Shhhh.

We’ve been using the library this summer. It’s a tiny gesture on my part to help out with the budget.

I like using the library– I like the wealth of out-of-print books and fun finds… but it’s frustrating to read something really, really good and then have to return it. I want it on my shelf so I can wander across it at 3 a.m. on a night with  insomnia… or grab it to take to the Lake for a reread.

And I get depressed thinking about all the crappy books that the library is housing mixed in with the ones I love.

Jack likes going to the library, too– but for an entirely different reason. He likes the children’s room and the “Green Eggs and Ham” computer game… And the stacks of puzzles and games. He’s worse than I am about returning books– today we brought back three and came home with two of them and one new one, “I want to keep these longer,” he pleaded.

This summer I’ve been reading goofy books from the section on writers who write about themselves. William C. Anderson and Ludwig Bemelmans. Today I picked up a weird assortment including a books about a nun, an undertaker, an Alaskan army wife, and an old “Anne” book (L. M. Montgomery) because my own copy is AWOL.

The guy in front of me checked out three books about serial killers and murders. I’ll stick with my bagful.

States right

So the JackRabbit’s newest obsession is the U. S. of A.

It started with Al Roker and the Today show. Jack and I have a little standing agreement that Mommy gets to watch the Today show from 8-8:15 a.m. so that I can hear Ann Curry read the news then get a glimpse at the weather with Al. Jack could care less about the news but when he hears Al he comes running to see the map. He loves the map. Through the wonder of TiVo we sometimes pause the map so he can peer at it more closely and point out the little suns and clouds and other icons.

So it started there… then seeped into our trips to the playground of the elementary school where there is a huge United States map with all the states outlined on the blacktop. We’d go there and make up impromptu games where we’d travel from one place to another and count the states we’d have to cross, etc.

Then I remembered the placemat I’d bought quite a while ago and tucked in the drawer– a map of the United States on one side and, on the other, a black and white outline of it. Jack carried it everywhere for a few months– to church (it’s a “quiet” toy), to the grocery store, to his fort in the backyard… He’d point at a state and ask, “What’s this one’s name, Mommy?” and memorize within one or two mentions.

He perfected his memory during visits to my Granny. At “The Ranch” where she lives there is a Melissa & Doug floor puzzle of the USA that they keep in the common room. Jack borrows it and takes it to Granny’s room and plays with it while we visit with Granny. Our conversations there are peppered with interruptions of “Granny! This is Idaho!” and “Granny! Granny! This is Florida. Mickey Mouse lives there!”

It was around that time that I remembered the “50 States That Rhyme” song. I tried to find it on iTunes but came up with some other song and a really annoying version of the one I’m familiar with sung by some wretched hip-hop children. The song I know is one from car trips when I was a kid. I think it was a Christian singer– I thought that it had something to do with Sandi Patty (Dad was a big fan) but still haven’t tracked it down. Anyway. It’s a song that you sing through faster and faster where all the states are in alphabetical order. It’s set to “Turkey in the Straw”*

Jack learned the song after four times through.

The latest is a magnetic puzzle of the U.S. He loves it. I’m trying to track down a Europe puzzle so that he can learn the countries there.

In the meantime– we’ve found some great books at the library (who knew they write books for 4 year olds on the shapes of states?)…

And did I mention that he has about 40 of the state capitols down cold? (That’s more than Robby and I combined two weeks ago.)

Robby: “Jack, what’s the capitol of Michigan?”
Jack: “M.”
Me: (Sigh) “Jack, what’s the capitol city of Michigan?”
Jack: Lansing!

*Alabama and Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas.
California, Colorado, Connecticut, and more.
Delaware, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Idaho,
Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, there’s 35 to go.
Kansas and Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine,
Maryland, Massachusetts, and good old Michigan!
Minnesota, Mississippi, Missouri and Montana,
27 is Nebraska, number 28’s Nevada.
Then New Hampshire and New Jersey and way down New Mexico,
New York, North Carolina, North Dakota, Ohio,
Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, now let’s see…
Rhode Island, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee.
Texas and there’s Utah, Vermont, I’m almost through,
Virginia and there’s Washington and West Virginia, too,
Could Wisconsin be the last state? I’m almost out of time…
No, Wyoming is the last state in the 50 states that rhyme.

