So long and thanks for all the fish*

Criminal Minds is on right now. 

Again.

It's on every night here, one of the only shows in English so we seem to watch it a lot. The wife of one of Peter's co-workers used to work homicide with the RCMP in Vancouver. I once asked her if she ever watches shows like the CSI and Criminal Minds type shows. She said that she COULDN'T STAND all the CSIs, but that Criminal Minds and Cold Case were both pretty accurate. 

I'm going to miss it, I think... along with a certain Dr. Reid.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Although I've written all year about our time here and the things we've done, I haven't spent much time describing some of what makes it such a special place. I've left out a lot of details.

Like the smells.

While I definitely won't miss the smell of the Septima with its thousands of unruly taxis and almost equal numbers of obnoxious smoke-belching buses, there are many smells here that will always make me think of Colombia... the scent of rain in the air (which happened probably 80% of our days here!), corn grilling on street corners and meat grilling on parillas, smoke from cedar and eucalyptus wood fires, and the sweet scent of jasmine flowers (now one of my all time favourite smells).

And the sounds.

The ringing bells of the church next to our apartment building, the buzz of the gate letting cars and people into our complex, the somewhat-out-of-place-yet-completely-normal sound of horses' hooves on the pavement below, the bells of the propane trucks, the vendors in the market, the "buenos dias'" and "buenos tardes'", the "permissos" and "gracias'", the buzz of the phone in the kitchen when the portero would call up, the sound of our doorbell early on Tuesdays and Fridays signalling the arrival of our maid...

Ah, Rosalba, our maid.

At first I was completely against the idea of having a maid. I didn't need help. I didn't like the idea of some stranger being in my house, doing my laundry, touching my stuff. Someone I couldn't even communicate with. Then I got pregnant and so sick I could barely drag myself out of bed before noon. A person gets used to not cleaning bathrooms or the kitchen, or changing beds, or vacuuming, or doing laundry pretty darn quick, letmetellyou. Having some help around here (even if it was only two days a week compared to most people's five) has been nothing short of phenomenal.

But Rosalba is definitely not the only person I'll miss. 

There are other people... great, lovely, amazing people.

The friends we've made here have been really wonderful. The Canadian Embassy is not huge, and there are definitely some, uh, "colourful" personalities within its walls, but in general it's a really nice group. Even though our post was only a year long, most everyone embraced us -and our growing family- with open arms. Many (both Embassy staff and others from the expat community) went above and beyond to make us feel welcome and at home and cared for and loved.

* * * * * * * * * * 

As I sit here, it's after 1am and I'm sure I'm going to be tired in the morning. That will, however, hopefully make the nap I have planned for the afternoon even more effective.

You see, we have this wee overnight flight with four kids that leaves Bogota just before midnight tomorrow night.

(Or more than likely after midnight since the flights from here are rarely on time.)

DOESN'T THAT SOUND LIKE FUN??

Even though we haven't left yet, I'm already feeling a bit nostalgic about this place. This country. This city. These people and the year we've spent among them. I honestly don't know if I'll ever be back here...

There is much I'll miss.

*10 points** to the first person to correctly identify the origin of my post title and tell me who said it.

**In this case, the 10 points will actually be a tagua (also known as "palm ivory") ring that I picked up at the market today. You'll have to agree to send me your full name and address, or we'll arrange to meet if you're local.

ETA: I published this post at 1:12am, and although Kelly commented at 3:01am (so says google reader), Sara aka @squirrellykoala responded to me via twitter (since she couldn't get the comments to work) at 2:21am. I am impressed that you both knew the answer AND THAT YOU WERE BOTH UP SO LATE. The correct answer is, OF COURSE, that "So long and thanks for all the fish" is a parting message from the dolphins before they leave earth prior to its destruction in the fourth book "in the increasingly inaccurately name Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy Trilogy" and is also and also the title of said book. Congrats Sara! We'll touch base when I'm back and unpacked.

loose ends

Have I really only posted once since July 15th? Hard to believe that much time has gone by, yet when I think about all that's happened it seems incredible that we fit it all in!

