Cue "Thank You" by Dido

I started 2013 a hot mess. I had newborn twins plus a toddler, no sleep, no permanent employment and plenty of baby weight (you know, the kind you blame on the babies for two years). I was convinced this whole house of cards would fall (and explode into a fiery mess, leaving only ashes and my baby weight behind). I was way less happy than I should have been and just totally terrified.  

If you're like me, and you change careers and add twins to your life, things can get ugly. Real ugly. Like Roseanne Barr in "She-Devil" ugly. But in the process, I gained clarity on how amazing this life is and how truly unkind I'd been to myself for many years. I got out of my own head (which was filled with messages of failure, shame and inadequacy - can you believe it?) and realized that I'm good enough. Today. Right now. In tattered yoga pants and last night's (make that two nights ago) make-up. Little ol' broken down me is just fine. Whew! What a relief.

With the compassion and help of a few key people and a whole lot of loving kindness, I ended 2013 as a more honest, authentic, loving and present version of myself. I stopped beating myself up at the gym and told the bitchy voices in my head to zip it. I let go of the crutches I thought I needed and didn't even realize I'd been using. I sat down with my babies and just enjoyed everything about them. I stopped leaving them to rush to do this or that meaningless task. I stopped checking out of my own life (with the gym, with wine, with other things that held no real value) because it felt like I'd been given too much and I was afraid to receive it. I let go of control I never really had. I got real about expectations. I burned the picture of what I thought I should be, and fell in love with what really is. 

2014 is SO on. Thank you, friends. You may be unaware that your big or small act of loving kindness created another solid place for me to take a step back to being OK. And baby, I'm so back, but with more humility, thankfulness and peace than I ever thought I'd have. With a super-human husband and three happy, healthy daughters that I love and enjoy more each precious day, this work-in-progress continues, evolving and renovating, kissing the ground in gratitude all along the way. 

P.J. for never leaving my side and showing me that unconditional love exists in marriage. 

Lulu, Elle and Tali for making me a mother and showing me what real joy feels like.

My friend and our nanny Ashley, for helping us raise our daughters and keep this whole thing together.

My mother Lynn for walking next to me through darkness into light.

P.J.’s parents Bob & Ann for so much love and presence and time given selflessly to keep us going.

John, my brother, for helping me to start a little independent business and get some momentum with some awesomely helpful people.

David, my brother, for giving me some great work and a computer to get me going.

Fran, my aunt, for giving me a wonderful project that gave me confidence, hope and a non-profit sample!

Gina, for giving me a chance at the job that I love. For waving your fabulous wand and making me a copywriter.

Kristen, godmother, for always showing up, participating and giving us your energy, time and love.

Van, godmother, for snuggling them, for loyalty and trust, for laughter and tears and Florida.

Alisha, for shared reality of motherhood, for unexpected moments of laughter at ourselves and others, and for sisterhood for all these years. 

Robin Phipps Woodall, for sharing your gift with all of humanity (and believe me, you're going to reach all of humanity), your devotion to the truth and wholeness in all of us. 

Denise Watson, for walking me back to myself and for teaching me to cast off the phony crap and live and love by the truth, always.

For many others (pretty much everyone I am in touch with, consider yourself right here), your timing was perfect. Every time you gave me a chance, an opportunity, a phone number, an idea, a laugh, a compliment, a moment of vulnerability, a warm body to stand by, a text, a phone call, a chance to help, an email, a chat, a like, a smile, a hug, an offer of assistance, a bit of honesty … every time you reached out to connect, you gave me energy and showed me that that the universe and all of its beings are good – perfect, really – and that for better or worse, I am held. We all are always and forever held and loved and more than enough.

Happy New Year!  

My Pregnancy: Does This Fat Make My Fat Look Fat?

The following is a massive turbo PowerRant of epic proportions intended to purge some of the noise before we get all up in our labor with twin girls. Forgive any typos, two young women have ganged up on me and are giving me internal noogies and liver-twisters for the past two hours. 