Falling off the wagon

Last night I fell off the wagon. Hard.

Our nearest park is a lovely, lovely green place with a rolling path around it for walkers, joggers, and bikers. We try to walk it every night to get in a little exercise. There’s also a great playground that Jack loves. Last night we did our usual– walk to the park from our house, let Jack play at the climby structures, get popsicles at the stand, then walk towards home. Part of the ritual is that, on the last little hill at the end of the park, Jack and I get into his wagon and ride it down the slope. We’ve done it dozens of times. I sit in front and steer, Jack and the black pup sit behind me. (One little black face looks around one side of me while one little sticky popsicle face looks around the other…)

Last night Jack didn’t want to ride the hill. So Philbin and I were prepared to go the distance.

I’m not sure what went wrong– was it the weight difference? Did I sit too far forward? Did we start to high up on the hill? For some reason I felt like I was going faster than usual so I stuck my foot out to slow down. My heel went to my toe which then bent backwards and rolled under the wagon, pulling me out in the process.

I gashed up my ankle on the axle and my knee on the pavement. Pretty.

The boyscout took good care of me and got me all cleaned/bandaged/iced/ibuprofened up. And today I’m none the worse for wear– just a little slower and achier.

I’m an idiot, I know. It was stupid… next time I won’t try to slow down.

Zoo-topia

As a parent there are some things you intend to do and then forget to do. Which might be why I was over 20 before I ever was taken to the circus. But that’s another story.

We’ve intended to take Jack to a zoo for quite some time. We’ve toyed with wondering which zoo it would be for his first visit– London? New York City? Chicago? Columbus? Cinncinnati? San Diego? Detroit? Toledo?

There are a lot of zoos that have been on our radar. But then the summer would pass and we’d have to add it next year’s list. Yesterday we finally managed to check it off.  We loaded up my mother’s snazzy car (it holds us all) and took Jacky to the Detroit Zoo.

The Detroit Zoo is actually in Royal Oak. Confusing tourists and residents alike for years. I lived in Royal Oak for a few years when we were first married. We liked it there– it was a fun place to live when you have only another adult to think about. We could easily walk downtown from our apartment to eat or window shop. There was a great arthouse theater and a favorite boutique and a fantastical grocery store that I still miss at Christmas. The zoo was there, too. We passed it all the time but never managed to walk through the gates and see what was on the other side of the thick brick walls.

I assumed that I’d gone there as a kid. I had vague memories of trips to the zoo when I was small. There are photographs of my sister and I sitting on a giant tortoise. (I don’t suppose that’s allowed anymore? There’s probably some ethical group out there to prevent that from happening.)

In the middle of the day yesterday I turned to my mother and said, “It’s weird that absolutely none of this is familiar.”
“Not really. We never came here. We always went to the Toledo Zoo.”
Oh.

The Detroit Zoo, it turns out, is really nice. It’s huge. Sprawling with scattered picnic areas and lots of green places. It’s a great place to take a small child which I’m sure seems like a dumb thing to type– but there are an awful lot of places that proclaim to be Family/Child Friendly and, in actuality, are really only meant for well-mannered adults to enjoy. At the Detroit Zoo there are lots of little statues to climb on and garden walls to balance on and an amazing playground that is just the sort of place you can’t quite keep your eye on your child easily– which makes it a great place for a kid.

At the Prairie Dog area there are clear tubes jutting out of the ground big enough for a child. You’re looking at the little colony of prairie dogs skittering about their tunnels when suddenly your own kid pops his head up his own tube. It’s a great idea and well executed.

We saw almost everything. The river otters were off exhibit (a grave disappointment for Momma and I who both love otters) and there was only a very lazy gorilla and two chimpanzees to see in all of Monkeydom. [We have a theory about that. One of the two remaining monkeys on display had the horrifically engorged arse of a she-monkey in heat. Momma noted that on an earlier and other zoo excursion with one of her 5th grade classes she learned that monkey, uh, love isn't exactly gentle and sweet. Apparently there can be a lot of violence and sometimes a monkey doesn't survive the, uh, encounter. So our working theory is that this seemed like a REALLY good time for the zoo workers do be able to do some necessary work/repair/cleaning to Monkeydom. We had a thousand unanswered questions... where do the monkeys all go? How do they herd them there? Why couldn't they tell us where and why the monkeys were?] We also didn’t make it to the zippy little train ride– we’d gotten tangled up in the snare of the spitting froggy statues and a very hot little boy whose mother had the foresight to pack a swimsuit…

We had a great day. Momma and I coordinated a picnic– we’ve had two great picnics, the five of us together– the last one was in Ireland where we feasted on the spoils of a local farmer’s market. This one, under the trees of a shady area, was just as good– croissants and chicken salad and ham, olives, chips, strawberries, cookies, and cold drinks.

