Emma and I went to the baby shop today to buy her her first potty.
When we got there, there was a pair of parents there, with their daughter. They had every single potty lined up on the floor and they were deep in discussion about which one to buy. They were reviewing their priorities. It was important, they decided that it had a soft cushion. They wanted something that looked realistic, as much like a real toilet as possible. Apparently oblivious to the contradiction, they also wanted a potty that made sounds to reward their child for successful attempts.
Meanwhile, their daughter had chosen the simplest and cheapest one and was gleefully pushing it around in circles.
Now, me, I don't feel the strong need that Emma's potty has music. When my kid poos, there's no need for trumpets to sound. I don't need the potty to transform into something else - like a car. I don't need it to turn into a stool when she's older (we have stools for that). And I don't care if it resembles a throne. I just want a potty.
So I grabbed the two simplest/cheapest ones (although they're still more elaborate than they used to be), put them in front of Emma and asked her to choose - green or red. She chose the green one that vaguely looks like a frog (told you they're more elaborate), and we went and paid for it, leaving the poor bewildered couple discussing whether it would be better for their kid's development to have Beethoven or Mozart singing the praises of their child's wee-wee.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
Emma's most repeated word today: Yuk, yuk, yucky...
Note to self
Never leave a curious toddler alone with a pooey nappy while you go into the bathroom to get a wipe cloth.
Enough said.
Never leave a curious toddler alone with a pooey nappy while you go into the bathroom to get a wipe cloth.
Enough said.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Musings on blogging (Anna)
The thing you need to understand about us is that we're both introverts. So we both have a lot going on in our heads, only some of which is manifested in the outside world.
What that means for our blog is that there are many more posts that we have written in our heads than actually appear here. We think about blogging, but don't actually do it (and occasionally forget that there's a difference).
In the blog within our minds, we tell you all sorts of things. For example, we told you all about our two weekends away recently - a night at Whistler, and two nights at Harrison Hot Springs - and what a good mood Emma was in. We told you about going out to dinner as a family...and then dessert because she was so well-behaved, and about giggles and splashes in the pool, and about long walks by the water. And how, when Caroline was sprawled out on the bed reading the paper, I said to Emma, "Emma, can you go and convince Mummy that it's time for us to stop reading the paper and go out for a walk," and she went over to Caroline and started pulling on her feet saying, "Pliz, Mummy, come." And our blog posts in our mind perfectly capture the tenderness and love of that moment.
And in this fictional blog, there are lovely photos of Emma dressed for all kinds of weather, playing all kinds of games. There are videos of her dancing, and singing, and playing with her musical caterpillar, and talking to us, and racing up and down hotel corridors and going up and down stairs. And there are photos of her cuddling us and nuzzling us and family photos of all three of us and even some photos of Emma's friends and our friends, and some photos of special occasions, and...well, you get the picture, so to speak. Our inner worlds are full of colour and life.
So it's sometimes with a bit of shock that we realise how little we post, and how long we can go without posting crucial things like photos and videos. This post being yet another case in point.
Having said that, some photos and videos do actually exist. Possibly we will organize them before Emma is old enough to hold a grudge, or possibly we will simply hand her the 21st century equivalent of a shoe box full of photos - a memory stick - and say, "Voila. Your childhood."
Emma, I very rarely write to you directly on this blog because I can't quite get my head around writing for an audience that not only does not, strictly speaking, exist yet, but that will also be heavily shaped by what I do between now and then - and it's only in some weird space-time continuum warp that you are old enough to be an audience for this. But if you're ever reading this at some point in the future, I want you to know that our hopelessness in keeping up with the blog, and our occasional hoeplessness at taking photos of you doing fun things, is not a reflection on how much we love you or how wonderful you are, or how in love we are with your wonderfully cute antics, or how crazy we are about photos and video of you. And it's not a reflection on how much we care about our extended community or whether we think that they should have regular photo updates (which we actually think does matter, even though our actions don''t support this belief).
You need to know that you are no less loved than those fabulously organized parents who maintain yearly photograph albums - neatly labelled and in perfect chronological order (done at the time, no less, and not just on the eve of an 18th birthday party!)
