24 Hours In The Brain of a Sick Mum

The following takes place between 7.30pm Monday night and 7.30pm Tuesday night…

Oh God I feel sick.

I can’t feel sick, it’s Monday night.

It’s probably just a bug.

Of course it’s a bug – the kids probably gave it to me.

Why are the kids always giving me their bugs??

I just need to sleep on it.

If only I COULD sleep, these cramps are hardcore.

Suck it up, it’s Monday night. I can’t be sick.

Take a couple of Panadol.

And a cup of tea.

Oh my God, I’m so middle-aged.

Hubby can get the kids to bed.

Why isn’t he getting the kids to bed?

How long is he letting them stay up?

And now they’re fighting. Over who is having their shower first.

Why do my children hate being clean?

What did I do wrong?

Will you put the bloody kids to bed!

I have to go to sleep or I’ll be sick tomorrow.

Tomorrow is Tuesday, I can’t be sick.

Thank God I finally fell asleep, what time is it?

Only midnight? I’ve still got cramps.

Curl up in the foetal position, oh wait…

Why is there no room next to me?

Oh FFS, why can’t my youngest stay in his bed all night?

I have to go to the toilet.

No I don’t.

Yes I do.

Diarrhea. Yep, it’s a bug.

But I’m still in pain.

Go back to sleep, I've got to be up early.

2am. Still sore.

3am. Still sore.

4am. For fucks sake.

6.30am. Oh I must be getting better.

Thank God hubby is getting the kids breakfast.

Need extra time in bed.

I’ll be fine.

I’ll just walk them to the end of the street and then come back home to lay down.

Of course hubby doesn't have to miss his breakfast meeting.

I’ll be fine!

I really should get up and make lunches.

Oh but it hurts.

Don’t be ridiculous, it’s just a bug and I have to make lunches.

Ok I’m up.

Oh shit, no I’m not.

Why does it hurt so much?

This isn’t right.

It’s not a bug.

Where’s my phone?

Google – a.p.p.e.n.d.i.c.i.t.i.s

Read, read, gasp, read.

Fuck.

Hubby’s going to freak.

Don't be so stupid, just call him.

Sorry hon, but you’ll have to come home. I can’t walk properly.

I think it’s appendicitis.

What do you mean – how do I know? I’m a mother. We know things.

But maybe I’m wrong.

Maybe it’s cancer!

Why do I think everything is cancer?

I should go to hospital.

But it’s not an emergency, don’t be such a drama queen!

I’ll just see my GP.

He’ll know what to do.

Oh no. My kids are making their own lunches.

What kind of a mother lets her kids make their own lunches? Get up!

I'll just have to sit down to butter the bread.

This is a first world problem. Mothers in Africa don't stop just because they have a bit of pain.

Of course it’s a first world problem! It’s my problem and I live in the first world.

Mummy’s fiiiine.

But Dad’s on his way to take you to school.

Are their bags packed properly?

I bet they didn’t brush their teeth.

Why do my kids hate being clean?

What the fuck is wrong with them?

Just get to the doctor, he’ll know what to do.

Sorry what? It is appendicitis? Oh. Acute appendicitis.

Do not make a joke about your appendix being cute, it’s not funny.

What? Surgery? Today?

Who’s going to pick the kids up from school?

I need my slippers from home.

What about their dinner?

I should have eaten breakfast.

Keyhole surgery sounds ok.

Standard procedure.

Walk in the park.

How long do I have to be in hospital?

A couple of days, that’s not too bad.

Are the boys’ uniforms clean?

What do you mean I can’t drive for a week?

What about footy training?

So glad I had a shower.

I should have shaved my legs.

Blegh, this hospital tea is bland.

Must remember to get some teabags from home.

I’m such a tea snob.

Oh it feels nice to lay down and do nothing.

Why don’t I rest during the day?

No-one would know.

Real mothers don’t rest during the day, idiot. That’s an urban myth.

Do I have to be naked under the gown?

Just bra-less? That’s doable.

Time for the drip to be inserted.

Show no fear – you’ve pushed babies out of your vagina woman!

