Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Here goes

Wednesday, August 7th, 2013

Now clearly I am no Ruby Rose, but I have wanted to write about mental health since I began this little venture of mine.

Today I am braving it and there are lots of reasons why. But mainly because there are lots of us out there with really poor mental health, living with it, battling it daily. This post is not for every day we win the battle, this is for the one day we don’t, or can’t and what those battles mean for those around us.

In some ways I consider myself one of the lucky ones. I was able to get help and support that didn’t cost me a cent, that was private and professional and made a significant difference to my wellbeing. I was diagnosed with Bipolar II Disorder quite a few years ago. Some people don’t like labels. They are scared of how that makes them feel. Or actually how it makes other people around them feel.

But for me so much started to make sense. My teenage years of feeling furious, terrified and completely emotionally overwhelmed started to have an explanation. My poisonous affair with vodka started to make sense. My volatile friendships that were punctuated with typical teenage angst, atypical break ups, and complete confusion about how these people who were supposed to be my friends made me feel, all became clearer. I was as much to blame as anyone I grew up with, and believe me they all had issues of their own, and then issues on these issues.

So as a professional, educated woman, in a stable relationship I finally had a glimmer of understanding about how I could finally shed some of those parts of myself that I didn’t like, and didn’t understand. Some of the relief came from an explanation that how I felt and how I behaved had reasons, and often reasons I couldn’t help. And to be honest, some of the relief came from the medication. I appreciate being cautious about medication. What I do not, and will never understand, are people who are completely resistant to taking medication that is prescribed by a doctor, proven to work and will have significant results on someone’s health. If we had diabetes, we would take it. Asthma we would take it. A heart condition we would take it. And yet anxiety, depression, or a disorder like me, we resist. We figure we will be okay, or that someone will find out, or the side-effects will be terrible, or like me, that we will never be able to exist without it.

Some of us can manage without it, even actively improve our mental health. But for so many of us, we cannot. It might be Post-Natal Depression that completely swallows us up, or anxiety that undermines every shred of self belief, or like me, emotional instability that has us lashing out, hiding away and disappearing under a blackness that threatens to change us forever. And then sometimes those magic little pills work in a way that is so effective and so subtle that we mistakenly think we don’t need them anymore. And sometimes we don’t. Pregnancy and breastfeeding meant I couldn’t take my meds for two years, and I have never gone back on them. Sure I have bad days, fiery moments, manic highs and the roller coaster in between, but I have got much better at managing it.

But I am aware of it, every minute, of every day. And often a few at night. And that is absolutely the key. I know what to look for, what the warning signs are and what to do about it. I don’t always manage it as well as I should, and I’m sure many people with a range of health problems could say the same. But I am so much better off for what I know. Because doing nothing is not an option. Not for me. Not for my husband. And not for my kids. They deserve the best Mum they can get, and so much of my energy is invested in doing just that. Even if in the future I might need some help along the way.

 

Birthday cake and a dollop of embarrassment on the side.

Sunday, July 28th, 2013

I don’t know about you, but during the winter in Vico, the highlight of our weekend can often be a birthday party. Pre-kids, you know that life you once had, this meant getting dressed up and hitting the town for lots of bubbles and laughs. It was fun, sometimes messy, but always fun.

Ah how life has reversed. Now it is always messy and sometimes fun.

The only bubbles on offer are the snot bubbles coming out of kids noses who are freezing themselves silly outside in the cold. And instead of the beer niggles the next day, my sugar coma induces a fresh reminder of what embarrassment my offspring have put me through in the latest public encounter.

One of the toughest things about having kids for me is seeing the parts of myself that I don’t like very much rearing their ugly heads in my little boys. Now I have never gone around hitting people at parties who stole my balloon, and thankfully the wild child has realised you don’t make too many friends this way. But it still seems that  even when he is being as good as is humanly possible for him, he still manages to have another kid in tears.

Today was an accident, but another gorgeous little one was in tears and it was my kids fault. No big deal and yet it makes me feel like an old version of myself. Saying the wrong thing to someone at a party and upsetting them, or more often, myself. So the highlight of my weekend now entails chasing my kids around in the rain, sweeping up the glass The Stink smashed on the ground, apologising to another mother for my kid kicking a ball too hard, having sentence long conversations and carrying a crying wild child around who cut his finger.

