Necessary Position

I think I’m in the middle of a funk. This in-between place of disappointment and excitement.

If you follow me on Facebook, you’ll know that my latest job only lasted 3 weeks. I have no idea what happened but I’m going to take it at face-value…they said it wasn’t me.

So…that is the 2nd time I’ve taken a contract position, only to have it end with those words. I’m going to try to keep believing that it wasn’t me, it was just the sticky situation I found myself thrust into. No, I won’t go into details, that would be unprofessional. I have my theories.

It’s not easy to rebound from these curveballs. As hard as I try, I still keep feeling like a failure. So, I’ve made a decision not to do anymore contract work. Either freelance from my home or a permanent, full-time position are the only things I’ll do. Otherwise, it’s just not worth the effort anymore. Sure, the money is nice. But the emotional impact it has on my aging soul…I’ll pass, thank you.

Life doesn’t ever seem to go the way we expect it to, does it? When I was younger, it was easier to go with the flow. Now, since I’m just a teensy bit older, I want to be able control the flow of my life. No clue how to do that. Maybe it’s impossible.

No, no depression here. Just a funk. A cross-roads that I’m still standing on, trying to decide which turn to make and I’m so very unsure as to which way to go.

Then there is this app. That’s the excitement part of my life at the moment. While I’m not going to go into the details of the app, I will tell you that I can’t wait to share it! The alpha phase has begun and I’ll be presented with the storyboards next week. From there, I will determine if I want to continue with this app development company or find another one.

Getting too excited about it is something I’m trying to hold off on doing. Only because every single time I get excited about something, it doesn’t go as expected. Just like that job I had for 3 weeks.

I’m trying to stay positive without counting eggs. That’s not as easy as it sounds.

Then there is the whole parenting thing.

Which takes up a lot of brain and emotional space.

That never goes as expected either. When we have our babies, we expect them to sort of do what we did. You know, school, college, career and marriage with the final two not necessarily in that order.

It’s sort of shocking when you realize your kids aren’t using your brain. They have their own. And they make their own decisions, sometimes without consulting you first. Decisions that aren’t necessarily what you would consider the wisest choice. But, this free will thing was even given to our children. And they aren’t afraid to use it.

The letting go part…the part where you, as a parent, have to say…it’s on you…

Not so easy.

But necessary, I suppose. And once these babies turn 18, they are considered adults. So, while the house rules apply at any age, as long as the roof is shared with the parents…there are just some things you can’t fight over anymore.

And there are just some things you give up the fight on.

Like school, for example.

It’s hard to let your babies fall, especially after you’ve fought so hard to keep them from doing so.

This in-between place I’m finding myself in…

The one where I’m not the mom of little kids anymore.

The one where I’m not successful in my own right.

The one where I’m fighting the process of aging that we all face eventually.

I know this is probably a phase, we all go through phases…it’s part of being human.

I’m uncomfortable here. In this phase.

I’m most comfortable when I’m in my happy phase.

Which generally is most of the time.

I don’t always do well when I’m outside my comfort zone.

My muse has shut up, creativity isn’t flowing and my books that I’ve started are sitting in draft.

I spend too much time wishing, these days. And not enough time doing.

I know, it’s only been a few days since I was told my position wasn’t necessary anymore.

I don’t know why I let those words have such an impact on me. Especially the ‘not necessary’ part. And I’m not sure that’s even what I was told, but it’s what I heard.

And yet suddenly, I’m feeling like none of my positions are necessary.

At the moment, I’m just trying to feel necessary again.


For much of my life I had a lot of starting. With just as much stopping.

Maybe it could have been blamed on ADD.

Maybe not.

Maybe it was fear.

Maybe laziness.

Maybe what I would start just wasn’t the right thing for me.

I always began with gusto bordering on OCD.

I would throw myself into something and think that it would be my niche. The one thing I could do that would help produce some sort of income for my family.

The one thing I could do that would make me happy.

When that didn’t happen, I would give up.

You see, I always had this expectation that I would be wealthy.

Not that I would marry someone wealthy, although that would have been a bonus.

I just always assumed it would be my own personal wealth, one that I had created by my own creation.

Whatever that creation was.

And it would make me happy.

Because I would be complete for myself.

Beyond the fullness I feel from my family.

That expectation was unrealistic, I suppose.