Little Eloise (or Lolo, as Andrew calls her) is now eight weeks old. Holy smoke! She's still as sweet as can be and is far more amazing than any parent of a newborn has the right to hope or dream. She cries only when desperately hungry (which rarely happens as she's on her own schedule and I feed her whenever she seems to want it), when she's having trouble burping (which she does seem to struggle with a bit), or when she's tired of having the hiccups for the sixth time that day. She rarely ever spits up... even when I'm too lazy to burp her in the middle of the night. She often has a 6-7 hours stretch of sleep each night... she wakes up less than Andrew! She's smiling more and more each day, and has even treated us to some little giggles. The boys eat it up and I'm sure it will be no time before they're constantly competing to see who can make her laugh (with Andrew having a wee melt down when it's not him).

Also during this time, Peter and I left the boys here in Bogota with my mom (bless her!) while we travelled back to Canada to shop for a new house. While Colombian women traditionally don't take their babies out of the house until after 40 days, Eloise travelled internationally, stayed in a hotel, visited several new restaurants and pubs, went to her first tweetup, went shopping, met almost all our amazing friends for the first time, and travelled home. 

We saw twenty-two (22!) different houses in two (2!) days before finally deciding on one. It came down to a choice between two very different homes... My choice had a loft, finished basement, MASSIVE although super empty yard that backed onto the highway, but walking distance to a school. Peter's pick had bigger rooms, a garage, a smaller yet more mature yard, nicer finishes, partially finished basement (that we can finish to suit our needs), but will mean a bus ride to school for the boys (should we send them). I was almost in tears the night we had to decide from the stress of it all. In the end, I convinced myself to like Peter's choice and he decided he'd be much happier in a place where I was happy. Aren't we cute? Truthfully, we would've been happy in either place, but we put an offer in on the one Peter liked. In all honesty, come winter -and snow and ice and freezing cold weather!- I'm sure I'll be plenty glad for the garage (which the other house didn't have) and will happily declare it was MY IDEA ALL ALONG.

On the way home our flight from Ottawa to Toronto was cancelled, putting our connecting flight to Bogota in great jeopardy, making me freak out a bit since the boys had been promised they'd see us that night and prompting me to snap at the Air Canada ticket agent. After sitting around for an hour waiting to find out if they could route us through Chicago, New York or Miami, it turned out that the flight to Bogota was actually going to be delayed enough that we could get on the next flight to Toronto and still make our connection. And while waiting, we met a Colombian lady travelling to Bogota alone with her two small kids who not only all speak French and a bit of English and Spanish, but the mom also babywears and they live a few blocks from our new house! Not sure what the odds of that happening are.

During our trip, I joked with Peter that we should be taking different planes. We're like the President and Vice President, and shouldn't be travelling together. What if the plane went down??

But it didn't. The boys were thrilled to have us home, as was my mom. They all survived the 10 days (ten!) without us... and I survived the time without them! Having never left them alone for even a night (with the exception of some sleepovers at my sister's house and Liam spending one night at a friend's), this trip did afford me with a fair bit of anxiety. But I held it together. Three cheers for me!

And to be honest, the trip was good. Really good. Peter and I got to do some shopping, see almost all our friends, visit our much-missed church, eat out LEISURELY... and we bought a house that we're all excited about. Seeing so many houses with four kids in tow would've been nothing short of a nightmare... can you imagine!

* * * * * * * * * * * *

As I sit here typing, all our household goods have been packed and it feels like we're once again living in a (very bare) hotel. As soon as we got home from our trip, we started in on the task of deciding what to pack up in our shipment of goods and what to keep aside to carry back to Canada in our luggage. Clothes are a given, but we needed both cool weather clothes for here in Bogota and warm weather clothes for back in Canada. We also needed to keep out bed and bathroom linens, all the necessary new baby accessories, and enough cooking basics (ie, spices) to keep us going for a couple weeks before we get our house keys.

The boys are going a bit crazy with so little to do... read: they've been playing an obscene amount of wii. They've even badgered me into playing, shattering the carefully and deliberately crafted illusion that I know nothing about that confounded machine. We have been out to the park and the market a few times, and also drove out to Chia (a nearby town) and spent a super fun afternoon with some friends from the Embassy.

Hopefully we'll be able to take full advantage of our last few days here before saying goodbye to Bogota and Colombia.

how to spot a Canadian in Bogota

While not all of these characteristics are specific only to Canadians, they certainly help to identify us as foreigners.

- When walking down the street, we yell at our kids to stop at the corner in English instead of Spanish.