We took advantage of the opportunity to “feed a giraffe”– the zoo has a clever fundraiser where 50 people get to feed the giraffes twice a day. You pay $5 for a piece of giraffe food and get a ticket. The money all goes to the zoo so it’s a win-win for everyone. We bought 4 tickets and lined up when it was our turn. I come from a family of good line waiters. We don’t freak out at the length of a line. We wait, mostly patiently, for our turn at something. The people behind us were insulted at the wait. It makes me grateful that my parents weren’t greedy and wouldn’t let us be greedy in turn. At the right time we were given, one-by-one, a piece of Giraffe Food– or, as you and I know it, Rye Crisps. (Blech!) We pooled ours and let Jacky feed the friendly giraffe from the platform up in the trees. The zoo rangers let us break our pieces into halves so we had 8 pieces to dole out. I got to feed one, too. It was cool. We all thought it pretty neat. Jack wasn’t scared at all. He cackled when the giraffe made his funny burping noise and stuck out his quivering black tongue for more.

It almost put out the sight of zebra sex from our minds. That was pretty graphic and something I might have happily gone for another 39 years without seeing. Poor lady zebra stood, looking annoyed, while man zebra climbed on her. Momma and I both assumed she was thinking, “Really? Now? We have like 18 hours of the zoo being closed but you’re choosing to do this now when everyone’s watching?”

Jack, for his part, noted, “That funny zebra is climbing on the other zebra’s shoulders!” Much easier than the poor schoolgroup chaperone next to us trying to find the right words to explain the sudden and large appearance of the man zebra’s, uh, part.

We all had favorite areas:

Jack liked the hippos. We learned that they excrete a sunscreen. It’s the pink on their cheeks. This made us happy. And it made re-applying sunblock to a tired little boy in the middle of the afternoon much easier. Jack was also keen on the “fairydog holes” — the tubes at the prairie dog enclosure– where he would pop up suddenly in one, disappear, then reappear in another.

Momma and Eric liked the Artic Ring of Life area where we saw polar bears up close. And the icy wall at the end of the underwater walkway. We marveled at the construction of it and the way it cooled off our hot necks when we put our chilly hands there. We also laughed a lot at the seal that was treading water in front of an airjet. It reminded us of our Little Black Pup putting his nose near the air vents in the car…

Robby got the biggest kick out of watching Jack and I feed the giraffes. (Partly because he thought the giraffe might yak up some Rye Crisps at one point.) And liked the meercats. One meercat stood guard while the others were eating the pink pills in the back– he stood so straight and erect. Robby does a great impression.

I liked the meercats best if only because Jack called them “fairycats” after I’d explained, “They’re kind of like prairie dogs.”
“Fairy dogs, Mommy. Let’s go see the fairy cats!”

The zoo was very clean– the bathrooms and picnic areas and pathways free of litter. The little toilets in the family bathroom delighted Jack and Robby (and the fact that Robby used the family room on the Women’s side delighted Momma, Eric, and I). There are great FYI signs everywhere– little historical factoids about the zoo. All of us grown ups really liked them.

And kudos tenfold to the many zoo volunteers we encountered– they were fantastic. Informative, kind, patient– one guy sat near the Lion enclosure with a piece of lion hide for us to touch and a chewed upon, clawed up ball that the lions had nearly destroyed. He answered the questions peppered at him from school groups with a grace and ease. He told us how that the two of the three lions in front of us were rescued from Detroit– one from a crack house. Idiots emulating idoit rappers who purchase illegal exotic animals. Make that two lions in front of us. The former crack house lioness was in the back. “Katy” doesn’t like male lions so she waits till he goes in back to come out in front. Poor Katy. The rainforest immersion volunteer helpfully pointed out all the animals we were missing– the iguana (who sat blissfully on the air vent), the stingray, and the toe of the sloth. (Robby’s convinced there is no sloth– just a toe.) The frog volunteer found all the frogs we couldn’t possibly see easily.