But first, for the sake of balance and gratitude, the wonderful things about this pregnancy:

• The prospect of two more girls who are even remotely as wonderful as our 16-month-old, Luciana. I know they'll be different from her and from each other, but I've seen our work, and I gotta say without an ounce of arrogance, we make good babies. I mean, c'mon, she says "hi" to everyone she meets, calls dogs "Fuff-fuffs," dances to the King of Queens theme song every night (and then loves the MN lottery drawing). And then we read books ... lots and lots of books after all that television. Ahem. She also smells so good. No matter what. 
• Getting three kids out of only two pregnancies - efficient! I would not have gotten pregnant again. I can promise you that, Charlton Heston "from my cold, dead hands" style. 
• The positive attention you get when people find out it's twins - and then when some folks tell you that you don't look big enough to be carrying twins. God bless you. Also when people tell you that you look great and you can tell that they mean it. Bless you, bless your heart. Im gonna light a candle for you, my friend, and that's the truth. 
• Naming two more girls. So much fun. Even if your oldest brother has already made fun of one of them. 
• Refreshing the nursery with new artwork and first name letter decals for two girls. SO FUN! I never knew how much I'd love getting ready for babies, but I really do. From the laundry folding to the etsy shopping and craigslist stalking for deals - I have loved every minute of that part. Finding a matching crib to the one we already had (for less than what we paid for the new one from Target) was one of the greatest days of my life, seriously. There's something so satisfying about readying your home and a special room for your baby on the way. That reminds me, when's my steam cleaner shipping? Also, what have I become? I used to let dishes fester until they whispered my name. Now, I'm actually giddy about my new Shark vac! 
• Feeling two babies move. This will be in the rant section, also, because it's pretty intense and miserable at times. But it's a lot of fun, too, and magical, and reminds you that these people that you'll love for life have been traveling around with you for the last 9 (10 when it's all said and done) months. I look at Lulu and still can't believe that she came out of me. She was instantly her own woman, but she rode shotgun in my womb for 9 (10 long) months, first. Surreal.  
• The extra support, love and encouragement we've received from virtually everyone in our life. I will never forget it. Ever. 
• The new friends and incredibly talented birth professionals who've been nothing but generous, loving, supportive and excited for us (Nicole Stecker, Jess Helle Morrissey, Miranda Daby, Sarah Longacre, Margaret McKinley Owens, Megan Crown, Colleen Moore, Dr. Dennis Hartung, Sarah Biermier ... to name just a few). I would (almost) willingly go through this pregnancy all over again if it meant making the acquaintances of these gifted and loving people who serve families with courage and excellence. 
• The random acts of kindness and generosity from people you knew and liked (or maybe even friends of friends you haven't met) but maybe didn't realize how much they really cared about you and your family. They give you items for babies, refer clients to your new business or connect you to other people and resources that make this journey easier. Kara Root comes to mind. From sweet, unexpected notes on Facebook, to donating clothes and equipment to our family so that we don't have to find it or spend money on it - every time, I'm overwhelmed and humbled by the sweetness of people. 
• Pampering myself without guilt. This mostly means napping, resting, putting my feet up, sleeping in, closing my eyes, laying down, doing Hypnobabies or taking a bath whenever I get a chance. But I also went to the spa twice (once from a gift card, thanks boss), got a cleaning lady (some would say more of a sanity measure than pampering) and have been going to yoga (100% essential, actually, but often feels like pampering) and out for lunch and dinner with my family and friends more than usual. This is all with the knowledge that I will be hunkered down at home with these two new bunnies, getting our bond and tandem nurse on all winter long and beyond. 
• Starting my business from home, being home with my daughter (with a lot of help from grandparents and caretakers), and loving every minute of both of those things. 
• Watching my husband continue to evolve and become an even more exceptional father, husband and best friend than he already was. Also, seeing his glee at the thought of having three girls. 
• Becoming part of a special sub-culture/sisterhood of twins mamas that I never knew existed. I'm sure even more value will come of this when I have no idea how to fix one or more twinsie dilemmas and I can post on a message board and get 20 responses instantly. 
• Rocking my "outside" daughter to sleep while feeling my "inside" daughters kick and hiccup. Then realizing four people are sitting there, four strong women, and knowing my girls are, in that moment, right where they're meant to be. 
• Feeling so special knowing that two more souls chose me as their mama and P.J. as their daddy. The massive compliment that some divine consciousness somewhere thought that I was capable of successfully caring for two more children. I'm flattered. I have questioned your jugement, but I'm flattered! 

Ok, that's not exhaustive, but pretty thorough. Now the shit of it. And I mean shit. If you're not up for my whining, do not read on. And certainly don't comment. If you don't like it, go start your own blog and work it out, sister! 