- We go to the park with our kids as opposed to having sent them with the nanny.

- We have "blue plates". Colombians have yellow license plates with black writing, while our diplomatic plates are blue with white writing. This doesn't necessarily set us apart as Canadians, but it definitely screams "diplomat". "Blue plates, baby" will be a running joke in this house for a LONG time.

- Even after almost a year here, our kids still take off their shoes as soon as they enter someone's home. No one in Colombia takes of their shoes inside. The line of little Crocs with maple leaf jibbitz? Sure since there are Canadians in the house.

- Speaking of those ubiquitous rubber shoes, here in Bogota, Crocs are akin to slippers! I didn't know this UNTIL A FEW WEEKS AGO! Simon's teacher mentioned that it was "so cute to see Simon running around outside in Crocs". I asked what was cute about that and she went on to explain that no one really wears Crocs outside here. They're worn inside as slippers... or as work shoes for maids! Sans jibbitz of course.

- Most Colombians carry their kids. Everywhere. Rarely, rarely do you see a stroller, and those you do see are generally European brands and likely being used by foreigners. It's commonplace to see a parent cradling a tiny newborn wrapped in thick blankets while walking along (or running across!) one of the busiest streets in the city. But it's also not unusual to see someone carrying a sleeping -and obviously very heavy- toddler in their arms. Strollers are really rare. And if you've been around this blog long enough, you'll have seen pictures of our stroller... a Chariot Carrier. It's big and bold AND BRIGHT YELLOW. This thing STOPS PEOPLE IN THEIR TRACKS down here. Seriously. People stop and stare.

- For women, the "tourista uniform", ie. capris or sandals. Extra "foreigner" points for wearing both at the same time. Colombian women are typically VERY well-dressed. They favour perfectly coifed, long hair and skinny jeans tucked into tall, tall boots. Eighty percent of women seem to wear this outfit at. all. times.

So if the jibbitz-accessoried, Croc-wearing, English-speaking, blond-haired, blue-eyed kids aren't obvious enough... and if the giant school-bus-yellow stroller doesn't give it away... seeing me at the park in my yoga pant capris, Croc sandals (Twitter confirmed these are allowable when pregnant, so I'm going to claim clemency when two weeks post-partum as well), AND BED HEAD might also help tip one off to us not being from around here.

Oh, I was also wearing Eloise in a wrap.

If only you all knew how funny this description is in comparison to the typical Colombian woman in this neighbourhood!

Trust me. It's funny.

no more school, no more books...

... no more getting up at 5:45am to get the boys up and ready for school!

Wednesday, June 22nd, was the boys' "graduation" ceremonies for school. Each year group (grade) had their own awards ceremony, speeches, etc. It was a bit tedious, but also fun to see the boys with all their friends.

Eloise was only a week old, so was quite the attraction.* Simon couldn't even manage to stay in his seat. He kept coming over to my mom and I, and asking when he could show Eloise to Miss Denise or telling me in a not-so-quiet whisper that so-and-so wanted to see the baby. It was sweet, but also a bit nerve wracking since I knew he was supposed to be getting an award... but didn't know which one.

Turns out he got the Music Award. He adores singing. He has an amazing memory and does a surprising job carrying a tune, whether the song is in English or Spanish. I did get a kick out of his music teacher's notes on his report card though... something about having a "strong voice" but needing to "learn to control it". 

That's teacher-speak for "your son is LOUD".

Anyone surprised? 

Liam's time slot was after lunch, so we spent some time at the school letting Andrew run around and showing Eloise to some of the staff and students. 

For Liam's year group, there was only one award in each category per year. So only about 7-8 awards for about 40 kids. Liam was a bit disappointed to have not been chosen, but we talked about how it really wouldn't have been fair for him to be given one when he was there for less than half the year while all the other kids had been there working hard for the whole year.

Besides, we made it clear how proud WE were of him. 

Friday, June 26th, was the boys' last day of school. Official. 

Woohoo! 

And huge sigh of relief! I can't tell you how much Peter and I were looking forward to this day. 

My mom, Andrew, Eloise and I arrived at the school laden with snacks (strawberry lemonade bars) and gifts (pounded flower bookmarks) for the boys' teachers. We found Liam finishing up break time and lined up to head back to his class. What I didn't get a picture of was Andrew running up to throw his arms around his big brother. Andrew's displays of affection always draw huge reactions from the other kids. 