My mom used to always tell me that something would come along. Something that I would be able to turn into a career.

A career that I would wake up excitedly to do.

A career that would give me a feeling of accomplishment.

After all, she turned her love of antiques into a thriving, successful business.

She was positive that would happen for me.

She was sure of it until the day she died.

So, I always kept trying.

And stopping.

But when I started blogging, I didn’t stop.

Not really.

Sure, it’s exceptionally inconsistent.

I blame that on my family. They get mad when I write about them.

It’s not so fun to write about myself, I’m not all that blog-worthy.

But, I kept blogging.

Then, blogging turned into this crazy thing called “microblogging”.

Then, suddenly…there was this thing called Social Media.

When people first started talking about this ‘social media’, I had no clue what it was they were talking about.

Then, I found out and was like…whoa, that’s what I’m doing.

I was freelancing.

I had people paying me to manage their pages.

And my mom’s words started coming to fruition.

I found my niche.

Social media.

Granted, I’m no guru.

I just sort of understand how to do it.

My technical words are ‘thingy’ and ‘whatchamacallit’ and I’m sure that half the time, I sound like an absolute unprofessional idiot.

But somehow, I found my way.

I didn’t give up.

I listened to and believed in what my mother told me.

Someday, I’d find my niche and make a career out of it.

And I have.

I’m not going to be independently wealthy from being a Community Manager but I don’t care.

I have this career that makes me so happy.

I’m getting paid to be happy.

I’m getting paid to do something that I love to do.

It doesn’t even feel like I’m working because of how much I enjoy it.

I mean, that’s the best job on the planet.

Even if this job ends in a month, that’s one month of happiness I can add to my resume of life.

I probably wouldn’t be able to add a one month gig to my real resume, though.

But wow, am I happy.





Painfully Bittersweet Zit

I’ve been pretty much banned from writing about the teenager people in my family. I won’t mention names, they know who they are. I’ve also been pretty much banned from writing about the husband person in my family. Again, no names, the guilty party has to live with his guilt.

I do have one victim left in this house. He’s 10. He knows I blog, he knows what a blog is, but he doesn’t know REALLY what I write about. In fact, he’s quite oblivious. In a cute way, of course.

I started this blog back when my youngest was around 3. Well, not THIS blog…but blogging. I started this one about a year into the blogging thing after shutting down my old one for reasons I won’t mention. But…if you’ve been following me for all these years, you know what those reasons are.

So today, instead of a rant, which is typically what my blog has been…when I post. Which isn’t often enough. I will share a little story about my baby.

My 10 year old son. Don’t tell him, okay?

The other night, he noticed this little ‘thing’ on his cheek. It was red and puffy and he couldn’t stop playing with it. Which, of course, made it redder and puffier.

It was a…gasp…ZIT.

He had never had one before. Because duh, he’s a baby, right? Well yeah…he’s my baby, despite his protests to the title. He claims he’s not a baby so therefore, he’s not MY baby.

He’ll always be my baby.

Anyway…back to the zit.

When he finally figured out what it really was, he freaked. Like…FREAKED. As in…

“If this isn’t gone in the morning, I am NOT going to school.”


“I can’t go to school with a zit, the other kids will make fun of me.”


“How am I going to be able to go to school with this giant thing on my cheek?”

All of the above, said in a panicky whine.

People…yes, it’s a zit. But omg…tiny. Like, tiny.

But, to him, it was a mountain that erupted right on his little chubby smile line. (He’s still got those baby cheeks that I squish)

So, I did what any rational thinking parent would do…

I put Zit cream on it. The kind that promises overnight success.

Yeah. NO.

It was still there yesterday morning. Still tiny. Maybe not as red and puffy…a little flatter. But…still there.

He stared at himself in the mirror, for like…forever. Complaining that everyone was going to notice and that they would tease him about it.

I tried to make him understand that this was potentially the first in a long line of zits and that he wouldn’t be the only one who would experience this little issue.

He was unfazed because, well, he’s 10. And his zit is the only problem on the face of the earth and he is the only one dealing with such a problem.

Somehow, I was able to convince him that he couldn’t miss school based on the fact that there was this tiny little thing on his face that MOST LIKELY no one else would notice unless he pointed it out.

I emphasized the fact that…he shouldn’t point it out.