It's partly because we're a little bit hopeless and disorganized. And it's a lot to do with the fact that we're tired and trying to do a million things at once. And it's mostly to do with the fact that we make choices to do other things. Sometimes, when we could be uploading photos, we are curled up with you reading a book. Sometimes when we could be blogging, we are curled up together protecting the relationship between your parents. Sometimes, when we could be recounting the beautiful things you do, we are working on our own projects and dreams, and sowing seeds for the future, while simultaneously keeping ourselves sane enough to be able to continue to juggle a million things. And sometimes, we are having too much fun in the moment - chasing you across the grass, or turning you upside down and tickling you, telling you stories about the world, or putting on silly voices - to remember to bring out the camera and capture the fun. (Oh, and, ahem, sometimes our camera is out of batteries because your Mumma, once again, got distracted by the moth-like flitter of a passing idea and left the camera on all night. Possibly something that will drive you crazy when you are older. Or maybe you will just take it as an endearing habit of your dear ol' Mumma).
And for those of you - surprisingly many - who still loyally turn up to the read our blog despite the lack of visual aids or commitment to post regularly, bear with us. We'd like to be different people. But we're not. Just imagine the lively, humorous, insightful and fully-illustrated blog posts in our heads, and you'll be fully up-to-the-minute with our daily lives.
What that means for our blog is that there are many more posts that we have written in our heads than actually appear here. We think about blogging, but don't actually do it (and occasionally forget that there's a difference).
In the blog within our minds, we tell you all sorts of things. For example, we told you all about our two weekends away recently - a night at Whistler, and two nights at Harrison Hot Springs - and what a good mood Emma was in. We told you about going out to dinner as a family...and then dessert because she was so well-behaved, and about giggles and splashes in the pool, and about long walks by the water. And how, when Caroline was sprawled out on the bed reading the paper, I said to Emma, "Emma, can you go and convince Mummy that it's time for us to stop reading the paper and go out for a walk," and she went over to Caroline and started pulling on her feet saying, "Pliz, Mummy, come." And our blog posts in our mind perfectly capture the tenderness and love of that moment.
And in this fictional blog, there are lovely photos of Emma dressed for all kinds of weather, playing all kinds of games. There are videos of her dancing, and singing, and playing with her musical caterpillar, and talking to us, and racing up and down hotel corridors and going up and down stairs. And there are photos of her cuddling us and nuzzling us and family photos of all three of us and even some photos of Emma's friends and our friends, and some photos of special occasions, and...well, you get the picture, so to speak. Our inner worlds are full of colour and life.
So it's sometimes with a bit of shock that we realise how little we post, and how long we can go without posting crucial things like photos and videos. This post being yet another case in point.
Having said that, some photos and videos do actually exist. Possibly we will organize them before Emma is old enough to hold a grudge, or possibly we will simply hand her the 21st century equivalent of a shoe box full of photos - a memory stick - and say, "Voila. Your childhood."
Emma, I very rarely write to you directly on this blog because I can't quite get my head around writing for an audience that not only does not, strictly speaking, exist yet, but that will also be heavily shaped by what I do between now and then - and it's only in some weird space-time continuum warp that you are old enough to be an audience for this. But if you're ever reading this at some point in the future, I want you to know that our hopelessness in keeping up with the blog, and our occasional hoeplessness at taking photos of you doing fun things, is not a reflection on how much we love you or how wonderful you are, or how in love we are with your wonderfully cute antics, or how crazy we are about photos and video of you. And it's not a reflection on how much we care about our extended community or whether we think that they should have regular photo updates (which we actually think does matter, even though our actions don''t support this belief).
You need to know that you are no less loved than those fabulously organized parents who maintain yearly photograph albums - neatly labelled and in perfect chronological order (done at the time, no less, and not just on the eve of an 18th birthday party!)
It's partly because we're a little bit hopeless and disorganized. And it's a lot to do with the fact that we're tired and trying to do a million things at once. And it's mostly to do with the fact that we make choices to do other things. Sometimes, when we could be uploading photos, we are curled up with you reading a book. Sometimes when we could be blogging, we are curled up together protecting the relationship between your parents. Sometimes, when we could be recounting the beautiful things you do, we are working on our own projects and dreams, and sowing seeds for the future, while simultaneously keeping ourselves sane enough to be able to continue to juggle a million things. And sometimes, we are having too much fun in the moment - chasing you across the grass, or turning you upside down and tickling you, telling you stories about the world, or putting on silly voices - to remember to bring out the camera and capture the fun. (Oh, and, ahem, sometimes our camera is out of batteries because your Mumma, once again, got distracted by the moth-like flitter of a passing idea and left the camera on all night. Possibly something that will drive you crazy when you are older. Or maybe you will just take it as an endearing habit of your dear ol' Mumma).
