn't feeling exactly celebratory after the news from the day before, but it ended up being really nice. I'm trying to think positive here--it's not a normal state of affairs for me. :) Last year I had to have shots on my birthday, and the year before the entire county of San Diego was engulfed in flames and choking black smoke that made it look and smell like the apocalypse had passed through, so I suppose this year, even with bad (and even worse: nebulously bad) news, already started out as an improvement. :)

It was a gorgeous day, and Synthia had rescheduled some work commitments so she could take me to lunch, bless her heart. We ate outside at the Napa Valley Grille in Horton Plaza, which was lovely. She gave me an awesome-looking biography of Jane Austen and a card that included an article her mother had sent from "The Jewish Week" in which I am quoted! (The reporter interviewed me at the Catskills Conference this summer, but I'd never seen the resulting piece.) We had time for a smidge of shopping afterwards, and I bought the fleecy bed jacket, in baby blue, that I'd been wanting for TV and reading snuggling purposes.

I dashed over to the YMCA, where I taught my NIA class to the usual small Friday crowd. I kind of embarrassed myself by responding to a new member saying she was from Lithuania with "Lithuania....(long pause) Where....is that?" N0w she no doubt thinks I'm a total moron whose thought process doesn't extend beyond commanding people to shake their tushies around, but so it must be. :) After the class left, I had the delightful surprise of Grace, Julianna, and J's friend Julia running into the room with a bouquet of flowers and an energy-replenishing granola bar for me...so thoughtful! Next I headed to Beth's for my annual birthday massage, and it was wonderful, as always. When I got home, Lindsey had surprised me with some stunning tulips, and my diaper bag had arrived from Land's End (little twinge of a hangover from yesterday when I saw that, but it is really nice) and David followed quickly with yet more flowers--the house smells like a florist this morning! :) We went to dinner at a new restaurant I've been craving, and it was delicious, though by the time I'd noshed my way through tempura green beans with wasabi sauce, French Onion soup and a good portion of David's Caeser salad, I literally took one bite of my chicken and had to push it away. The apricot Bellini was delish, though--you better believe I finished that. ;)

When 2005 began, I fully expected to have met Jarrah by my birthday, and later I felt certain I would have her picture and know I was on the way to meeting her. But that's not what happened. Hopefully someday this will all just be part of a satisfying saga with various twists and turns for added drama. :)

"F" is for "Flexibility"

An emotional couple of days, kicked off by the following e-mail from CCAI on October 27:

Dear April 2005 LID families,

CCAI would like to direct your attention to our website as we have updated the information this morning. Again, we have learned that the CCAA is only working on the remainder of the March LID families. As you may know, all of our CCAI families with a March LID were matched on October 4, 2005. At this time, we are unsure if any April LID families will be matched in this group. We know that everyone is eagerly awaiting news on their babies and we promise to keep you informed as we know more. We understand that this is a very difficult time and our hearts go out to our families as we wait together for news about your children! Please don’t hesitate to contact us anytime!

At first we didn't really know what to make of it. But with the resulting lamentation issuing from the "DTC" boards for April LIDs, more feedback was posted from CCAI (our agency in Denver.) Apparently CCAI is anticipating (they are "75 percent sure"--why must the stats that affect us be so high when they *don't* involve IVF success rates?) they will--FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER--not receive any referrals this month. That's right, all of April will be skipped, amidst vague rumors that CCAA (in Beijing) needs to finish with some March people (all of CCAI's March folks are already matched.) What this means, in all likelihood, is that we will not get any news about Jarrah until late November or even early December, and that we won't travel (gasp) until late January or even early February! Someone said, "it's as if you were pregnant with a due date in late October, and suddenly your OB announced, "Whoops, that was a miscalculation. We're pushing you back a month. Try to relax and enjoy this time." (!!!)

Of course, my sense of victimization is running rampant at the moment. I keep saying that this "unprecedented" development is the "rhino ass" of China adoption. (For those not initiated into the wonders of progesterone injections, "rhino ass" is a "rare" condition in which one's rump reacts to daily shots of progesterone in sesame oil by becoming mottled with raised, hard lumps--of course, not only did I have a massive case of rhino ass, I also had hives on top of that, and the whole mess took *six months* to go away.) Basically, I'm in a place where it seems that whatever could possibly go wrong on the path to starting a family will, even if it's "unprecedented."