The food was delicious and the hosts were their usual lovely selves. There were lots of people there I would have loved to chat to, but even after four years of being a parent, I still can’t work out how to have a decent conversation with anyone socially while The Stink is up to his armpits in a bucket of water or the wild child is kamikazying off the top of the cubby. I have endless admiration for those parents who either don’t have to worry about what risk taking behaviour their kid is trying out, or are cool enough not to worry if they do.

Instead I hover, helicopter whatever you want to call it, trying to avoid the public humiliation I clearly didn’t avoid today. In fact if I wasn’t there when the ball got kicked then I probably wouldn’t feel bad.  I might have actually been able to stop and listen to someone else for five minutes instead of squeezing my one sentence into a conversation and then dashing off. It’s not a big deal, and one that wont last forever. But I’d already had a crap weekend and then my highlight got spoilt too.

Can’t wait for next weekend though, a massive birthday for a community organisation and a christening. Let’s just see if we can top this one. Strangers and a quiet church service. Surely nothing could go wrong with that picture!

At least there will be cake…

 

Secrets and heartbreak

Monday, July 22nd, 2013

I learnt something this weekend. I learnt it the hard way. I didn’t like it much, but it’s a good lesson to learn.

Everyone has a secret. At least one, some people have a few. Every now and then part of that secret peaks it head out, sometimes it slaps you in the face and sometimes it sneaks back away. For a moment the person you think you know becomes someone else. They remind you of another time and place. They remind you of pain and heartbreak. They remind you that we all keep parts of ourself hidden.

You learn things about people that absolutely blow your mind. They consume your thinking for a day, or more, because although it seems absolutely totally unbelievable, there are a few clues that keep flashing back to make you question just how much of your life you take for granted. I take everything on face value. I accept first impressions as the absolute truth about how that person must be, and often how they always were. I’m notorious for not always finding the right group to fit in when I start somewhere new. I latch on to whoever I think seems similar to me, and then once I actually get to know them I realize that I’m far too bogan for that friendship to work. So I try and weasel my way out of that new-found group of besties into another one. And I am not lying when I say I have done this, it happened at uni, at two work places, even in Mother’s Group.

I have secrets of my own. None that I am particularly good at keeping, but some that have stopped rearing their head quite as often. And I need to remember that in every conversation I have. Whether it be with strangers at the park, or the café, work colleagues who I am delighted are back in my daily life or even my dearest friends and family. You never quite know what the reality is like for them. What their day has entailed before they arrived at wherever they are now. Or whatever they might return to after they leave.

Sometimes its stuff we know and forget or gloss over. Sometimes its stuff that seems trivial to us. Sometimes its things that they are using every part of their body to suppress. And sometimes all it would take is a genuine conversation and a little bit of time to share. But most importantly, sometimes we don’t actually need to know the details, we just need to stop for a moment longer, listen a little more carefully and take a little more care. Maybe then our own secrets become a little bit lighter too.

Warning: this may scare the absolute bejeezus out of those about-to-be-a-mum readers, but believe me you have to know this stuff

Thursday, July 4th, 2013

So you’re up the duff.

Not just up the duff, but ankles swelling, weeing more often than breathing, skulling bottles of Mylanta pregnant. You are about to do the equivalent of squeezing a chook out of your nostril, and then post a pic of yourself on facebook hiding the pure shock and replacing it with that ‘glow’.  You know that look of bliss new mums get from being so bloody grateful the birth is over, and too early to realise what is actually about to happen. You’ve read books, you’ve checked the web, you have carefully asked friends for advice, and let’s be honest, vagued out through the gross stuff. And no doubt you have received tons of unwanted advice.

Well dear girl, here is a bit more. This is the stuff that no-one tells you, but you really need to know.

BIRTH

1. The only thing you can actually hope for about giving birth, is that there is an anaesthetist on duty when you are in labour. (Aim high and hope for someone like Patrick from Offspring, but believe me if Cleg walked in wearing drag, you would be that bloody grateful for what he had in that needle that you wouldn’t even notice!)

2. Don’t bother buying anything to give birth in. Ultimately, by the end of it, you’ll be as naked as the baby you are squeezing out of your vajutz and you will not even notice.