And for those of you - surprisingly many - who still loyally turn up to the read our blog despite the lack of visual aids or commitment to post regularly, bear with us. We'd like to be different people. But we're not. Just imagine the lively, humorous, insightful and fully-illustrated blog posts in our heads, and you'll be fully up-to-the-minute with our daily lives.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
I know, I know (Anna)
I realise we are the worst bloggers in the world. We promised photos and video and neither have been forthcoming. Ho hum!
Three cute stories in the meantime:
Emma has been the lucky recipient of a white t-shirt with a red fire engine on the front. It's her new favourite t-shirt. When she's wearing it, she refuses to wear a jacket because it covers up the picture. And she gets very grumpy about her car seat, because the buckle covers up the picture.
She's taken to lying on one of our wooden stairs (going down into the living room) and putting a blanket over her. It's her favourite place. Looks pretty uncomfortable to us,a nd when she moves, she falls off. But who are we to say what's comfy and what's not?
She's starting to take care of her stuffed animals, feeding them milk and tucking them into bed under a blanket. It's very sweet.
A
Three cute stories in the meantime:
Emma has been the lucky recipient of a white t-shirt with a red fire engine on the front. It's her new favourite t-shirt. When she's wearing it, she refuses to wear a jacket because it covers up the picture. And she gets very grumpy about her car seat, because the buckle covers up the picture.
She's taken to lying on one of our wooden stairs (going down into the living room) and putting a blanket over her. It's her favourite place. Looks pretty uncomfortable to us,a nd when she moves, she falls off. But who are we to say what's comfy and what's not?
She's starting to take care of her stuffed animals, feeding them milk and tucking them into bed under a blanket. It's very sweet.
A
Monday, September 13, 2010
18 months old (The Mums)
Emmy is 18 months old today. A year and a half. This is the first installment of a few days' worth of celebrations that might even include photos and video. .
50 things we love about you, little 18 month old:
you have the most wonderful giggle in the world, totally infectious
the way you pull us both in simultaneously for a kiss, guiding our cheeks in so we both kiss you on the cheek at the same time
the way you need your blanket, your bunny AND your teddy tucked in with you at night...the cast seems to be growing weekly
the fact that you are the worst co-sleeper in the world - would it kill you to sleep vertically instead of horizontally across our pillows?
the way you push the stool up to the counter so you can get to anything you want to
The way we say "Emma, are you wreaking havoc?" and you say, with a small grin, "yeah!"
the way you fill in the "beeps" and the "hoorays" in Little Blue Truck Leads the Way
the way you proudly present your shoes when we go out
the way you label all the parts of the body
your nuzzles and schnuggles
the way you ask for "cheeries" (cheerios)
your beautiufl soft kisses
your focus and concentration when you're playing and determined to do something
the way you pour water on your belly in the bath and take a deep breathe in when it's cold
the way you hold your arms up and say "up!"
the way you fold yourself into our arms for a close cuddle
the way you studiously try to ignore us when we pick you up at day care (but then can't help checking to make sure we're watching as you show off your new tricks)
the fact that you have mastered the difference between 'mumma' and 'mummy' in time for your 18 month celebrations
the way you have "hungry days" when every meal is six courses long. Your favourite foods are edamame, avocado and yoghurt (your obsession with green foods continues, although brocolli has fallen out of favour)
the pasion and devotion with which you eat your blueberries
Emma walks. We love being lead.
the way you scavenge on the floor for bits of cereal or fallen blueberries, and how happy you are when you find something (a single semi-sweet chocolate chip that has fallen off the bench is your idea of the perfect hunt)
the way you insist on carrying your lunch box out of day care - it drags on he ground because it's a little too heavy for you but you don't give up
you constaantly amaze us with what you can do and the words you know
the way you open the bedroom door and head off on an adventure, before returning to the bed for a cuddle
the way you sit on the bench when we're cooking and watch what's going on
the way you wriggle backwards onto our laps for a cuddle and a book
your delight when you see a bus. or an aeroplane. or a puppy.