And I shed some tears, too, that morning, after several hours of a numb, fragile, wide-eyed feeling that I couldn't quite interpret. After a few conversations with my stalwart pals, however, everything erupted to the surface: once again I was having "unexplained" infertility--"We're sorry. It looked so good, you were right on track, but something happened. We don't know what. You're welcome to try again."

It didn't help that that Thursday morning was ghastly in other ways. I arrived at Costco to purchase new tires before the doors opened, and was first in line. As the gal behind me was being quoted a 30 minute wait time, I was informed that my card had expired and I needed to visit guest services. Five minutes later, new card in hand (inexplicably sporting a photo in which I appear to have no teeth) I returned, and the wait was now 1 hour and 30 minutes. I walked over to IKEA and wanly purchased some colorful plastic baby bowls, cups and plates, with a tiny voice in my head repeating "What's the point? Where's the fire?" On my way out, I stopped at the restroom, and was attempting to pee when the door was flung open and the flinger screamed at the top of her lungs, like an opera singer seeing a mouse in her kitchen. "You almost gave me a heart attack!" she bellowed, as I desperately tried to finish without wetting myself. Umm, who walked in on WHOM here??? Smarting with the indignation of mortality, I returned to Costco, where I bought a gross of Kirkland baby wipes (again, "What's the point? What the hell am I going to do with these?") until it was time to go get my car. Five minutes later, I was cruising up a high-speed stretch of Friars Road when the steering wheel started jumping under my hands. The front driver's side of the car seemed to be rattling up and down. Then the mysterious clunking sounds started. I called David. "Pull over!" he commanded, but I turned around and made it back to the tire place without dying. And did I receive any conciliation for my pains? Any soothing apologies for my fright? Not in the slightest. I spent nearly an hour trying to convince three different men that my car was frightening me, while they all looked at me with expressions that read "Paranoid much?" Someone was finally persuaded to actually drive the car and then another session of wheedling led to re-balancing the tires. Finally a guy came through the door with my keys. "Here you go. By the way, the tires were totally wrong." "Wrong?" I chirped. "Yeah, I think they installed them with the wrong size cone. They were barely hanging on. Good thing you came back." HELLLO! And the car, in fact, was driving like a completely different car when I left, traumatized, starving, and shvitzing like crazy in my head-to-toe velour ensemble on a day that turned out to be like 80 degrees. David said, "Well, the day has to get better now, right?"

Glider Expo

Samantha was going to comment on these great shots for a glider purchasing experience, but she has been busy with the rest of the blog. So it was about time I added some text. These pictures were at the end of a 3 hour marathon where all of us selected the mandatory glider rocker (see earlier post on this.) We got a little punchy by the end of it -- at least we had comfortable seating.

Cornucopia

The shower, of course, was amazing. I was smiling so hard my face hurt. Beth's place (and Daniel's, too) were lit up with candles, Chinese lanterns in the trees, and decorative kites and parasols. I love that it was a baby shower but the first thing people saw when they came in the gate was a big sign that said "BAR" with an arrow pointing down the steps. And what a bar it was! On a deck overlooking a tranquil pond full of koi, Daniel made the most amazing pomegranate martinis with sugared rims, and the koi swam up to look at us in the hope we had something we might throw to them. It seemed like everyone I knew was there, and it reminded me of our wedding! Mary brought incredible cupcakes but I took my eyes off of mine for a minute and someone ate it. :) The food was wonderful, lots of noodles and gyozas and spring rolls and Grace's amazing berry cobbler. It felt like so much love coming our way. All four Coopers helping out--Bryan was so cute the way he gathered people for each event. I called Lindsey "Vanna" when she held the basket of Chinatown goodies (fans, Buddhas, etc) for the raffle prizes. We held off on opening gifts for a long time because I didn't want it to end! And then the gifts were incredible, so sweet and generous. Some of the cards made me cry. Outfits for Jarrah so cute that I want to wear them. Afterwards Mary and Paul loaded all the loot into their van and drove it to our house--so thoughtful. Now I love looking in there and seeing all the colorful bags and tufts of pastel tissue, and then once more running my hands over the chamois blankies and the delicious velour and fleece jackets and onesies and the tiny soft shoes with fruit and ladybugs on them! Jarrah is going to be one fashionable little girl.