And the girls dig it.

At Simon's class party, they had a special time for the kids who are moving and won't be at the school next year. His teacher, Miss Denise, gave each of the four kids a special book with pictures of them throughout the year, and little messages and drawings from their classmates.

Simon was so thrilled with his book. He had both his teacher and the class assistant, Miss Natalia, read it to him in succession. That night he insisted on having it read to him a half dozen times by Peter AND me AND my mom. It's now been put someplace up high to keep it away from little fingers who started to pick at the decorations, but I can see how much Simon would love a special photo book (or ten) for his birthday or other special occasions. 

Simon with Miss Natalia

Simon and Andrew with Miss Denise

After Simon's party, we headed up to Liam's classroom. We were there about an hour early, which allowed time for an impromptu health and science lesson about reproduction, gestation, birth, babies, etc. Liam's teacher did an incredible job covering an amazing array of topics in a short time. The kids asked questions and had the chance to hold Eloise.

Then the party started.

Liam dancing with Andrew and John

playing a who-can-stay-still-and-quiet-the-longest game.
genius.

School was a bigger adjustment for Liam than for Simon. There were a few bumps -socially more than academically- but he really did a great job. He ended the year strong... and with some really great friends. I'm not going to fool myself into thinking that these elementary school friends -of only five months, really- will be life long friends. But you never know. With the nature of the foreign service and embassy life... you just never know where we'll all end up.

* * * * * * * * * * * 

After school, Liam headed to the house of a friend for one last playdate.

My mom and I came home with Eloise and the younger two boys... who got into the markers.

Simon emerged from the bathroom looking like this...

he declared he was a ninja

this is his "ninja face"

clearly being a ninja is serious business

mostly

We followed this up with a flying-jump-kicks-off-the-couch photo session, but I'll save you seeing those hundred pictures.

Until later.

*In Colombia, women don't leave the house with their babies until after the 40 day mark, so seeing a teeny, tiny newborn out and about drew quite the crowd! I don't know what all those ladies do for forty days (leave their baby with the nanny, perhaps?), but the reaction to Eloise has been a tone of fun to witness. Walking through the crowded Sunday market draws audible gasps from all sides... everyone from the lady selling high end leather goods to the scruffy youth selling gum and cigarettes on the corner. So funny.

a new crazy

If I wait until I have the entire birth story written up, pecked at one handed a line here and a line there, I'm not likely to get any pictures posted before July. 

And you know there are pictures.

* * * * * * * * * *

Eloise Amora Kaye Bundy

born 15.June.2011  8:22am

7lbs 11oz 

20cms long

about 75 mins old

letting friends at the Embassy know

meeting the boys on their return from school

dressed in the same sleeper that my parents brought me home from the hospital in!

no important family event would be complete without some silly faces...

poor baby girl... get used to the crazy!

you're surrounded

the one in which she took on a bus and lost

I posted the Coles Notes version of this story on Facebook and Twitter, but in case you missed it -or were curious for more details- here's the full deal...

Tuesday morning I left the house around 9:30am, headed to one of my last (!) doctor's appointments. Peter and I just talked last night about cancelling, but I had a few questions about the process for when labour actually starts, the set up for the homebirth, etc. I was also hoping he could look at my throat... I'd been up since about 2am with a wicked bad sore throat and was hoping I hadn't caught Peter's strep from a couple weeks ago.

Pretty much as soon as I got down to the main road (the Septima, for anyone familiar with Bogota) the traffic seemed crazy. My appointments are ALWAYS either 10am or 10:30am, Tues or Wed morning. By that time, there's usually very little traffic (comparatively), but that day it was busy right from the get go. I took the Circumvalar (a windy road that goes up around the Parque National) and by the time I actually got downtown, it was INSANE.

The problem is that I know EXACTLY ONE ROUTE to get to the doctor's office. One. I know the way there and DO NOT DEVIATE from said route. Downtown is just too crazy and there are too many one-ways and too many people/cars/taxis/buses/motorbikes/vendors, etc. And the office is on a one way, so I know if I go past it, it'll be a nightmare to get back.