3. Feel free to write a birth plan, but you may as well leave it wrapped up in the bag with the outfit you bought to give birth in, alongside the CD you made and underneath the scented candles you had packed for the occasion. Birth is miraculous, there is no doubt about that. It might go well, and even then it is gross, painful, overwhelming, scary and will teach you more about what you are capable of than anything else you have ever done in your life. And if you still want to bring a birth plan, then make sure it says CALL THE ANAESTHETIST AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

BUBS

3. If the nurses at any point agree to take your precious bundle of joy away so you can sleep. Let them. They know far more about what they are doing than you do.

4. Allow visitors at the hospital. Believe me, you will survive 27 people coming in to check out that gorgeous baby within in the first 8 hours of being a mother. And you want to see people. The adrenaline is pumping, you are desperate to share the joy with others, and here you can have everyone all at once without having to move off the bed or make a cup of tea. The alternative may well be the next month of back to back visitors, without nurses coming in to tell them to bugger off. (IGNORE THIS IF YOU GET MOVED TO THE HILTON. SOAK IT UP AND ORDER AS MUCH FOOD AS YOU CAN)

5. Everyone will give you advice about everything. Ignore it, all of it. Including mine, until you need it. Because until now, every conversation about sleeping, eating, feeding, birth, stitches, hemorrhoids and vomit has been on the sidelines, meant for someone else. This is all about to change. Seek advice if you need it, ignore what doesn’t feel right, go with what does. While no-one knows your baby like you do (blahblahblah) they have at least cared for a baby of the same species and some stuff might just help.

BOOBS

6. If, like me, you have been wearing two sports bras to do any kind of physical activity since puberty, then your boobs were never your best friend. And if, like me, the size of your gigantic pregnant boobs were the main indicator of your pregnancy , then I am afraid you haven’t seen anything yet. Those Pammy Anderson knockers that suddenly stand up all by themselves will take on a life of their own, and it will happen overnight. With my first baby, the nurse asked to have a look at my boozies to see if my milk had come in. With my second baby she didn’t even need to ask. Those first few days my boobs woke me up more than my baby. Don’t panic. They will soften again and slightly reduce. And if not, soak some nappies, pop them in the freezer and tuck them into your singlet in between feeds.

7. Breastfeeding is wonderful, but it is by far the most difficult skill I have ever had to learn in my life. It sucked (pardon the pun). And by the way, babies are born with mouths filled with razorblades. Birth was painful, but there were drugs and it ended. Breastfeeding for me, was monotonous, and for a while I was petrified of that next feed. I persisted and it was worth it. (I think) But you do not have to. No one can point to the toddlers in the playground and tell you which one was bottle fed and which was breastfed. Go with your gut on this, or rather your boob.

8. And while you might not love the pregnant boob, or the breastfeeding boob, by far the worst boob of all is the I breastfed two kids for a year each boob. Because now they are like stockings with sand in the bottom of them. And these days, there is very little need for those two sports bras.

……………

Having a baby is absolutely a gift that I adore. It is a privilege and one I don’t take lightly. But if you want the images of warm, clean, smiling, sleepy newborns, then you can watch a Kleenex commercial. You will get these moments. They might just be in between using the Kleenex for wiping your own tears away, or cleaning another baby vomit off your clothes. So before it’s too late there a couple of things to do before life as you know it ends;

  • Drive your car, with your own music on, casually and in no screaming hurry to get anywhere.
  • Sit at the table and use both hands to eat dinner, that you have cooked yourself and finish the entire meal while it is warm.
  • Go to a cafe. Sit down. Order. Enjoy. Read the paper. Sit some more. Breath. And smile at the woman with the crazy children who is JUST TRYING TO GET A DAMN COFFEE.
  • Have a conversation. In full and with your full attention on the person talking to you. You may never do this again.
  • Walk around the house with no top on. Don’t be ridiculous I hear you say. You’ll laugh later, believe me.
  • Have sex. Even if you don’t feel like it, because there is a fair chance you still feel like it more now than you might for a really long time.

Babies are confusing, scary, difficult and demanding. But they are also absolutely spectacular and the smell of a new baby, especially your own, washes every other moment away. At least until the next feed.

There’s no place like home, except maybe Byron Bay

Tuesday, June 11th, 2013

I love this place. We all love it. The wild child, the chubba bubba and my mad keen surfer husband. It keeps calling us back, and we keep accepting the invitation and finding ourselves here.