Look away and pretend to be distracted.

She’s such a kind nurse!

I could never be a nurse.

What it’s time already?

Be cool.

Standard procedure. First world problem.

I’m going to be fine.

Why is it always so cold in the operating theatre?

How good does the heated blanket feel?

I need a blanket warmer at home – it’s like a warm hug.

Aren’t they going to ask me to count to ten or something?

Why are my kids here?

Wait, am I out already?

Keep your eyes open woman, they’re telling you about their day.

Turn to hug them.

No, no, no DO NOT turn! OW!

Smile.

Let them know you’re ok.

Show no fear.

Ask hubby to take them home and switch off the light on the way out.

Aaah… drugged out bliss.

I should get some of this stuff for home.

Fakebook vs The Full Catastrophe

Imagine we’re friends and I’ve invited you to my place for dinner. Because I don’t want to appear fake and life-shame you somehow, the dinner table conversation plays out like this:

“Here’s some snags and some bread. We’ve run out of butter but just put some sauce on it and it should be fine. I was going to buy steak, but we had a really high electricity bill this quarter so we can’t afford it. Excuse my pjs. I’m having a shit day and couldn’t be arsed getting dressed. I know that you won’t mind though – no airs and graces for you! Just keeping it real. Isn’t your son so well behaved? I’d love for him to be able to play with my sons but they’re both in a time-out in their bedroom ‘cause they refused to pick their toys up off the lawn and are now refusing to talk because they hate their family. Oh and my husband was planning to be here but we had a fight this morning and he doesn’t really like you much anyway so he’s gone to Bunnings. Pardon? You’d like to use the toilet? Of course! But don’t sit on the seat. I haven’t had a chance to wipe the piss off.”

When you invite people over for dinner, don’t you clean the house? Don’t you wear something nice and cook something delicious? Do you serve it on a lovely, set table with some matching [or purposely mismatched] serviettes? Haven’t we always shared our ‘highlight reel’?

I’m so tired of hearing people complain about other people only ever sharing their ‘highlight reel’ on social media. What is so wrong with it and why do they care?

Seriously people. Our whole fucking life is a highlight reel. It’s called manners. And discretion. There are only a handful people that see the whole catastrophe of my family life. I have 300 friends on Facebook. I don’t bullshit to them but I also don’t tell them about every shitty part of my life. Nor would I tell someone that I hardly know if I caught up with them at a party. “So nice to see you again Tania! It’s been ages – how are things?” “Oh y’know – pretty shit. Motherhood does my head in. We don’t have enough money to do anything. My kids have got attitude. My husband is stressed all the time and I’ve put on 8 kilos in the last 12 months. But enough about me - how about you?”

I’ve shared before that I, happily, live a very ordinary life. I think that’s cool and I’m authentic in all my online antics but there’s also some stuff that’s not just mine to share. I’m married and, believe it or not, we have our challenges. But whilst I’m a chronic over-sharer, my husband is the complete antithesis. It’s not up to me to air our sometimes dirty laundry to all and sundry in an attempt to share my life ‘warts and all’.  My kids throw tantrums. I argue with my mum. My house is often in disarray which often matches my hair. Sometimes the frypan that I cooked dinner in on Monday is still sitting, dirty on the stove top on Thursday. Sometimes I cook wholesome, organic, from-scratch family meals and sometimes I wipe that dirty fry pan and whip up a sausage sizzle for dinner.

I’m normal. Just like you are. But I’m not obligated to share every ‘normal’ part of my life with everyone I’m connected to, to avoid some sort of social media misconception. I am not responsible for your feelings of guilt. Just as you [or anyone] is responsible for mine. This whole business of people feeling worse about themselves because of the ‘highlight reels’ their social media friends dare to share online drives me nuts. Would these same people be pissed off if every time they were invited to someone’s house that the kids were on their best behavior and the house was tidy and the host couple seemed to genuinely enjoy each other’s company in their new outfits? Would they leave that house believing that their host’s intention was to prove to them how much better they were at ‘life’ than their guests. Would they leave feeling shamed and offended that their hosts had dared to be so ‘fake’?