To anyone.

I don’t know how his day went, I am not allowed to go to school with him. Not that I really want to but yeah…kind of. Just to see what goes on.

I went about my day.

He went about his.

Finally, it was time to pick him up.

He bounced his way to the car, where I was sitting waiting.

Side note: I love the fact that he is still at the age where, when he sees me, his entire face lights up. My momma’s boy. Unlike my teens who are embarrassed to be seen with me. Which, I have no clue why, I’m fairly attractive and cool. Eh…what do those teens know, anyway? I mean, they won’t even let me write about them here anymore. Did I already mention that?

Digression, my bad.

My smiley little baby boy climbs into the car…after rolling around in snow hills and getting all sopping wet, including his stinky shoes. By the way, what is it about boys and smelly shoes. We buy this kid new gym shoes constantly because, despite wearing socks, those shoes STINK.

Did I digress again? Ooops, sorry.

Ok, so he climbed into the car.

Smiling at me.

I already said that.

I asked him about his day.

It was fine, he said. Okay. Typical.

I asked him about his zit.

No one noticed, he said. He didn’t point it out to anyone, he said…just like I had told him.

Good boy. He still listens to his Mommy, sometimes.

It was all good.

He figured it would be gone by the next morning.

Well…it wasn’t.

I didn’t think it would be.

It’s tinier, of course. It looks like a flat, red dot on his smile line now.

Almost gone.

But if he didn’t have a freak out again that resembled the one the morning before…omg.

So, don’t touch it, I said. Don’t mention it, I suggested. Leave it alone, it’ll go away, I soothed.

Then, I told him about the zits I used to get that were REAL zits, not this little tiny pimple thing that he had.

I’d get one big, giant one, once a month. The kind where you REALLY wanted to stay home from HIGH SCHOOL because inevitably, someone would point the thing out and make fun of you.

Those are the zits you have to be embarrassed about, I mentioned.

He looked panic-stricken.


Then he asked me if he was going to get those kinds of zits with a wild look in his eyes.

I mentioned that, because he was a boy, he might not. Because mine came with PMS.

Relief washed over him. The mad dog look left his eyes.

I knew I would be able to shove him out of the car at school.

And he said…Mom, it must suck being a girl then. Periods AND pimples…yuck. AND…you have to push babies out your vagina. Well, he didn’t call it a vagina, actually. He called it a ‘baby cannon’. And if I find out who taught him that, I’m going to have a few not nice words to say.

So, what’s my point to all this?

About my 10 year old baby and his zit.

I’m sitting here, looking at a picture of me holding him on the day of his Bris. He was 8 days old with a head of reddish-blonde hair, a smushed nose and red, splotchy skin. And he was one of the three most beautiful babies I had ever seen.

I realize I don’t have a baby anymore.

I have a youngest child, who will always be one of my three natural born babies. And I’ll always think of him as my baby. He’s my youngest, it’s impossible for me to think any other way.


He has a zit now.

And smelly feet.

Not the good kind of smelly, either. I refuse to kiss those feet anymore.

I am baby-less now.

He’s growing up.

Just like the obnoxious teenagers did.

And there is not a damn thing I can do about it.

That zit, the one that mortified him…

It’s actually stabbing me in the heart.

Not because he’s embarrassed of it…of course, I’m trying to make him feel better about that.

He’s 10.

He’s a TWEEN.

Then…a TEEN.

With more pimples and grodier smelling feet.

And I won’t have babies anymore.

I’m so mad at that zit, right now.

Because it is a painful truth staring at me from the soft chubby curves of his cheeks.

They all grow up.




Ban “Bossy”?

There is this…um…ridiculous new movement taking the world by storm. It’s called BanBossy and what it is basically for is, well…to do away with using the term ‘bossy’ when describing girls. Or women.

If you’re shrugging your shoulders trying to understand the point, know that it’s my same reaction.

See, I’m of the mindset where, if you don’t like a word, you just don’t use it. And to try to ban a word like BOSSY? It’s a freaking waste of time. How about setting up a DOT COM to ban hate words like the N word. Or how about the awful K word used for us Jewish people. Those I would understand.

But to try to BOSS us into not calling girls BOSSY anymore? Don’t even. Because…well, that’s not leadership, ladies. That’s flat out bossy. Asserting your opinion, based on the fact that a word bothers you, into the minds of others…

I refuse to drink your Kool Aid.