I’ve caught here a plane here a couple of times, hitched a ride with my brother and his girlfriend all the way up the coast, and one set of school holidays when I was teaching and absolutely lost I caught the bus all the way to this eclectic place bursting with everything it squeezes in. One New Years I even managed to sprain my ankle in a gutter in the main street and have my now-husband-then-ex-boyfriend pick me up and carry me home. So yep we have a few memories in this joint.

This time we drove again, this time with two small monsters in the back and taking our time. We’ve stayed a week. We booked another week, and we are thinking we might stay another week and drive home a bit faster. We can’t quite leave yet. We’re not sure if we ever can. We’d like to stay, we’d love to make a life here. The winters are warm, the waves pump, and it’s an interesting place. But are we being too greedy? We have a beautiful beach at home and some world class waves. We have a house we love, our kids are happy there, our families are not too far, and we adore our friends. Could we really leave? What would pay the bills? Most of my jobs I could do from here and my husband is desperate for a new lease of life. Maybe Byron could be home.

But finances aside, do we fit here? Byron is a funny place. It is rich and varied and eclectic and busy. It can be pretentious and up itself, with ridiculous priced coffee and food (and wine I remember from last time!). It can be rough and violent and dangerous. And in the summer it swells up until it almost bursts at the seams. I can barely cope with parking at the supermarket in the summer at home, how on earth would a few thousand more people here all summer go with my calm and patient nature? And when the surf is so crowded in June that a guy ends up in a coma from getting hit in the head with a surfboard, maybe this place does not need any extra people. It is also international with language and colour and difference. It is beautiful, just beautiful. We could alternate between walking to the Pass, or Wategos or on the beach with the pram at Tallows every day. And my wild child could see his beloved lighthouse all the time!

But what would it really be like? I’m not hippy enough, or trendy enough, or fit enough for Byron. I don’t do Yoga, drink herbal tea, or surf very well. My kids would be okay, I think. Probably wake up at 5am for the rest of their lives, but alright. My husband would get his fix of surf. We would all miss our friends and our family terribly. And that right there is the clincher. Because even though I know somehow we would find somewhere to live, find some kind of employment and the kids would make friends, would we?

Not sure I’m quite ready to find out. Maybe another week will help us decide, or two…

 

What cleaning up spew and poo for a week has taught me.

Saturday, April 27th, 2013
  • You need more than superglue to hold it all together.
  • Even warm alcohol is alcohol and you can drink it.
  • Cleaning up spew is way better than cleaning up poo.
  • One kid spewing 20 times in one day, followed by the other spewing for the next five days is still better than both spewing together.
  • The home doctor service is of little use to me if they decide to HAVE A DAY OFF WHEN I REALLY NEED THEM!
  • A spewing three year old is way easier than a spewing 16 month old.
  • I have a particular skill for knowing when they are going to vomit and catching it in a bucket. Yep I know, something to be proud of.
  • Children’s DVD’s are the greatest invention the world has ever seen. And maybe the electricity that powers them.
  • There are only so many times a kid can spew on a rug before you throw it out.
  • Daycare is really, really expensive when you still have to pay for it when you are not using it, and even more expensive when your job doesn’t have sick pay.
  • It is really hard to watch your little boys, especially your bub sick for so many days and not be able to do anything to help them.
  • When my children are well, they are lots of fun and they make me laugh so much. I missed that this week.
  • Apparently Urinary Tract Infections and Ear Infections can also cause kids to spew.
  • It is absolutely fine to have corn chips and Jim Beam and coke for dinner if your kids are finally asleep and your husband is still at work.
  • That three children might be too much for me to handle. Chances are they all get sick together and I only have two hands for two buckets.
  • You can actually stay home all day even when they wake at 5am, but it sucks.
  • I love my boys with everything that I have, but I am not a very patient mother after a week of two sick kids.
  • Once their laughter and jokes and cheekiness comes back, you realise all over again just how awful it is for everyone when they are not well.
  • I thank my lucky stars that my children only get sick every now and then and this is not something that we live with. I know for some people their kids are sick permanently in lots of different ways and I think the parents and the siblings who live with this are remarkable.