So much gratitude and love to everyone who helped make this possible for us. Jarrah has so many honorary uncles and aunties.

This week feels like we are revving up to something. No official referral news yet, but I've made the e-mail list to send out those first photos as soon as we get them. I went to the dentist and that was a relief (it's scary to change dentists, but it was time.) I also had my Hepatitus A & B shots. It's amazing how they hurt less than a mosquito bite after the dozens I've had in my belly and ass. Later today we'll go to BRU and get some practical stuff like a stroller and a baby carrier. It's so weird to think that we'll need to install the car seat soon, and set up her booster chair, and kit out the crib, and baby-proof everything. So many things will have to be in place before we leave. And then we'll be in China, and the house will have a quiet expectancy, ready for a baby who will change everything.

Days of Awe

Tomorrow is our shower. I'm so nervous! I know that doesn't make much sense but it feels like I'm playing Ophelia without knowing the lines; you know, the whole analogy of doing something I haven't rehearsed for. It just doesn't feel real. Maybe if I were pregnant it would feel real.

David's parents are visiting right now. We went to see "Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit" tonight. That Wallace and Gromit. They slay me.

Yesterday was Yom Kippur. David and I joined a new synagogue this year: Dor Hadash. It's Reconstructionist, which is what I've decided I am. When we were driving there on Rosh Hashanah, David asked if I was going to know anyone and I gave him a look like "Do you think I know every Jew in San Diego?" Then the joke was on me because we'd been there about 30 seconds when I heard "Samantha!" and it was Evan from Muir Writing, whom I haven't seen in eight years. Then he started to introduce me to Felicia, who recognized me from Synthia's latke party four or five years ago. The congregation is shockingly small after the cavernous hotel ballroom atmosphere of University Synagogue. It's cozy, but it will take a bit of adjusting. It seemed like a good sign when we saw a couple with their Chinese daughter. I watched her playing in the aisle yesterday when the fast was almost over; I was bleary with low blood sugar but I smiled at her and tried to play peek-a-boo. She had a great smile.

Reason No. 853 why my life is weirder than other people's:

Today I had a facial at Indigo to get myself pretty for the big day. Afterwards, I absently pulled out my Carmex while the receptionist girly-girl was finding my bill. My lips were dry after all that steam. (Actually, all my facial mucous membranes were feeling dry, but I resisted the impulse to shove some up my nose, too.) The girly-girl, who'd been perfectly nice up to now, suddenly spotted the tell-tale yellow pot and narrowed her eyes, looking for all the world like she owned stock in Blistex and said, "You DO realize that Carmex is filled with fiberglass, don't you?" "Fiberglass?" I repeated thickly. "Yes." Her eyes were still narrow. My Carmex-covered finger hovered in mid-air. "Have you ever wondered why you feel the need to put it on again and again?" "Yes," I said, still thick with facial-head. "But I figured it was a lip balm issue." "No, it's not." Now she actually sounded mad. "It's completely addictive. Terrible stuff. I would never use it." Something was flickering in my foggy head and I held up the pot and peered at it. "Lanolin." I read to her. "Petrolatum. Cocoa Butter. Menthol. Camphor." "Well, those are the ingredients that MAKE fiberglass," she said dismissively. "But," I pleaded weakly, "it doesn't say fiberglass." I doggedly repeated it two or three more times, since she continued to slander my beloved yellow pot for another couple of minutes while we waited for my credit card. What I should have said was, "Missy, you're talking to someone with a 20 year habit here. You're going to have to do better than that." As I was leaving, she seemed to regret her vehemence and tried to mollify me: "Maybe I should check my facts a bit more." "You've got me pretty concerned now!" I said, almost convincing myself, "we're considering blowing some fiberglass into our attic; I don't want it on my lips!"

Later, when I told my MIL this story, she said, "And who's to say fiberglass is addictive anyway?" Who indeed? ;)

Reason No. 854 why my life is weirder than other people's:

Today I was performing cheese-removal surgery on my veggie sandwich in a cafe when I felt a presence at my elbow. I looked up. "Here." A woman I had noticed only out of the corner of my eye as I came in, who had been seated across the room from me, was dangling a paper napkin from her finger tips. I stared at it, darted my eyes to the stack of napkins on my table without meaning to, and chirped "Oh!" in a sort of ineffectual way, followed by "Thank you!"