There just seems to be someone pissed off about someone else’s use of social media every fucking day. What does anybody care? If I only ever show myself looking gorgeous with my gifted and talented children while my flawless husband is off hunting and gathering when he’s not cooking the perfect bbq – who cares? Do they need to see behind the scenes? What makes people think any of that is about them? What makes people think that me showing only the awesome bits of my life is shaming their life? Maybe all us hateful fakebookers are sharing the ‘highlight reel’ as an exercise in gratitude. You know, that there are positive parts of our otherwise normal, boring, messy lives. Or maybe it just doesn’t have anything to do with anyone else at all.

You know what shits me? Breakfast updates and some trending awareness campaign that shows up a million times in my newsfeed and pictures of cats and stupid passive aggressive vague updates and any story about the Kardashians. But do I care?

Nope. I just scroll past and get on with my sometimes awesome life.

And I think that’s what we all should do.

Who needs a pelvic floor anyway?

I was in town the other day to get my hair done. I go to the same hairdresser I’ve gone to for the past 20 years [I’m one of those brand loyal people] and it used to be really convenient because I worked in the CBD so I could just leave my car parked and head on down. Usually on a Friday night followed by Friday night drinks with gorgeous hair. Y’know, back in the day where I didn’t have to be anywhere else other than where I wanted to be. I used to book my hair appointments on Friday nights so that I looked gorgeous and used my time in the chair to text my friends to see where we would meet up and I would touch up my makeup in the mirror and start with a cheeky glass of wine while I was there. But not these days.

So I went to the city to get my roots done and got in a bit earlier to fit in some clothes shopping for my kids who actually don’t have anything to wear 'out'. And when I say 'they don’t have anything to wear' I mean it. Every pair of pants they own are about 7 centimetres too short and the pants of the eldest that are now long enough for the youngest no longer have knees so when they tried on their outfits for their Aunty’s 21^st I had what looked like two orphans standing before me.

I had 30 minutes to find something for them before my root job. I always wee before I go anywhere and today was no exception but I usually have to wee whenever I’m out too. Strangely, this occurred even before children. Which is why I know where all the good public toilets are in town. So I’m in Target with a pile of options for the brats and I’m feeling the pressure rising so head to the Target toilet [which is a good one] and it’s out of order. I start to sweat a little but I’m feeling pretty secure because the pressure isn’t too intense yet. So I wait in line and I buy the boys clothes and get my carpark ticket stamped for my discount and head into the mall because I have another errand to run in the 30 minute window I have. I think to myself as I’m focussing on keeping the wee tsunami at bay that I’ll just head straight to the loo at DJs [AWESOME public toilet] and all will be good.

I’m feeling confident, perhaps even cocky. Because you see, I NEVER did those pelvic floor exercises that I was constantly and sensibly encouraged to do. Nope. Not me. Do you know why?  Because when I tried they felt far too similar to having an orgasm. Of course I’m quite partial to orgasms so that in itself wasn’t a problem but I almost always remembered to do them when I was in company or public. Standing in line somewhere. Sitting in a waiting room. Talking to my brother. You get the picture. And I got stage fright. All that squeezing together. It just made me think of my vagina so much and all while I was trying to maintain eye contact or keep a straight face and not think about having an orgasm. [you're doing it right now aren't you?] And the result, after pushing two babies out and not doing my pelvic floor exercises is I no longer have one. Which is a problem when your bladder is full and you’re in public and you have to cough.

Now usually, I can head off a cough with a firm clear of the throat but not this time. No. Not this time. This time, in heavy Saturday morning mall foot traffic, a bit of spit went down the wrong hole. You know what I’m talking about right? And I am WRACKED with coughing. So now I’m coughing, sweating and LEAKING as I start to do that little ‘almost run’ while keeping my legs together that’s a cross between a skip and a shuffle and a convulsion. And I develop a severe case of Tourettes syndrome as I swear, profusely, at myself under my breath. “You couldn’t do the fucking exercises could you?? Who fucking cares if it feels like an orgasm?? You’re PISSING YOURSELF in Rundle Mall. Still feeling cocky???”