We stayed until they closed. A full 8 hours of zoo and we still didn’t see absolutely everything. Jack watched Madagascar in the backseat with Momma and Eric on the ride back home slack-jawed and droopy-eyed. Last night he barely made it from bath to bed.
“Mommy,” he informed me soberly, “I have to go to bed now because I’m very tired.”

Now about that circus…

Rocking out

Jack and I painted rocks today.

It was a nice enough day outside– a little on the cool side but sunny. I grabbed some bottles of paints and some rocks and brushes. His attention span wasn’t very long on it– he heard his pal Colin from the Other Side of the Fence and rushed to be finished.

Colin is five years old. He has a swing set that he climbs to look over the fence between our yards. Jack climbs up his fort ladder and then stands on the little wall of it. It’s not very safe. I’m constantly reminding him to step back down to the safer platform area… but he can see Colin better if he stands on the ledge.

Jack and Colin have a funny little friendship that they conduct mostly over the fence. Sometimes, like today, they play ball. Jack hurls it over, Colin hurls it back. It’s a pretty high fence so it takes a lot out of them.

As for me, I was painting still. I had a birdhouse to paint for a fundraiser at work. My heart’s not really in it right now. I’m having a hard time there lately. But my birdhouse looks nice. I think it will bring in a nice amount.

We’re going to paint more rocks tomorrow. If Colin’s not outside in his yard we might actually get to finish.

Christy the Sparrow

A friend of mine, Christy, has been a really good example lately.

I think there is a reason for all the people in our lives. I think there are things that we learn from each other. Tiny worms that work their way into our brains or hearts and set up camp. We take it for granted from the people closest to us– or can’t see the forest for the trees.

My pal Christy’s husband is an engineer at GM. They’re good people. They live carefully. Raise their children responsibly. Their kids are the kind of kids you want to know. They’re funny and kind and creative. Christy has homeschooled them– a fact that shocks her only slightly less than the rest of us.

I see Christy maybe three times each year– at parties or gatherings at our mutual Friends Wally & Katie’s… and we have barely enough time then to catch up on the pleasantries. In the meantimes we read each other’s blogs and occasionally comment on them or our facebook pages. (Ah! Modern friendship.)

Today GM declared bankruptcy. The news stories aren’t specific enough to include the GM family I care most about– Christy, her husband, and their brood– but if they did interview her the reporter would have to note that while she is angry and anxious she is also assured. Assured that her faith is not built on stock or the financial stablility of an automotive giant. Her faith is in God. Her faith is in an unwavering belief that their lives are in His hands and that His eye is on the sparrow and the engineers and the mothers and the children.

I can’t say I’m as steadfast as she– but her example has been a strong one. So even while we hold our breath to see what the trickle down effects of GM’s bankruptcy is on Robby’s office, we’ll say a prayer of thanksgiving (and good things) for Christy.

Eye of the Terri

I forgot to mention one very special birthday present…

As I’ve typed here before I suck at wii Boxing. Really, really suck at it. I punch and flail at my opponent… but spend a lot more time on the mat. It’s disconcerting.

We don’t have a wii– our friends Chris and Susan do. We play it there. We bowl, we cow race, we volley in tennis… and we box. The rest of them do quite well. I  spend a lot of time cringing at the slow motion replay of my poor little wii Terri being lifted by the opposition’s fist and thrown– usually with my little wii neck snapping or my little wii arse going over my shoulder– to the mat.

Chris and Susan created little wii people for all of us. I like mine. She’s dressed in brown, has brown braids, and round glasses. Sometimes Chris makes her angry. All of our wii people look remarkably like us. (Except for Dan who we turned into a transvestite because we could. There’s also a Dennis Rodman man that we created when we realized that Dan’s transvestite wii looked like a white Dennis Rodman…)

Jack takes great delight in Mommy losing. In wii, when you lose, your little wii person hangs their head and slumps their shoulders while the winner gets to jump and gleefully raise their arms. Jack does a fantastic impression of both.