your delight when you see us. When we come in the front door, you race over to us to greet us and yell "Mumma/Mummy!"
the way you take yourself off with a favourite toy and sit in your cardboard box/car/boat/aeroplane for some peace and quiet
the way you giggle at the playground. You love climbing, swining and sliding. You're not a huge fan of sand.
the way you plant yourself between us when we're hugging
the conversations you have with us with a combination of our language and yours
the way you walk down the stairs, step by step. You are far too old to shuffle on your bum
your ability to find a dummy anywhere, even when we can't find one
your affectionate nature
your sense of humour. You love to initiate a game or a joke and you love it when we giggle along with you
the way you shriek with glee
the way you play your musical caterpillar (pressing blue for "Happy Birthday" while saying "birfday"
your fascination with balls continues
the way you touch the guitar and like to pluck the strings
the way you run now, faster and faster every day
the way you stomp your feet up and down and wiggle
your curiosity
the way you love being swung upside down and round and round
the way you know what you want and won't put up with second best
the way you try to make other kids laugh
the way you'll play by yourself, pottering around the room
the way you sit on our belly and demand "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" (you add the scream in the crocodile verse)
the way you like to push things in front of you and crash them into the wall
the pride with which you place your water cup in your stroller holder
the love you have for your stroller and how you need to show it off to your friends
the way you figure things out really quickly
the way you bounce up and down and dance
the way you tap us on the shoulder when you're happy
your toothy grin
your goofiness
your stubborness
the way you always rise to the occasion. You're very sociable but also seem to need time to yourself.
Your cuddles, your kisses, your affection, your love.
Your "you"-iness.
Well, that's way more than 50, and we could go on and on.
Emmy, we love you so much. Happy 1 1/2 birthday , little one.
Love,
The Mums
50 things we love about you, little 18 month old:
you have the most wonderful giggle in the world, totally infectious
the way you pull us both in simultaneously for a kiss, guiding our cheeks in so we both kiss you on the cheek at the same time
the way you need your blanket, your bunny AND your teddy tucked in with you at night...the cast seems to be growing weekly
the fact that you are the worst co-sleeper in the world - would it kill you to sleep vertically instead of horizontally across our pillows?
the way you push the stool up to the counter so you can get to anything you want to
The way we say "Emma, are you wreaking havoc?" and you say, with a small grin, "yeah!"
the way you fill in the "beeps" and the "hoorays" in Little Blue Truck Leads the Way
the way you proudly present your shoes when we go out
the way you label all the parts of the body
your nuzzles and schnuggles
the way you ask for "cheeries" (cheerios)
your beautiufl soft kisses
your focus and concentration when you're playing and determined to do something
the way you pour water on your belly in the bath and take a deep breathe in when it's cold
the way you hold your arms up and say "up!"
the way you fold yourself into our arms for a close cuddle
the way you studiously try to ignore us when we pick you up at day care (but then can't help checking to make sure we're watching as you show off your new tricks)
the fact that you have mastered the difference between 'mumma' and 'mummy' in time for your 18 month celebrations
the way you have "hungry days" when every meal is six courses long. Your favourite foods are edamame, avocado and yoghurt (your obsession with green foods continues, although brocolli has fallen out of favour)
the pasion and devotion with which you eat your blueberries
Emma walks. We love being lead.
the way you scavenge on the floor for bits of cereal or fallen blueberries, and how happy you are when you find something (a single semi-sweet chocolate chip that has fallen off the bench is your idea of the perfect hunt)
the way you insist on carrying your lunch box out of day care - it drags on he ground because it's a little too heavy for you but you don't give up
you constaantly amaze us with what you can do and the words you know
the way you open the bedroom door and head off on an adventure, before returning to the bed for a cuddle
the way you sit on the bench when we're cooking and watch what's going on
the way you wriggle backwards onto our laps for a cuddle and a book
your delight when you see a bus. or an aeroplane. or a puppy.
your delight when you see us. When we come in the front door, you race over to us to greet us and yell "Mumma/Mummy!"