• Getting pregnant before losing all the weight from the first. That made me really sad and worried. I was getting there. I had worked hard, but certainly wasn't as focused on the scale with a new baby to care for and a career to return to. I had just started fitting back into stuff, in fact. Feeling good, going out with the girls, there may have even been sequined tank tops involved. Sigh. But there are worse things and nursing two should be of assistance with getting back to normal along with a lot of cardio and slowing my roll on nightly dessert ... ok sometimes twice-daily dessert. 
• Instantly becoming a medical ticking time bomb (or being made to feel like one by a few crappy sources) upon learning there were two. 
• Having to switch my medical provider because the midwife group I was with didn't do twins. 
• Starting a new job on a Monday after finding out the previous afternoon that we're pregnant ... again ... way before we'd planned. Our daughter was 9 months old. 
• The worry of going down to one income mere days before the news of twins was delivered. My upset over the job was short-lived with the doors it seemed to open and the balance it promised to restore, however, twins was a whole other upsetting story. 
• Trying to effectively mother a growing and active toddler while being in chronic and at times severe pain. Thank you, God, for a child who is agreeable, largely independent when it comes to play time and just generally the light of our lives. She makes everything seem not just manageable, but wonderful, even on my very worst days. 
• The statistics of multiple pregnancies and births. F*ck you, statistics. Remind me, what are you good for? Moms need preventative practices, not numbers that dance in their heads bringing visions of NICUs and feeding tubes. I know there's a reality to a multiples pregnancy and birth, but a lot of sources seem hell-bent on merely scaring the hell out of you, when you are feeling the most vulnerable. If the goal is healthy moms and babies, there are better ways to communicate that will cause the desired actions rather than total terror, aversion and denial. Trust me. 
• The profound limitation of my birth choices. Here they are: deliver in an operating room in scrubs on my back with my feet up in stirrups with, in many cases, a mandatory epidural and artificial induction at 38 weeks, or, drive to Hudson, WI, for one of a few local, magical OBs who really gets it, who believes in women, in medical facts rather than medicine via avoidance of liability, and who protect and advocate for the natural strength of a birthing mama (twins, breech, advanced maternal age or otherwise). Home birth was also an option we strongly considered and is valid, healthy, safe and wonderful for many families. 
• Elevated blood pressure thanks to anxiety, blood volume, perhaps genetics and general bigness. 
• Anxiety, depression, fatigue, worry worry worry. Also tears. Also gas. 
• The strangeness and often pain and discomfort of two strapping babies battle dancing inside my body. As I write this, they are terrorizing me, making raw and sore the outer boundary of my whole gut, threatening to rupture a bag or two of waters (hey, we're 36 weeks, go for it!), pressing my hips out, rolling incessantly along my diaphragm, stabbing me in the sides (where the f*ck did you find a shiv in there? is that part of my rib?), making it hard to breathe and insisting on tying my urethra into the occasional sailor's knot. 
• Debilitating stabbing pain due either to liver strain (why not in college?) or muscular-skeletal stretching. Kiss your acupuncturist. 
• Burning ribs, mid and low-back pain, sciatica! sciatica! Kiss your chiropractor. 
• Ligament pain and pelvic misery that only gets worse by the week. 
• Pain while sitting. 
• Pain while lying down. 
• Pain while standing. 
• Pain while operating a motor vehicle. 
• Heartburn and waking up with a startle to find the slightest bit of vomit in my throat from reflux. Lovely but perfectly normal according to many miserable mamas on babycenter, ala "I'm so sick of waking up choking on my own vomit! Aren't you?" Again, I can't believe this didn't happen in college. Oh, the irony. 
• Being somewhat robbed of the opportunity relax and enjoy this pregnancy and hopefully unmedicated birth, having done it all before. Having twins is like starting over in a lot of ways. Yes, I know what the pain of labor and delivery feel like and I know I can handle it, but how does that change with twins? I'm guessing not for the better, but I'm trying to program myself to believe otherwise. 
• Worrying about the vulnerability of Baby B that they speak of after Baby A comes out. It's a general term and the thought of a vulnerable baby in any context is not pleasant. 
• All of the normal scary pregnancy risks, but multiplied times two (eclampsia, abruption, previa, distocia ... pretty words with potentially nightmarish outcomes). 
• Swelling. I didn't have much until just about two weeks ago but now it's on. I'm wearing flip flops in October out of sheer necessity and my feet look like matching Honey Boo-Boo's moms, just without the neck rash.  
• Trying to sleep. Insomnia and the logistical nightmare of merely turning over ... there aren't words for how much this sucks. 
• Getting out of bed in urgency only to expel 1/2 t. of urine. 
• The first trimester of extreme nausea marked by abruptly getting up from my desk for the looong walk to the bathroom at my old office, and realizing "There's no way in hell you're going to make it. Why did you even leave your desk? And why are you already thinking about what you might eat after you vomit? Girl, you nasty." 
• Periodically (regularly) behaving like a savage, awoken-from-hibernation man-bear-pig-mama-beast-Rosie O'Donnell creature towards the one man who is made perfectly and meant divinely to walk through this challenge with me. My husband, everyone (applause). Do our partners ever get PTSD from this experience? Because if not, mine will be a guinea pig for the psychotherapy community ... though he's very strong and unfailingly devoted, if I were him, I'd be on Xanax for life. 
• Not being able to hold my daughter as closely as I would like or play with her as actively as she deserves due to the physical limitations of my bloated, painful bodymeats. 
• Feeling separated/distracted from loving said husband by pain, anxiety, super-fatness and fatigue (but keeping the faith that, with intention, we'll be closer than ever once two precious newborn baby girls are in our arms and we can dig in on the job of caring for our little-big family, together and for always). 