Hope all is well with you xx

Changing Times…

Monday, March 18th, 2013

What happens when suddenly the world tilts a little on its axis, and everything looks so different? What happens when those around you are unhappy, hurting, confused? How do you help? What can you do? How do you reach out and help, let them know their pain is shared, their confusion overwhelming, let them know they are not alone?

If it’s something that will improve, or that you have the power to change then you stand by and find the patience to listen and advise and try and help them to resolve. You hope for change, for clarity, for action. You encourage them to take the steps that only they can to move on and out of the murkiness swallowing them up. If you have been there too, then you share a little and support a lot. And if you haven’t, then you do your best to empathise, or at least help clear their vision a little and gently push them forward.

And if it’s permanent, what then? Well then you hold on tight and whatever you do you don’t let go.

 

You be.

You listen.

You cry.

You laugh.

You support.

You hold them up.

You find joy in the little things.

You find beauty in the big things.

You remind them how much you love them.

You make sure they are not alone.

You reach out.

You check in.

You don’t ask too much.

You love.

 

Because sometimes its all you can do.

Same same but, well, same actually.

Friday, February 22nd, 2013

I love pretty much everything about where we live.

I am a long way from friends and family and lots of the time that is really hard, but that sacrifice becomes worth it when we get all the benefits of living on the coast. It still feels like a village to me even though it is growing so fast. Sure, there are lots of people we don’t know, but as I dropped my son off for the first kinder session a few weeks ago, I couldn’t believe how many parents there I knew. And not just faces I recognised, but most of them I knew by name.

But there is one really big problem with where we live with, it is the sameness of us all.

We are a tourist destination so we have lots of travellers arrive. Some pass through, some stay for a while, some stay forever. But even many of these people look like us. They may have an accent, or even another language, but very few look different. And this concerns me.

I grew up in the sweeping plains of Dandenong, as my brother once put it, and while this had challenges, it also had lots of difference. My highschool had over 100 nationalities represented. The local restaurants used to include Lebanese, Vietnamese, Turkish and Indian, back when these weren’t the standard suburban cuisine, and now there are many Afghani and African varieties that are hugely popular with the locals. The most exotic we have here in our coastal town, other than the baked potato joint, are three different Thai restaurants.

Very good friends of ours are of Singaporean heritage, and she is a fabulous cook, so we are lucky enough to be able to share some of these rituals and food with them. The women who take such loving care of my children at daycare are Malaysian and Philipino and Sri Lankan as well as Australian, so thankfully my children see some people in their lives who don’t, look, sound or even smell like them. This difference is shared with the children through language and food and different cultural celebrations. But surely this isn’t the responsibility of the child care they spend two days a week at.

For us as children we didn’t have to go out and seek culture or difference. It surrounded us. My friends at school were all colours and nationalities, so staying at their houses meant different food and ritual and even language some times. Our local market was rich with the colour and sound of migrants. Refugees were among us, learning, living, laughing. And we grew up with the inherent knowledge that being different was what made the world fascinating.

Now we also had huge racial tension. Our athletics carnival one year was invaded by a gang of vietnamese youth who tore through the oval, ripping out the wooden stakes holding up the trees and running at people with them. Walking to my after school job at the ice cream shop was sometimes really scary, and walking home even scarier. But nothing serious ever happened and eventually, the Vietnamese kids grew up and were replaced by the next migrant group, the Afghanis and Sudanese. We got along. We respected each other. We had to.

But what will my children think of those who look different? How will my children have any appreciation for the stories of these children who have experienced a nightmare life in another country and come here to make a fresh start? What needs to happen so that my son doesn’t scream when he sees the African doctor come and call his name to be seen next? How do you build respect for others when everyone seems the same as you?

I have some ideas, but I don’t have any answers. I am petrified that my children will spout the same ignorant rhetoric that many children I have taught repeat from their parents. I know that we will travel and eat different food and appreciate different cultures, but if that is fleeting and rare, how will the feeling of respect be learned? I love where we live and of course as a community we are welcoming and supportive of many international causes and organisations, but the reality is that many new arrivals could never afford to live here. We are exclusive, and many who live here like it that way for the safety this creates for our children. But for me, I have to make sure that this sense of safety doesn’t turn into one of superiority. In my family we are going to have to work out  how difference is something to celebrate and embrace, rather than fear.