I see absolutely NOTHING wrong with being called “bossy”. And trust me, I’ve been called that a few times in my life. Did it hold me back in life?


The way I see it is…if someone is going to be negatively affected by one word, then that person will be negatively affected by many words.

Teach your kids to be strong.

Teach your children to be hard working and goal oriented.

Teach your kids that there are always going to be obstacles to overcome.

And not just made up obstacles like the word BOSSY, for God’s sake.

If people making a big deal out of little things just stopped making a big deal out of little things then maybe the word BOSSY wouldn’t be a big deal? If that made any sense.

I’m bossy.

My kids…omg, they are so freaking bossy. Both my girls AND my boys.

So is my husband.

And I don’t see a single thing wrong with it.

I’m so incredibly tired of these kinds of movements.

You have that kind of online and real life power, use it for good. Not, well…silly. Because yeah, trying to BAN BOSSY is silly.

I’m not going to stop using the word just because someone else thinks it holds so many negative connotations.

Well, that word in particular.

I totally understand the premise of this movement, I do. Empowering our daughters to be leaders.

Do you really, honestly mean to tell me that if none of us had been called Bossy in our lives, then we would have become bigger and better than we are now?

Um. NO.

I can’t imagine that is even a remote possibility.

I am who I am because of the path I chose. Not because someone in my past called me bossy.

My kids will go on to become whatever it is they choose to become and their end result will have nothing to do with the fact that they were, maybe once or twice (or more) in their lives told they were bossy.

I guarantee that those that started this movement were called BOSSY in their lives. Because clearly, that is what they are.

And they made it to the top.


And now, they look down on a word that most likely precisely describes them.

So, if my daughters can be as bossy as those bossy leaders, then I’m all for it.

Bossy DOES equal leadership, diplomacy and the ability to work successfully with others. Because hey, you’re in charge, taking the lead.

If someone wants to call ME bossy?

I’ll tell them THANK YOU.

Maybe the word they meant, however…was BITCHY. Because BOSSY? Yeah, I’ll take it as I’m climbing the ladder.

Why do Valentine’s Cards have to be a ‘thing’?




Be Joe Cool...give a Valentine's card to your WHOLE CLASS


Watch this, please.


Can someone please explain to me how this has even become an issue? One that is deemed ‘newsworthy’?

So, for those of you who aren’t up on the latest Internet drama, it appears that a Kindergarten teacher had sent home a letter asking that if the students were going to pass out Valentine’s Day cards, then to please make sure to have enough for the entire class.

This letter went viral.

And a debate was born.

Yeah, I’m serious.

Apparently, there are, indeed, parents who feel their children shouldn’t have to give out Valentine’s cards to all their classmates. Elementary school kids. Should intentionally leave out their peers.

Per their parents approval.

Listen, I’m not here to be judgey. Well, maybe, in this instance…I’m lying. Yeah, I’m judging, a little.

Is it really such a painful thing to have a child sign their name on the cards and pass them out to their classmates?

Quite frankly, I hadn’t even realized that there was this option of not including particular people.

I’m fully aware of the fact that it happens after elementary school. Like those times when all the kids around you are getting carnations sent by friends and secret crushes and it feels like you are the only one in the entire school that wasn’t a recipient of those hideous flowers.

But, this isn’t middle or high school. Where kids are intentionally assholes.

This is elementary school.

When the parents are more in control of the situation.

When the parents are the ones buying those cards for their child.

When the parents are sometimes the ones signing their child’s name and sealing the card with the little heart sticker included in the box.

So, let’s put the ‘blame’ where the blame belongs, mmmkay?

Because, it’s my opinion that by excluding certain kids in the class…it’s a form of bullying.

It’s mean.

Not nice.

Yeah. Just no.

By excluding kids that your child doesn’t like at the moment…for something as simple as an innocuous Valentine’s card…

it’s hurting the non-recipient.

I’m sure that there are a lot of kids that don’t count their cards when they go home.

But then, there are some that do.

Like my kid.

He’ll obsess if the number of cards don’t match up to the number of students, minus the kids who were out sick that day.

And his feelings get hurt.

Because, he wouldn’t understand why, if he gave everyone a card, he didn’t get the same amount back in return.