Whew. I think that's quite enough for now. Those who know me know that I need not spend a lot of time or energy qualifying any of this with apologies to people who have been challenged with infertility or infant loss (and thinking of you deeply on Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance today). Those who know me know my heart, and therefore know that I am infinitely grateful for everything I've been given and unwaveringly empathetic, respectful and loving toward those who have struggled just to make and keep their beloved babies. 

Well, I feel better. But you ... you look pale and unhappy. Sorry about that. Really I am. Now let me tell you about the time the shower curtain got stuck between my epic butt cheeks. Yep, that was my rock bottom (pun intended). Feel better? Good. 

The Mortgage on a Mama's Heart

Recently, a woman in the Facebook group I've joined for mothers of twins posted a question regarding what sentiments would have helped the pregnant or new mom of twins.

She talked about the two poles: those who are "squee," (I love this term ... squeeee!) i.e. over-the-top happy for you and all about what a blessing it is; and those who are gloom and doomers, stating the obvious challenges/sleep deprivation/lack of personal time ahead and how full your hands will be, literally and figuratively. Like, duh. Thankfully, I've never been particularly enraged or hurt by comments on either side of this fence. At most, I am occasionally annoyed by the addition of noise to the already raucous chaos party in my head, but I generally like the acknowledgement that this is a big deal, and the special attention that comes with it. But, talk to me in three months when I've been slapped with an assault charge after someone helps themselves to one of my daughters in her stroller, which I'm told happens constantly in public, among other boundary violations. And thankfully, I've only ever had one person who I can think of, a nurse, who really got to me with her nightmare-sharing. And she especially deserves compassion for what she went through and once I got out of there without passing out (she was drawing my blood while telling me about her three pregnancy losses and a stillbirth), I sent her much love and understanding. 

Anyways, this is a real thinker of a topic and generated a lot of excellent comments. For me, this is why I join a Facebook or other online group like this – to hear what other twin moms are thinking and garner some great comfort when one of them articulates something I've thought. This usually has the effect of making me cry with relief and gratitude, and also helps me to feel less like an a-hole. 

*Note: Nobody who reads his should be thinking "Oh crap, have I done/said that to Kate or another mom of multiples?" Listen. My head is so full of discord, I have no idea who said what and if it upset me or not, or if I was upset, was it more because I was just hungry. I do, however, remember the cards, emails, texts, visits, gifts, treats, books, links, resources, introductions and calls of support I've received. Every. Single. One of them. So, suffice it to say that those who are in my circle have done an exceptional job of caring for me in this crazy time of my life. And the following is just for discussion's sake, not to make you feel guilty. But if you do feel guilty, go ahead and channel that energy! Come change a diaper or 12 in the coming weeks and months and we'll call it even. 

So, here are a handful of my favorites from this discussion, with key concepts in bold for fun.