What the night market taught me.

Monday, January 28th, 2013

Where I live we have an awesome night market once a week in January. It is absolutely packed with people, especially when it is warm. And this Jan as been warm every Thursday night. I love the idea of going, as a family, to sit on a rug, and watch the bands, and eat food, and maybe even have a drink or two. And then I go, with my family, and the gloss of this lovely family experience quickly fades.

One kid gets lost, then cracks it because he can’t have the disgusting circles of fried potato on a stick because the line reaches the next suburb. The bub wriggles and squirms in our arms because there is absolutely no way we can wheel any kind of pram through the throngs of people. We have one drink, can’t possibly eat something balanced in one hand while doing the toddler hustle with the other, or hanging on the octopus. We don’t even notice there is music and the very slow walk/drag back to the car is punctuated with more whinging, mostly from me.

So I decide instead to go on my own.

And this is what I learnt;

  • going for a walk, at night, with a beer in your hand, on your own, makes you feel like you are in your 20’s again.
  • being on your own at a crazy busy market is awesome. You can actually do whatever you want, when you want to! Including going to the toilet, remarkable.
  • Cider tastes way better if you don’t have to skull it.
  • It’s still fun when one of your mates doesn’t show.
  • It’s still fun when you find the other mate you were meeting and his annoying wife is there too.
  • You realise that while you are sitting on the couch watching rubbish on the telly, the rest of the world is still functioning, and they are having a lot of fun.
  • You can walk away from people who are boring and they don’t even notice.
  • Lots of people take their kids to these night time activities and love it. Their kids may, or may not love it, but so many parents just didn’t care. Kids were asleep on the ground, in prams, on their parents, or still climbing trees and running around with their mates.
  • I don’t really need to drink that much anymore because the giggles start after two ciders these days
  • Some people are much wealthier than me, or nicer than me, or more interesting than me, and some aren’t. And all this difference makes the world a fun place to be.
  • As your kids get older, they start looking after you, instead of you always having to look after them.
  • No matter what goes on in people’s lives, some people never change, and that is pretty awesome.
  • I’m quite happy to spend some time on my own.
  • Jill Meagher’s death has had a lasting impact on how safe I feel, even in my quiet little neighbourhood. I walked home alone, as I have done so many times here, but in some parts I ran because I was so scared and it wasn’t even completely dark yet.
  • Sometimes you need to make plans and stick to them, no matter what else is happening, because you don’t actually know how much fun you are missing out on until you actually get to have some.
  • I love where I live, still.
  • I am lucky to life as blessed as it is and that made me smile, with some help from the cider.

 

 

A couple of golden oldies

Friday, January 18th, 2013

My daily trip to the local beach was a little different yesterday. Actually the whole beach experience was the norm, it was the trip back to the car that was different. As everyone knows the worst part of going to the beach is going home from the beach. Trying to carry kids and all of the stuff that you need to take for even fifteen minutes that is now wet and sandy, all the way back to the car.

I was wandering back to the car, my arm slowly going numb from the bag, the bub grizzling in my arms and the wild child dragging his surfboard behind him. We were about to cross the path when this gorgeous couple walked past. We waited for them and exchanged smiles. They were hand in hand, taking their time, just wandering down the path laughing and talking to each other and greeting the small children they passed. They were enjoying the sunshine, not bothered by the crowds or the bikes whizzing past them on the path. They were just happy in the moment and in each others company.

It’s not that rare to see a deliriously happy couple walking to the lookout on the summer holidays. We live in a holiday town, lots of people are plastered with holiday happy faces. But this couple weren’t tourists. They were locals. They had to be, because if you were their age, you could holiday any time of the year and not have to battle the summer crowds.

This couple were old. Grey hair, walking at snail’s pace, comfortable shoes, cardis on on a warm summers day old. I reckon they were both in their 80’s at least. They were just so happy with each other’s company. Safe, secure and with genuine smiles to prove it. They made me smile, hopeful that one day I too will still enjoy my little coastal town in the summer and happily walk down the path with my husband, smiling at all the cute little kids carrying their surfboards back to the car. They would have had a fabulous story to tell I’m sure, filled with love and laughter and happiness, but also with life and that means sadness and regret.

But yesterday they making a new memory, and basking in some old ones I’m sure. A couple of golden oldies.



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