"Sorry," she said with a rueful laugh, "I thought you needed one."

Of course, this would only have been a really good story if she had dangled the napkin in front of me and asked menacingly, "You do know these things are filled with fiberglass?"

Know It All

Lately I've lost a bit of patience with the unvarying litany of questions I get when I say I'm adopting. It goes like this: "Do you know who your baby is?" "When will you find out?" "How old will she be?" "Will you go get her?" "When will you go?" My responses have been polite but economical. It's not that I'm normally terse (far from it) but rather that I'm bored of having the same conversation over and over. It's just tiring being a source of wonderment and novelty to everybody I meet.

This past weekend I decided to mix it up a little for my own amusement, and that's where I got myself into trouble. I was at a baby shower and one of the guests was doing the interview when I decided to throw in some new answers. "Do you know who your baby is?" "No, we just have to trust in the Lord." "How old will she be?" "We're hoping for under 30." "How long have you been waiting." "Oh, forever...let's see...it's been close to 25 years now!" She soldiered on, undeterred, and finally slipped in, "We adopted a baby boy from Kazakhstan last year, and I was curious how the process differed." D'oh! And just like that I became an ass.

Today I was opening my locker at the YMCA before teaching my Nia class when a woman next to me said hello and complimented my class last week. I honestly don't remember how we got on the topic of Judaism, but she said, "I know something about that; my husband is Jewish." "Well, we have something in common," I replied, "my husband is not." We started talking about local synagogues that welcome interfaith couples and I found myself suddenly sharing, "I also want to find a place where my daughter will feel comfortable--we're adopting her from China." She congratulated me in a neutral tone and we went back to talking about synagogues. But a few minutes later I ran into her again by the door. "I know what you're talking about," she said, "my two sons are adopted from Mexico." I was floored. I couldn't believe that I'd gotten personal with a stranger and she ended up having something huge in common with me!

After class, I walked into the locker room and this same gal was having a conversation with another gal. The first one (her name is Donna) said to me, "This is Karen. She adopted from China ten years ago." WOW! It felt like a reunion, in some totally bizaare, non-linear way! Suddenly I felt like I had known these women for years. And they work out at the Y, just like me! We are everywhere, apparently!

On my way home, I stopped at Whole Foods to get fixin's for David's birthday blueberry pancake breakfast tomorrow. I really needed to pee so I got in line. Next to me was the most adorable Chinese girl of 7 or 8 with shiny, swingy hair and pink sneakers. She smiled at me. She was holding the hand of a 40-something woman who was very obviously not Chinese. I smiled at them both, probably too enthusiastically. The whole day seemed symbolic of something, but I'm not sure what.

Furbaby

Right now we have my sister's dog staying with us for a couple weeks. Her name is Zooey and she's a mutt who looks like a tall, golden fawn. She has deep wrinkles on her forehead that give her a range of expression from puzzled to deeply wounded. Apparently she was abused as a pup before she landed in the shelter and now she is very odd. She's sweet as pie, mind you, and gentle as a lamb, but she is the most skittish thing you've ever seen. Her own farts send her galloping from the room in terror.

So I feel like we are in training to have a baby right now, not just because we are caring for a living thing with constant needs but because of her unpredictable emotional state. Right now she is curled at my feet under the desk but within seconds she could be cowering in the garden, where she has already worn a groove into an innocent bed of impatiens against a corner wall. When we go to the dog park and have a perfectly lovely time romping and gamboling with the other dogs, she will gladly submit to her leash and walk smartly to the car, then often refuse to get out of the car when we arrive home. She looks at you as if it pains her more than she can express, but she makes her 70-odd pounds dead weight and can't even be dragged out of the back seat with her leash. This is very inconvenient when one is on a schedule. She won't eat her dinner unless someone sits right next to the bowl with her. She won't drink water at all unless you are pouring it out of a bottle into your hand. She has a thing for corners, even though she has a perfectly nice doggie bed in our living room.