On NewYearsEve this year my only real resolution was to beat Chris or Robby or ANYone in wii Boxing. A worthy goal to set for myself. Four months later there had been little progress on this endeavor.

So, the day after my birthday, after we’d eaten Birthday Horseshoes and pie, and after I’d opened up my presents Chris said, “Wait, there’s one more. Follow me.” We all did. He handed me the wii numbchucks and cued up the boxing– already set with our wii people– and said, “Ok, here you go. Happy Birthday.” He sat down on the couch and barely raised his hands so that I’d get to win. Finally.

In theory it was a beautiful gesture. In practice, well, it didn’t quite work out that way. I punched and sallied and flailed while Chris sat nearly motionless on the sofa. Robby and Susan and Jack cheered until my little braided boxer hit the mat, rallied, got up and hit the mat again. And again. We had to go three rounds and then it was declared a draw. At one point Chris held his numbchucks over his head so that I’d have a clear shot to his face.

It didn’t help.

Susan’s theory, later, was that maybe because my little wii Boxer had such a terrible, terrible record… and Chris’ wii Boxer had such a history of annihilation that I was doomed without a handicap.

I’m going underground to train. This might be difficult without a wii to practice on. Maybe I could sneak into the Senior Center– I hear they have one. Get an old man to coach me and then come out of retirement to beat Chris and win the cold war.

“Adrian!”

Jack now

If I could, I think I’d keep Jack just as he is now for a while. He’s always been a funny kid but lately he’s turned up the dial a notch on his creativity.

Some highlights:

• We’ve taken the rail off his crib so that he’s sleeping in a little daybed now. It was hard to take off the front piece of the crib. He didn’t mind it– he nestled into his little crib every night without complaint and waited patiently in the morning for us to lift him out again. He could crawl out– and occasionally did– but, for the most part, he was content. My sister and I both slept in our cribs when we were in kindergarten. Like Jack we were small enough and it didn’t occur to us to be insulted. Still. It was time. He likes his new bed. He hops down in the morning and trots into our room casually, “Good morning Mommy.”
• Jack went on his first water slide last week. We took him to a hotel that had a waterslide, pool, and splash area. He was delighted. For about $12 I was able to get a little kickboard, waterwings, and an assortment of little pool toys. He loved the waterwings. The slide was supposed to be for people 48″ tall– Jack is nowhere near that… but, luckily, the rules were pretty lax and no one said anything about it. His face was a mix of pure exhilaration and pure terror when he came down the first time. Robby and I took turns catching him at the bottom, bobbing him in the water, and pointing him toward the ladder for another slide. His joy right now is so complete. So pure.
• We also took him to a friend’s farm museum. We took the free wagon ride with Farmer Brad who kindly let Jack sit up front with him. Jack was thrilled. We sat on haybales next to him while he studied all the things that Farmer Brad did. (Jack yelled, “Giddyup” to the horses who twitched their ears and took a step up.) When the wagon was full Farmer Brad turned and tipped his hat, “Hello, My name is Farmer Brad and I’ll be taking you on this wagon ride today. The horses here are named Duke and Dempsey.” Jack listened politely then turned, stood, pulled my hat off my head, placed it on his own, and announced, “Hello, My name is Woody. Mommy is Jessie the Cowgirl and Daddy is Buzzlightyear. You are all horses.” His first public interpretation. Sigh.
• His new expression when things go wrong, “Oh! This is terr-ible!”
• The fairies have come to live in Jack’s fort. He went out one day to find a tiny door that opens to the fairy that lives inside. There’s been an exchange of little surprises and even a note from the fairies. Jack is enchanted with the whole concept.
• Jack’s gymnastic class culminated in a End of Year Parent’s Program. He forward rolled and bounced and kartwheeled (which, for Jack, is really just swinging his little rear end over while he hops)… and was awarded, with all the other children, a participation trophy. It’s nifty. It lights up and flashes. As trophies go, this one’s pretty snazzy. He was impressed. It has batteries. Batteries are pretty big in a 4-year-old’s world.
• There is genuine chatter now. About anything and everything. Get Jack started on a topic he’s interested in and be prepared to listen for quite a while. Favorite topics include: dinosaurs, Lightening McQueen and his world, coins, and instuctions.
• Georgia-the-Teddy-Bear goes everywhere with us now. To church and the grocery store and to visit Granny. Georgia is always nearby, in Jack’s arms, or in my purse. I can’t think of how any future friend will be as loyal and true as this one.