I remember when I was younger and in elementary school.

We had to give EVERYONE a card.

Even if we didn’t like that person.

I saved my favorite cards for my favorite friends.

I gave the cards I liked least to the people I liked least.

But…I gave a card to everyone. And those people that I didn’t like had no idea that the card I gave them was one I wasn’t a fan of.

No harm done.

And, I’ve always had my kids pass out cards to everyone.

Even the kids they didn’t like.

Even when they complained.

Yeah, they complained.

But, the rules of the schools my kids attended were…cards for everyone.


Which is how it should be.

Or just don’t pass out cards.

Or give your friends their cards after school and off school grounds.

So no one is hurt.

Kids have so many years of disappointment and heartache ahead of them.

Not to mention…life lessons.

Why do we have to use Valentine’s Day on the elementary school level to teach them?

Isn’t Valentine’s Day a pretty and sweet ‘holiday’?

There should only be two choices when it comes to passing out cards for the class…


or none.


Save another days to teach your precious life lessons.

Like, say, your child’s birthday party. When you invite 98% of the class and the other 2% are fully aware that they weren’t invited.

But, that happens off school property so that’s your business.

Let’s not do it on something as sweet as Valentine’s Day.

Don’t ruin it, okay.

Stop making this a ‘thing’.

Let do everything in our parental powers to keep ALL our children happy for as long as we can.

Sponsored Post: My son, self esteem and the treadmill

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When my youngest son was born, he was chunky. The type of chunky we like in our babies. Rolly pollie, folds that fold into more folds. Biteable thighs. Oh were those thighs yummy.

Then, he started walking. And by walking, I mean he never stopped moving. Ever. Even in his sleep. Suffice to say, he thinned out quite a bit. He was a 3 year old sporting a serious six-pack. Not to mention white blonde hair. He looked like a little surfer boy. I almost expected him to start talking like Keanu Reeves from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.

He never did. Phew.

As he got older, he started filling out. Which was to be expected, I suppose.

He filled out.

He filled out some more.

Until, he was carrying around a little too much, to the point that it was starting to make him uncomfortable. His clothes didn’t fit him right. He began getting insecure in how he looked when he was in short sleeves and shorts.

My once foot loose and fancy free boy became insecure. Hyper aware of his body. He began worrying about what other people saw when they looked at him.

Mind you, I don’t believe his is majorly overweight. He is in the 100% for height and teetering on that for weight, too. Yes, he’s chubby. Do I think he’s offensively fat? No. But I’m not the one who has to walk around being him. I’ll love him no matter what.

He’s 10. He’s miserably miserable being the chunky kid. Despite his mommy telling him how wonderful she thinks he is. Yeah, guilty here. I want him to know that there is way more to life than having a perfect figure. Even for boys.

Over Winter Break (which doesn’t seem to be ending due to constant yucky weather), he went on a mission to better himself.

He decided he was going to start walking on the treadmill, the one that has been folded up and used as a purse/coat hanger for a couple year.

Yeah. That treadmill.

He was consistent for a couple weeks and he lost seven pounds! That thrilled him to no end. Seven pounds on a ten year old isn’t something to turn your nose up at, right? I mean heck, I’d be happy to lose seven pounds. Times 3.

Back to my 10 year old.

While he hasn’t been as consistent as he had been, he’s still walking on the treadmill a few times a week. But, not only that, he’s watching what he eats. No one is pushing him, this is all him. We, his family, have been encouraging him because we know how important this goal is to him and his self esteem.

To me, it’s so much more than appearance, though. In my family, there is a major history of heart disease. Most recently, it claimed the life of my mother who was 68. That’s so young, by today’s standards.

I don’t want that for my kids.

Staying active. Keeping fit. It really needs to be a way of life. A boat I need to get on. I should follow my son’s example.

For my children and myself, it’s more about preventative measures.

While my son is on a mission to lose weight, he is also creating a lifestyle change, whether he realizes it or not. And, with the genetics he’s coming from, that’s so important.

But, just as important…is feeling good within your own skin.

Healthy and happy. Isn’t that what we want for our children anyway?

He’s walking his way toward that. One step at a time.