Yesterday I woke up after a particularly sound sleep and realized I should take her out since it was quite late. She followed me out to the yard willingingly enough, and began the complex morning ritual of offering me her paw (which she always pulls away if you reach for it, as if to say "Psych!") and rolling onto her back to have her belly scratched. These steps must be completed before she can even think about relieving herself. It was going pretty well when I got the bright idea to sit down in one of the plastic garden chairs to encourage her to venture out on her own. But I hadn't counted on the two inches of cold water puddled in the seat. I reacted to the sudden grip of icy wetness on my bum as anyone might; I leaped to my feet and yelped "Ah!" That did it. Zooey, who was not even near me at the time, froze and stared at the person she had once considered a tolerable temporary stand-in for her mom as if I had suddenly become a grizzly bear. As I reached for her with a conciliatory, "Sorry, Zooey! It's not you, it's me!" she bolted into the house, zoomed into the baby's room, and hurled herself into a ball in the corner. When I tried to approach her, she shook like a leaf. She would have stayed there for hours but I still needed her to pee! I dashed into the bedroom, waking David as I peeled off the clinging wet pajamas and scrambled for her leash. As he opened his eyes, I said, "Is this what parenthood is like? Suffering an indignity and still having to think of your child's needs first?" It reminded me of a time that David and I brought Hannah to the playground and in a foolish attempt to mimic a ring-around-the-monkey-bars, I ran smack into one, blacked out for a second and fell to the ground. David rushed to my side, and as I lay there in the dirt seeing stars, I blurrily glimpsed Hannah making her get-away towards the slide. "Follow Hannah!" I commanded.

Zooey can't tell me what she needs, what would make her feel safer or more comfortable. I can't reassure her that her mama will return. All I can do is offer her another chicken snack and hope I'm doing right by her.

Glide, Baby, Glide

I went to the Baby Corridor today. That's how I think about Miramar Rd., which is basically five miles of warehouse-like structures filled with niche products, many of them seeming to relate to children. All this is on only one side of the street. The other side is fenced off for military use. For five miles. No joke.

So first I went to USA Baby, which was surprisingly serene on a Tuesday afternoon (I've seen it about to implode from baby screams on a Saturday.) I floated around touching anything soft or with a fruit pattern, and finally came to the stroller section. It didn't seem that useful, since most of the strollers were suspended above my head. Not exactly a user-friendly display. I tried to study a few but finally had to get the hell out of there.

Next stop, Children's Land (I am not making up these names!) They have a huge selection of gliders, the specialized rocking chair that people are apparently federally mandated to own before a baby can live in your home. Here's my dirty little secret: I'm not sure what the glider rocker is for. Is it because babies refuse to eat if they're not being rocked at the same time? Is it because they will go to sleep if you rock them? Is it because it's a social construction for a woman to sit in a rocking chair holding a precious child? I'm really not sure. All I know is two things: 1) They are expensive, perhaps the most expensive chairs on the planet and 2) They are ugly. Deeply, irretrievably ugly. And at the bottom you can find a matching chunk of ugliness: the ottoman. Also crazy-expensive.

There. That's what I know. Oh, and that everyone I've ever met with a baby, bio or adopted, has one. Is it a law? I'm kind of afraid to ask anyone for fear the social worker will be sent back to my house to review our case with this new insight in mind--my total ignorance of the non-negotiable necessity of the glider rocker. Oy.

So, today I actually found one that like. It's still very ugly, mind you, but this one is ugly in an endearing way; it invites you to embrace the purity of its ugliness. It has no baby-specific features at all. It comes in a delicious fuzzy material (that's the only way I know how to describe it) in several yummy colors. It is deeply padded and shaped like a conventional armchair, slightly smaller than a Laz-y-Boy. When you sit down in it, you kind of sink, and when you pull the wooden lever on the side, a *built-in* ottoman snaps into place (hello, moneysaver!) Then you can lean back slightly and the whole thing reclines flat, leaving you snugly cushioned on all sides by the pillowy surfaces. And right now, $100 off!

I was tempted to order it on the spot. But the hovering manager, who kept telling me "Your husband will thank you for this chair!" (which seems correct) finally said, "He will especially thank you right after you get home from the hospital!" That did it. I kept my eyes closed for a few more seconds and tried to pretend he hadn't said that, but alas, the spell was broken. I'll bring David back this weekend for another look.

When It Showers, It Pours

This summer I have been to about ten showers. No, I am not being hyperbolic, as is my usual wont. I'm talking the last month I have gone to one every weekend. I actually feel quite blessed to have so many friends. And of course I learned a lot about the layout of BRU before needing it for myself. But it really is quite amazing. I have been offered a lot of cake in the past three months.