Well. Time to stop. The little man in question is wondering what is for lunch. Me, too.

Not so young and restless

Today I don’t feel much like being a grown up.

I spent three hours cleaning and rearranging Jack’s room. (He was on a special outing with his grandparents.) I sorted out clothes and redid his drawers and baskets so that it’s easier for him to find things. I spent a big chunk of time on my knees cleaning the floor. I like Jack’s floor– it’s honey colored wood and shiny. Robby refinished it while Jack was being gestated. I stuck up a few new pictures on the walls and some glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. I pulled all the books off his shelves and pulled out a few that we haven’t read in a while to surprise him with.

My birthday iPod came in handy. I listened to “Wait, Wait Don’t Tell Me” podcasts while I worked.

It’s a crappy week. (”Crap on crap on crap”, says Robby.) Our pals Chris and Sue spent their last nights as residents in our town this week. They’ll be back to visit– but we’ll miss them being so handily close. We both took turns soaking in their sweet baby because now he will grow so quickly– we’ll see him by the weeks and months instead of the hours and days. Last night was so normal it made me ache. We ate dinner (boxes of take-out sushi) and cupcakes while Jacky played and Baby Adrian was passed from one set of arms to another. Occasionally we would reference the last nightness of it but mostly we all pretended that this would go on and on.

I’m not maudlin. We’ll remain friends– I’m just mourning the proximity we’ve had this last year.

Today more crap piled on the other crap. Robby’s job is tied into the automotive industry so as the Big 3 sink into the mud it’s inevitable that he’ll have wet feet, too. We try to be grateful that he still has a job but the temporary shut downs have us both nervous.

Gone went the mini-vacation we’d planned for next week. And, with two weeks in July without pay on the horizon, we’re having to rethink any other plans this year to get away. For a girl with wanderlust this is a bitter pill to swallow.

Under the crap pile is the concerns we have about where to send Jack next year to school and some household projects that loom too large.

In this imperfect week of big changes– tomorrow is Jack’s last regular day of pre-school. He’s really loved going to school and I’m sorry it’s coming to an end for him. It makes me sad to see this little group of “schoolfriends” scattered across the district to different schools. I’ve spent enough time in their class getting to know them and I’ll miss them, too. I don’t have the confidence yet in next year that I did with this decision this time last year. We knew our choice for preschool was exactly right for Jack. I wish I could feel that about the fall, too.

I suck at “casting all my cares” upon God. It’s easier to say thank you. (And it’s not as though God really needs me whining right now. It must be like a mosquito swarm up there with all of us pleading for this and that. Ugh.)

Sorry to be so rambling. I’m sad and discouraged and anxious. This does not fuel my fingers well. Stopping now to go read a book. And tiptoe into Jack’s room and watch him sleep.

K-K-K-Kutcher

In light of all the many, many school adventures in front of us let’s file this one under Are We Being Punked?

We’re at the 2nd of Jack’s Kindergarten Round Ups (a blog for another day). Today’s featured a power point and a lot of “This will make sense when the kids are actually in school” information… The principle pointed out that their school, like the others in our district, use D’Nealian Penmanship. She told us we would find an alphabet sample in our packets.

There was other information– the usual stuff. And then Principle asked if there were any questions regarding the information she’d just covered.

A man sitting a few rows back and quite possibly the infamous Louis of our Birthing Classes (or at least a reasonable  facsimile) asked, loudly, “Why is there a cursive k instead of a printed one?” (A D’Nealian lower-case k is loopy– it’s like a more traditional cursive k… D’Nealian is supposed to facilitate fewer strokes in the writing process. I’ll stop but I could go on about this. Penmanship fascinates me.)

Principle: “We use the D’Nealian method of penmanship…” She went on to expound on the district’s choice to use that particular method.

Scary Man Who’s Son Will Be in Close Contact with My Precious Baby: “Well my mother was a schoolteacher for 30 years and she said printed ks shouldn’t look like that. I just want you to know that we will be teaching our boy to make the right k.” 

Principle: “Well sir, we can talk about this further later.”

Terri’s thought bubble: Hooray! I finally get to meet Ashton Kutcher. How fun that will be!