the way you take yourself off with a favourite toy and sit in your cardboard box/car/boat/aeroplane for some peace and quiet
the way you giggle at the playground. You love climbing, swining and sliding. You're not a huge fan of sand.
the way you plant yourself between us when we're hugging
the conversations you have with us with a combination of our language and yours
the way you walk down the stairs, step by step. You are far too old to shuffle on your bum
your ability to find a dummy anywhere, even when we can't find one
your affectionate nature
your sense of humour. You love to initiate a game or a joke and you love it when we giggle along with you
the way you shriek with glee
the way you play your musical caterpillar (pressing blue for "Happy Birthday" while saying "birfday"
your fascination with balls continues
the way you touch the guitar and like to pluck the strings
the way you run now, faster and faster every day
the way you stomp your feet up and down and wiggle
your curiosity
the way you love being swung upside down and round and round
the way you know what you want and won't put up with second best
the way you try to make other kids laugh
the way you'll play by yourself, pottering around the room
the way you sit on our belly and demand "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" (you add the scream in the crocodile verse)
the way you like to push things in front of you and crash them into the wall
the pride with which you place your water cup in your stroller holder
the love you have for your stroller and how you need to show it off to your friends
the way you figure things out really quickly
the way you bounce up and down and dance
the way you tap us on the shoulder when you're happy
your toothy grin
your goofiness
your stubborness
the way you always rise to the occasion. You're very sociable but also seem to need time to yourself.
Your cuddles, your kisses, your affection, your love.
Your "you"-iness.
Well, that's way more than 50, and we could go on and on.
Emmy, we love you so much. Happy 1 1/2 birthday , little one.
Love,
The Mums
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Glasses (Anna)
Emma sat on my glasses tonight, and now they're all wonky on my nose. Rrrr. What makes it worse is that it was entirely my own fault.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Domesticity
Yesterday evening, Caroline was curled up on one end of the couch reading, keeping an eye on the meal cooking in the kitchen. I was curled up on the the other end, working on a creative project. Something classical was playing in the background. Emma was pottering around playing, coming in periodically for a snuggle or a book. It was really nice.
Then, like a puppy, Emma suddenly went and found her sandals and delivered them to me. I said, "We're not going out, but you can wear them if you want to" and put them on for her. Then she went and got her hat (she's been well-trained - it was actually overcast outside), and then her jacket. It was all very matter-of-fact, with no whining or crying or even "pliz". So, genius that I am, I intuited that she was asking to go out, so I agreed we'd go for a walk, leaving Caroline to finish dinner. I had to find my own jacket and shoes, during which Emma was almost literally scratching at the front door. I said, "I know you're impatient. You just want to go outside and here I am, messing around looking for my fleece." And she said, "Yeah!"
So eventually we left and the minute we were outside, Emma gave me a huge grin and put her hand in mine.
We went for an "Emma walk" - a popular choice when we're not actually needing to get anywhere in particular. On an Emma walk, we go whereever Emma wants to go. She chooses the direction, when to turn a corner, when to cross a road and what she looks at on the way. If she wants to walk all around the neighbourhood, that's fine. If she wants to stop and play with a single leaf for 15 minutes, that's fine, too. As long as she holds our hand crossing roads, she's in control. She's usually very calm after an Emma walk.
So yesterday, even though we live within a few blocks of four parks, we walked just down the road and spent a long time picking up rocks and moving them to the other side of the footpath. And then we watched in fascination as some teenagers played on their skateboards. Perhaps we made them self-conscious, staring at them for so long - at least, I think that might be why they kept falling off :)
It started to get cold and windy - it was one of those blustery, brooding fall evenings (that I, personally, love as long as I'm tucked inside a good fleece). We headed home, Emma happily trotting along the street. When we walked through the door, we were greeted with warmth and the amazing smell of a roast chicken and veggies. Caroline came to greet us and gave us both a big hug. Not a bad way to come home at all.
And we sat down to an amazing meal while the wind picked up outside. We turned off the lights and ate by candle light. Emma was mesmerized by the flickering flame and kept proclaiming "Pretty!!" - another word we didn't know she knew.
It was a very domestic, cosy kind of evening, and we put Emma to bed very content.