"Validation of how it sucks to have your birth choices restricted, to have to worry more about complications and preterm birth, and validation that I'm not worrying an excessive amount about how on earth I'm going to care for TWO BABIES. That I'm not an awful person for being really really pissed off sometimes, because this isn't what I wanted."

**Talk about restricted birth choices! I'm not birthing in Hudson, Wisconsin, just because I'm a Packer fan. Which I'm not. Nor do I care for sports in general, unless it's mens' Olympic swimming. And yes, I never "wanted" twins. Some women really do want twins. They dream of twins and are thrilled to bits when they get them. And more than not wanting them, it's that I never considered them, nor thought of myself as even remotely capable of caring for them. I want these twins, for sure, but the spoiled American in me has once or twice thought "Excuse me, but this is not what I ordered! I wanted the single, perfect auburn-haired sister for my toddler to play and grow up with. No biggie, though. And my compliments to the Chef."**

"I think it's best to incorporate both stances. Yes it's scary and overwhelming but yes it's possible and amazing and wonderful while being one of the hardest things you'll undertake. It seems like you get one or the other: doomsayers or people thinking twins come from unicorns lapping up rainbow pools of starlight...but arming them with proactive advice of what works for you now, even if it's only barely working will help most."

"I heard a lot of "This is the easy part, it will be much harder soon" when I was pregnant, then when I had newborns, and now when I have new toddlers. Whether you think it's true or not, I never found having people tell me that I should be enjoying the thing I was struggling with because things were about to get much harder to be a productive form of advice."

"You've got two routes: 1.) It's magical (which it is) and 2.) It's REALLY hard (which is also is). I'd briefly acknowledge both truths and then just listen. Ask how she's doing, actively. Normalize her experiences. Only give advice that's specifically requested. Oh, and tell her that she looks great, and big is the new black."

"Be totally open to people who maybe never wanted twins, and who are feeling brutally intimidated by the concept - like I was. Everywhere I turned, people were super excited for me, and couldn't wait to tell me how wonderful it was and how much they always wanted twins, or how it was so great with their own twins... but all I wanted to do when I found out was cry. I mean, I love my kids for sure, but I didn't want twins and I didn't want to hear how fabulous it was, I wanted someone who could sit with me and my sense of loss and be ok and supportive of it. I needed realism, and practical advice... "

**Oddly, surprisingly, and to my own disgust, there was indeed a sense of loss. It seems counterintuitive that when you're getting more than you asked for, you would feel grief, but there you have it. It's the loss of the "picture" you had in your head, the loss of perceived control you thought you had over your life and family planning (Ha! "Planning."), the loss of enjoying a relaxed and low-risk pregnancy, the loss of the idea that you'll be less scared this time around because you've done it before (you old pro, you) the loss of any confidence you had built up that you could care/provide for two kids ... because now there's three, as in my case. For me, this feeling subsided/became manageable and turned into joy, but not before it did a number on me emotionally and made me feel undeserving and panicked.**

And this whole discussion, and my coming back to it again and again ever since, came from the original poster having read the following excerpt this from this: 

"You know, when I became pregnant, everybody said congratulations, great, great, great, great, great. When I had the baby, everybody said congratulations, great, great, great, great, great. Nobody tells me that I had, at that point, mortgaged my heart for the entire rest of my life because my happiness now depends on this baby being well and healthy and nothing bad happening to it. Nobody tells you that. They don't say when they hear — they don't say, 'Uh-oh, you know, brace yourself.' They say — they say, 'Congratulations.'"

I think that right there, the bit about the heart mortgage, has been the hardest thing about motherhood for me. I never anticipated the absolutely inextricable nature of my child's fate with my own. Sure, I could speculate from afar, before my daughter was born, that I would be 100% driven to protect and care for her. But like so much in life, you don't know what's really in it until you're, well, in it.  

My parents shared with me that the worry and the drive to protect never goes away, when trying to explain their infinite advice-giving to me, their, at the time, 32 year old daughter. And I still didn't get it until I became a parent. I probably still don't get it entirely yet. I was warned, but nothing can prepare you. And I am still astounded, blown away day after day, by how desperately I love her. I still can't accept, somewhat selfishly and as if I had a choice, how we're tethered together for life, because she came here through me and because my purpose, among other things, is to make sure she continues to exist. I was knocked down early, and kept down for a bit, thanks to a brief shot of PPD upon my return to work, by the realization is that if something happened to her, I'd be finished. Even though I've seen incredible resilience when this happens, I'm not sure I'm capable of it. And the whole spectrum of extremity is there. If she gets a cold, I feel every sniffle. And if she ceased, I'd cease. Plain as that. So for me, and for most mothers I'm sure, it's not just that my happiness is tied to hers, it's that my very survival on earth feels like it's tied to hers. And this is how it's set up – intelligently and unapologetically – so that we do our jobs without fail. Fine. I get it. But it sure hurts a mom's heart on a daily basis. And the fact that it's for life is both a comfort and a profound burden. 