Ask on Facebook, receive on the blog…Writer’s Block Unblockage

Yesterday I bemoaned the fact that I was unmotivated and uninspired. Some of my friends quickly came to my rescue when a friend of mine explained a lesson she had her students do to fight writers block. The lesson…pick a name, a place and an object and write a blip about them. I was so uninspired that I couldn’t come up with these things myself. So…a few of my friends gave me suggestions and I ran with them. I promised to post. So…here is my post! I only got two of the four done. But, I’m going to work on the other two over the weekend and share them.

Prompt: Skeets, LaJolla, Model Airplane

From Marty Coleman aka Napkin Dad

Skeets held tight to the little box and ran as fast as he could. He crossed the street in Frogger fashion, narrowly colliding with a couple in bikini’s wearing rollerblades. He heard them call out profanities but he didn’t stop running. He didn’t care, he wouldn’t ever see them again. He hoped.

His worn gym shoes hitting the concrete sidewalk with a thwack and his breath coming out in huffs due to exertion. Finally, when he figured the coast would be clear, he slowed to a fast walk and tucked the package inside his jacket. It was a beautiful day in La Jolla, the skies were clear and the breeze just brushed over the unusually calm ocean.

Skeets noticed how busy the beach was, especially for a Thursday. Happy families building sand castles too close to the tide, their laughter bubbled through the air as the oceans foam hands hugged their creations. He couldn’t remember the last time his family went anywhere together, let alone just spending a day at the beach. Ever since they moved to the big house in La Jolla, their lives had changed dramatically.

Skeets and his little brother Andy were pretty much left to raise themselves while their parents worked, basically caring only about bills and lifestyle which neither Andy nor Skeets fit into. Worse of all, today was Andy’s birthday and their parents were off on some excursion or another while Skeets and Andy were left home with the cook and cleaning lady. They always had full bellies and empty hearts.

Patting his chest, Skeets made sure the small box was still tucked securely inside his jacket where he had hidden it once he was able to slow down and breathe. Ten was a big deal, double digits. Skeets remembered when he turned ten, five years ago. His parents had taken them out for Japanese food and Andy cried because the Hibachi chef scared him when the fire danced along the table. They had to leave because no one could calm him down. To make up for Skeets disappointing dinner, they ended up going out for ice cream and to the movies. It ended up being one of the best birthdays he ever had. Skeets felt badly for Andy because he wouldn’t have the same memories of their parents.

But, Skeets was going to make sure that Andy got something for his big birthday. He didn’t care about himself anymore, he just wanted his brother to be happy, to have some decent memories of his childhood. He’d do anything to make sure that happened. Even if it meant stealing that model airplane kit from the toy store.

Prompt: Sharon, Tree House, Yo-Yo

From Janet McReynolds my old friend on Facebook

She put the last piece of bubble gum in her mouth, the wad was so huge now that she could barely chew without drooling. Inside the house, Sharon could hear her parents fighting again through the open kitchen window. They always fought when it was time to pay bills, they took their financial failing frustrations out on each other.


Sharon always knew when their arguments were about to get heated, it was her time to exit the house. They never took anything out on her, they were good parents and knew their lack of money had nothing to do with their daughter. Guilt drove them, when it came to Sharon. She was spoiled, she got whatever she wanted. At sixteen, she was now about to become the proud owner of a new car. It wasn’t going to be anything fancy but it was going to be all hers. She had no idea how her parents were going to pay that bill but somehow, they always found a way.


Climbing the one and only tree in their backyard, Sharon made her way to her old treehouse. She and her dad had built it together the summer Sharon turned seven. It was rickety now, nails were popping out in hazardous positions and the wood was being eaten through by ants. It still was the perfect hideout for Sharon when she needed an escape, to get away from her parents arguments or when she was feeling angsty.


She brushed away dead leaves that had accumulated around the entrance and she plopped herself down, letting her legs dangle over the edge. Closing her eyes, she took a couple deep breaths and pulled her old yo-yo out from under the sit upon she had made when she was in her Brownies troupe.


It was a warm evening, the sun was disappearing between the houses. Bats were swooping in search of mosquitos. Neighborhood kids were squealing in the distance. Sharon was oblivious to it all. As she concentrated on the rise and fall of her yo-yo, in her mind she traveled far distances. Until she reached the top of a snowy mountain where she was alone, all the troubles of her real life were far below her. She was at peace.


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