Well, when I got through the park and was about to take my usual left hand turn towards the doctor's office, there was an old guy standing on the corner, shaking his head and waving his arms... clearly telling me not to go that way. That's also when I noticed people walking around with signs. Seems I'd made my way into the middle of a protest of some sort. 

Awesome. 

Generally the security head at the Embassy sends out email notifications of protests and rallies and what areas to avoid on what days. But since I'd slept so terribly, I'd fallen asleep on the couch for about half an hour that morning and didn't have time to check my email before leaving. Also, since the protests are meant to make a scene and disrupt traffic and life in general, there's usually not much advanced notice if any. I tried calling Peter's office and cell, but didn't get an answer. So I tried a friend (the wife of the head of security) to see if she'd gotten an email. She said no and that her husband was in meetings all morning, so he wouldn't have even gotten any bulletins.

At that point, I did think about turning around, but knew I was only about 7-8 blocks from the office. I had a pretty good idea where to go and how to get there, so keep on. At one point, I did end up in the Transmilenio lane (rapid, dedicated bus/emergency lane) by mistake, but only for about a block before I got back where I should've been. This was an honest mistake as the lanes are kind of tricky to figure out... until you realize you're in the wrong one!

A couple blocks later, I recognized the street I wanted to turn on, and could see other cars turning left there, so figure it'd be fine... 

...until it was my turn and I somehow managed to turn right into the path of one of the Transmilenio buses.

One of the big, red, double-length, accordion style, massive busses like this:

photo via colombia_magica on Flickr

In our little Kia.

I pulled right over to the median... and immediately started crying. There were police there immediately (since they were all around for the protests) , but none of them spoke English. I was crying and scared and shaken up and couldn't even communicate with anyone. And had just gotten into an accident WITH A BUS.

I tried calling Peter several times, but again couldn't get ahold of him. I knew the security guy was in meetings, so I called his wife back and told her what happened. She was able to get ahold of him and he went to find Peter... who was in a meeting with the ambassador. I guess they asked if it was an emergency and he was, like, "Um, yeah, it is." So Peter called me and I was able to pass the phone to one of the police officers who was standing at my window. In the time that it took for me to get Peter on the phone, however, somehow between my hysterics and pretty-much-complete-lack-of-Spanish, the police office got the impression that I was, in fact, the Canadian Ambassador's wife. Which explains why, within about 20 minutes, there were two ambulances, over a dozen police, several Transmilenio staff/guards AND A TV CREW there.

It was super.

They took Andrew and I into one of the ambulances to check my blood pressure, pulse, and check on the baby. All were fine. Then they made us get on a gurney and be wheeled to the other ambulance. What a scene. They whole time they were insisting that we be taken to the hospital, only Peter'd told me repeatedly NOT TO GO ANYWHERE. I wasn't even supposed to have gotten out of the car (!), but couldn't argue with two dozen well-meaning, non-English-speaking Colombian men.

In the end, Peter and one of the Embassy drivers came and stayed with the car while I took a taxi to the hospital that's right near our place. I was pretty sure any damage was just muscular (ie, no broken bones), but Peter wanted me to get checked out. Thankfully, the Embassy sent a guy to meet me at the ER and stay with me and Andrew the whole time, so that made things easier. By the time I was through at the ER (diagnosis: whiplash), Peter'd realized that he had the car/house keys and he was still downtown. I called a friend and ended up spending the afternoon at her place with Andrew, where she fed both our tummies and our souls... not much that chai tea and a warm bowl of soup can't soothe!

During the time I was at the hospital, Peter'd received calls from friends, co-workers, the ambassador AND someone from the office of the Colombian Foreign Affairs Minister. Not only that, but our ambassador down here had gotten a call from Ottawa from Colombia's ambassador to Canada.

Good news travels fast! 

Oh, and after Peter picked me up from my friend's and we were driving back to our place, he bumped into the car in front of us while stopped at a light.

I wish I was kidding.

Luckily he was hardly moving, so it did absolutely nothing... but I'm not going to lie... a few choice words might've been uttered at that point.

Suffice to say, the accident could've been much, much worse. Those buses are HUGE. And with me being (just over) 38 weeks pregnant and having Andrew in the car, etc, etc... I think a few guardian angels sacrificed themselves to keep us safe!