I often see Luciana off when she and her dad pull out of the driveway in the morning to go to grandma and grandpa's house a couple of times a week. She is going to the only place on earth that's out of my sight yet causes me very little worry. She's safe and meticulously cared for and adored when she's with her grandparents, who love her like we do. And yet, the wind is knocked out of me every damn time she waves and smiles through the car window as they pull away. Her sweet, bright face is instantly 10 and 20 and 35 years old, smiling and waving goodbye to me. It's like that Subaru commercial in which the dad is talking to his daughter through the car window before she drives away. She's a little girl and then a teen, just like that. They should take that $hit off the air, because it hits home too hard. And I don't even have a teen yet, which I can imagine is some of the greatest discomfort a parent can experience. This commercial doesn't make me want to buy a Subaru (though I know they're awesome). It makes me want to make sure she never rides in a car again, let alone drives one.

So this morning as I waddled back through the garage and our yard, I thought "You know, I need to stop seeing P.J. and Lulu off, because clearly I can't handle it, and I'm starting yet another morning in tears." And then another voice came into my head and said "Yes, but it's your job to see her off, over and over again. It's your job to wave and smile as she embarks on every next big and small adventure in her life. It's also your job to have faith in what you have taught her (Hot! Don't touch!). It's your job to believe that she is held and cared for by the universe, and meant for fullness of experience, hard lessons, accomplishments and true love. But first, you gotta let her leave the driveway. And yes, you have to wave and smile as she goes." 

Then yet another voice comes in and says, "Go put some Nutella on toast and write about this. Also, you're not wearing a bra. Go inside, dirtbag."

I suppose the upside is that this speaks to my bond with my daughter. That she waves and smiles at me with full joy when she leaves the house – secure in her home, but ready to spend the day away from it, too – and that I cry as I walk back into the house, are signs that we are tightly connected in the way that mom and daughter should be. 

Then the crushing downside, which is also another upside – such is the endless and dizzying dichotomy of motherhood – occurs to me. That there are two more young women coming to me in mere days or weeks, two more souls who I will hold in my arms and let violently smash to bits whatever is left of my heart after Lucia came here and blew it up with her wonderfulness. How will I remain whole and upright with three daughters out there in the world? Not to mention all up in my house until they're 18 ... or 20 ... or you know, whenever they launch? 

The quick answer: pinot grigio and TurboKick, perhaps in that order. 

The longer answer: I'll have to nurture an extraordinary amount of faith and draw upon the same innate wisdom with which I will birth and care for them to sustain and still me. There are no guarantees. Only moments. So take a deep breath, stop freaking out, and enjoy. 

And seriously, put on a bra.

I'll leave you with this, thanks to another FB friend and from The God Academy (which I haven't vetted for cray-crayness, but this passage is lovely regardless). 

"Allow every event and each new circumstance to wash over you, to come and go as softly as a butterfly resting on the back of your hand. As you walk across life’s bridges, try to resist inspecting every piece of rope, the integrity of every knot, and judging every step you take. Make a daily practice of trusting the events unfolding before you, and their proper place in the universe of your experience. The bridges of life are not composed of bamboo, or knotted ropes, or steel or anything else susceptible to the corrosive powers of time. We are suspended by a robust latticework of trust and faith interwoven. Enjoy the view, knowing fully that the bridge will hold you."

I really struggle with "enjoying the view." Heck, I closed my eyes and cried like a toddler all the way over the Bridge of the Gods. I mean, not only did I not enjoy the probably/hopefully once-in-a-lifetime view, I missed it almost entirely, while thinking "Gods? What kind of gods? Gods we're about to meet? Angry gods who throw borrowed and very small, Daby Family-issue Pontiacs over the sides of seemingly sky-high bridges?" 

Again, I am not a great adventurer, but I'm trying every day. Don't wish me luck. Wish me courage.