Then, like a puppy, Emma suddenly went and found her sandals and delivered them to me. I said, "We're not going out, but you can wear them if you want to" and put them on for her. Then she went and got her hat (she's been well-trained - it was actually overcast outside), and then her jacket. It was all very matter-of-fact, with no whining or crying or even "pliz". So, genius that I am, I intuited that she was asking to go out, so I agreed we'd go for a walk, leaving Caroline to finish dinner. I had to find my own jacket and shoes, during which Emma was almost literally scratching at the front door. I said, "I know you're impatient. You just want to go outside and here I am, messing around looking for my fleece." And she said, "Yeah!"
So eventually we left and the minute we were outside, Emma gave me a huge grin and put her hand in mine.
We went for an "Emma walk" - a popular choice when we're not actually needing to get anywhere in particular. On an Emma walk, we go whereever Emma wants to go. She chooses the direction, when to turn a corner, when to cross a road and what she looks at on the way. If she wants to walk all around the neighbourhood, that's fine. If she wants to stop and play with a single leaf for 15 minutes, that's fine, too. As long as she holds our hand crossing roads, she's in control. She's usually very calm after an Emma walk.
So yesterday, even though we live within a few blocks of four parks, we walked just down the road and spent a long time picking up rocks and moving them to the other side of the footpath. And then we watched in fascination as some teenagers played on their skateboards. Perhaps we made them self-conscious, staring at them for so long - at least, I think that might be why they kept falling off :)
It started to get cold and windy - it was one of those blustery, brooding fall evenings (that I, personally, love as long as I'm tucked inside a good fleece). We headed home, Emma happily trotting along the street. When we walked through the door, we were greeted with warmth and the amazing smell of a roast chicken and veggies. Caroline came to greet us and gave us both a big hug. Not a bad way to come home at all.
And we sat down to an amazing meal while the wind picked up outside. We turned off the lights and ate by candle light. Emma was mesmerized by the flickering flame and kept proclaiming "Pretty!!" - another word we didn't know she knew.
It was a very domestic, cosy kind of evening, and we put Emma to bed very content.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Ahhhh! (Anna)
We just had a date. Yes. As in two adults; no kid. We went out to dinner and talked. And then went out for dessert and talked some more. Neither of us required a bib or a high chair. We are feeling much more human as a result.
And Emma had a fabulous evening, with two terrific kids who live on our street (both of whom we're very fond of). They're a little older than her - old enough to feel protective of the "baby" in the group and treat her like some kind of foreign curiosity, (e.g. "Mummy! Emma just said a word! Ooooh!"), and old enough to provide hours of wide-eyed awe for Emma, who can't quite manage a lot of the things they can do. The three-year-old host did a terrific job of looking after her guests. And her parents chipped in a little, too :)
From what we can gather, the three little ones spent a lot of the evening jumping on a mattress and rolling around on the floor tickling each other. Apparently, there was much giggling. When we did a phone check-in, we were told that all three of them were snuggled up in bed watching Tinkerbell and eating bunny crackers. Awww!
Life is good.
And Emma had a fabulous evening, with two terrific kids who live on our street (both of whom we're very fond of). They're a little older than her - old enough to feel protective of the "baby" in the group and treat her like some kind of foreign curiosity, (e.g. "Mummy! Emma just said a word! Ooooh!"), and old enough to provide hours of wide-eyed awe for Emma, who can't quite manage a lot of the things they can do. The three-year-old host did a terrific job of looking after her guests. And her parents chipped in a little, too :)
From what we can gather, the three little ones spent a lot of the evening jumping on a mattress and rolling around on the floor tickling each other. Apparently, there was much giggling. When we did a phone check-in, we were told that all three of them were snuggled up in bed watching Tinkerbell and eating bunny crackers. Awww!
Life is good.
Emma's subconscious (Anna)
Emma has learnt to say "no" recently. She doesn't use it randomly or just to be contrary, but, when she needs to she will shake her head and say "nooooo", or "no, no, no, no".
Last night, she started sleep-talking. As she tossed and turned, she moaned "Nooo, noo, nooo, nooo, nooo."
I'd love to know what sparked it. Did some mean parent take her pink shoes off?
Last night, she started sleep-talking. As she tossed and turned, she moaned "Nooo, noo, nooo, nooo, nooo."
I'd love to know what sparked it. Did some mean parent take her pink shoes off?
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