I forgot to mention the most amazing thing about yesterday's BRU experience. When I told the "Congratulations!" lady that I was adopting a one-year-old girl from China, she burst out "Have you seen the food chiller?" It's as if something about my situation directly triggered her response. Anyway, I said I had not seen it, and she droned on about it for a while in a way that was completely abstract to me and I instantly forgot. But when I was returning the gun, she repeated, "Did you get a chance to look at the food chiller?" I told her, quite frankly, that I had missed it completely, but this had the unexpected result of causing her to leap out of her chair and announce, "I'll go get it for you." Synthia and I waited patiently and she soon returned with a unit--pardon my vagueness as I honestly think I've blocked some of this--that looked a little bit like a rubber bracelet with a rubber hole on the top, covered by a loose balloon of nylon mesh. She said brightly, "You just pop a hunk of frozen meat in there, and the baby can suck on it all day, getting nutrients and a taste for solid food, while you gain the confidence of knowing that she has no choking risk!" I thanked her for this helpful tip and we left the store. As soon as the big glass doors had closed behind us, I murmured to Syn, "Is it weird that I kind of threw up in my mouth a little when she described how that food chiller worked?" Syn said she had felt the exact same way!

Anyway, it just goes to show there are products out there that exceed our wildest dreams. ;)

Here's a classic: today my pessimism about the glitches in both my registries was validated when I called both BRU and PBK to find out why I was unable to access my registries on line. The BRU problem was a simple missing e-mail address, but the PBK problem was that the very competent-seeming gal from yesterday had listed my shower date as "October 15, 2020." I think maybe she bored her beady eyes to the depths of my soul and decided, "Well, that's about when we can expect YOU to have a child." Even more frightening, when I reported my suspicions to the gal on the phone, she laughed, which caused me to try to bond with her by making a slightly lame comment about how we'd be traveling to my shower on space ships, to which she agreed, "Yeah, that's in, like, a hundred years!" Oof. Wanna bet she's never had a fertility problem? ;)

Fun with a Gun

Today I went with Synthia to register for baby stuff. I have waited over 3 years to be able to wield that gun and I was planning to relish every moment of it. ;) But registering is hard work! I wish I could just wantonly spray that red light over every bar code without a thought to consequences, but alas, it is not me. There was a lot of agonizing. At the first stop, Babies R Us, "The Wall of Nipples" took 20 minutes alone! What size bottle? What shape bottle? What brand? Disposable or not? Fast flow or slow flow? Y-Cut or regular cut? EEK! We were so overwhelmed after making our way through "Infant Care" and "Safety" that I was feeling quite reckless by "Bedding" and shot sheets in whatever color was handy. And then there was absolutely nothing left in the carbohydrate bank for the tiny clothes. After listlessly waving the gun at non-skid socks and a fabulous faux-fur leopard-print parka that I simply could not ignore, it was time to high-tail it out of there and get some lunch. I realized afterwards that I never even looked at strollers. And it now occurs to me that for whatever reason the registry is not registering my car seat or baby monitor. Sigh.

We refueled at Daily's Fit&Fresh in La Jolla and were ready to tackle the mayhem that is Pottery Barn Kids on a Saturday afternoon. Luckily all the stuff there is purely for fun (and profit, though not for us.) Sheets that you want to rub all over yourself because they're as fuzzy as a bunny, blankies (actually called "blankies") with tiny farm animals stitched on them, towels with tiny ladybugs, and hooded towels shaped like a frog. We even found the world's cutest plastic plates and cups in every color of the rainbow. I was teetering dangerously toward a gingham arm chair sized for a 2-year-old for $100 when I had to cut myself off. ;)

Now I'm feeling a bit grumbly that neither of my registries is showing on line for reasons that are obscure, but also looking forward to tweaking them over the next few weeks as I continue to study my "Baby Bargains." I feel very blessed to have had Synthia's company today--she was as patient as a saint and also a font of real-life information. She was able to tell me when an item was pure hype and when it was not only useful but I would need FOUR. Ya have to learn that stuff on the job! :)

And when I got home David had built the bookcases (they're a little tall--I'm going to have to separate them until they can behave) and was making the complicated edges of the baby's window look very clean and white with some fresh paint. A very satisfying day.