For those who read/understand Spanish, here's the protest I was trying to avoid, and here's a short article about the accident.  I have no idea what the comments are saying, but my guess is that they're along the lines of "Stupid foreign lady! Driving in the bus lane to avoid the traffic because she thinks she can do whatever she wants being a diplomat!" which totally wasn't the case.

So, yeah, there's the long and not-so-short of it.

Either way, if being HIT BY A BUS isn't enough to shake this baby loose, she's clearly not quite ready to come. It would've been a great excuse!

Our car will need a bit of work over the course of the next week (but looks remarkably good for having tried to take on a bus!), but other than a bit of whiplash, I'm fine. Andrew is fine. And baby girl is still cooking.

The amount of stress this cause Peter and the money this is likely to cost us in the end make me feel sick, but I have to remind myself that it's just money. If pressed to pick a winner between a double-length, accordion Transmilenio bus and a little Kia Soul, pretty sure most people would put their money on the bus, eh?

from ours to yours

A very Merry Christmas from Bogota.

From my family to yours.


taken Christmas Eve, 2010

all I want for Christmas...

...Is for Bogota to drop about 8000 ft. 

Is that too much to ask??

Even if I'd planned to get pregnant during this year posting (which I didn't), I wonder if I would've had the forethought to google "pregnancy at high altitudes" or "the effects of altitude on morning sickness" or some sort of similar phrase. Because friends? It makes a difference.

While I have been feeling a bit better the last week or so, I still can't get over what a marked difference there was between our trip to Curaçao (Caribbean island at sea level, obviously) and or return to Bogota where we're over 9000 feet. Although I felt mostly wonderful on the island, within two hours of landing back here, I was once again feeling rotten and nauseous. 

Though that's gotten better recently, what's taken its place is a nightly struggle with insomnia. Every. Single. Night. I wake up around 2am (to pee, remember I'm almost 4 months pregnant!) and then can't get back to sleep. I find it hard to believe that I actually lay there for 5-6 hours without sleeping a wink, so I must doze a bit, but it's not the kind of deep, restful sleep that I need to function with any amount of success while parenting three little boys. Even when I'm exhausted to the point of having a headache and not seeing straight, sleep is elusive and hard to come by.

Now just guess what another symptom of altitude sickness is?? THAT'S RIGHT! Trouble sleeping!

I'm not sure if it's the morning sickness making me more susceptible to the effects of altitude, or if it's the altitude making my morning sickness symptoms worse, or if it matters. Either way, if Peter's constant reminders weren't enough, this pregnancy has convinced me that this will, in fact, be my last. I can't do this again.

Just wish I could enjoy it a bit more.

not-quite-25-days of Christmas

Last year I read about Andrea's 25 Days of Christmas and loved the idea, but with planning a solo cross-country trip with three kids (remember that one? F-U-N!), I didn't quite have the time/energy/will/desire to play along. This year, with our trip to Curaçao and not returning home until December 7th, I'd kind of written the whole Advent thing off for this year, too.

But then Christmas-y things just seemed to keep happening to us.

So I present you with Days 1-3 of our abridged 14 Days of Christmas...

Day 1: We set up the Christmas tree and put the lights on while watching "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer".

*sorry, no pictures*

Day 2: A kids Christmas/cookie decorating party with some friends from the embassy. The kids got to play, decorate gingerbread cookies, play, eat, play some more, and then have a gift exchange. After a nap/sugar crash, we headed to the Usaquen Market to see the wares, have supper and see the lights in the park after the sun went down.

enough sprinkles, Simon??

our fellow decorators/sugar-eaters

Day 3: My pregnancy-induced insomnia and general exhaustion kept us from being ready for church on time this morning, so we put on some Christmas music and FINALLY(!) decorated the tree. After fresh fruit and eggs for brunch, Andrew had a nap and Liam went down to the courtyard to play soccer with some neighbour boys while Peter and Simon were able to spend some one-on-one time playing Snakes and Ladders. I was busy making cookie dough (this recipe, doubled) that Simon later helped me roll while Peter taught Liam how to play Risk. As I type, the game is wrapping up (if they're able to keep Andrew from destroying the board), there are five tummies full of ginger cookies and the sun is actually shining here in Bogota. (ETA: the sun didn't last *sigh*)

"What do you mean I'm not supposed to throw these?? THEY'RE BALLS!"

Now to figure out Day 4...