Thankfully, it turned out NOT to be the disaster it could have been because sadly, these days my knickers are big and my jeans are baggy so any leakage was disguised. Sitting on that toilet was quite the experience though. Part relief, part reverence. Tourettes was replaced with a sudden urge to say 12 Hail Marys. There may have even been a choir singing. It was seriously THAT GOOD.

I swore [differently this time] to never let that happen again. I wouldn’t again risk the chance of pissing my pants in public because I couldn’t make it to a toilet in time. I promised to myself that I wouldn’t be in that horribly vulnerable position again.

Next time, the boys can go out looking like orphans.

14 lies I tell my kids

You lied!!! Yells my youngest at me as he storms off to his room crying.

“I didn’t lie” I explain, yelling after him “I changed my mind”

“That’s the same as lying Mum. You broke your promise!!”

“But I didn’t promise” I defend “You asked me if you could watch some tv and I said after you spent some time outside but you had so much fun that you stayed out longer and now it’s too late to watch to tv”

“But you said I could!!”

And I did. I did say he could. I didn’t add the caveat. I just said after he played outside, so technically I have broken my promise. In his eyes, I have lied to him. It’s not a big one, but it has a devastating effect and though I manage to smooth it over with cajoling and apologising and soon to be broken promises of something else to make up for it, I can’t help but think of all the myriad of lies that make up my day as a mum.

1. The bowling alley/movie theatre/toy shop is closed today.

2. Your friend that you’ve been asking for a playdate with all holidays is away.

3. Father Christmas, the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny are all real – and they all break into our home at night and look at us while we’re sleeping. That tooth fairy even puts her hand under the pillow of your sleeping head. And we let her.

4. I didn’t mean to say fuck - Except I did. I meant to say it, I just didn’t mean to say it under my breath. That was for you.  I meant to fucking yell it because you and/or your father are driving me mental.

5. Darling you were wonderful! – no you weren’t. Do not EVER pick up that violin again. The noise that it makes in your hands is horrendous.

6. I’m calling the school principal to tell them how badly you’re behaving. Yes I am. I have their number right here. *dialling – ok, I know this comes under the verboten ‘threatening’ parenting technique but it works like a charm. So judge away!!

7. Every other child in the world your age goes to bed at ‘insert time’ – well, it wouldn’t be a lie if all you other parents got with the program. FFS.

8. Mummy, does Aunty have a scar on her tummy because that’s the where baby got taken out of? – Yes [true!] So is that how babies come out of mummies? – Yes. Where’s your scar? – It went away.

9. Are we nearly there? – Yes is the immediate answer whether we’re 5 minutes away or an hour away.

10. Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry! That incredibly noisy toy is broken! It will have to go in the bin now – or maybe I’ll just give it back to your Aunty who now has her own kids... not such a fun toy now is it??

11. If you don’t put your seatbelt on and the police see you, they will pull the car over. I will be arrested and have to go jail and they won’t even give you a lift home – I try not to use that one too often. On a bad day there’s a chance they may call my bluff

12. Yes, of course I’m listening to you! – I love hearing about how much your brother is annoying you

13. Because I’m your mum and that means I know everything about you. Ev-er-y-thing. – Actually, I think that may be more of an over-zealous aspiration than a lie

14. Don’t jump on the bed, Mummy’s not feeling well darling – sort of true. Mummy has a hangover and sore feet from being out dancing until about an hour before you woke up.

What can you add to the list??

There's nothing wrong with an ordinary life

I loved this video when I saw it. And when I watched it again, I still thought it was good but I’m a little bit over the implication that we must all be doing something more with our lives. I'm over my newsfeed being flooded with non-inspirational quotes like:

What is wrong with living an ordinary life?

There is nothing extraordinary about my life. If I go by family history I’m almost exactly middle-aged. I’m married to a nice man with whom I have had two healthy children who share a bedroom and walk to school. We eat home almost every night. We live in a beautiful home which we owe a mortgage on so have very little spare cash to travel which means our holidays are almost always local. We own two average cars, quarrel with our extended family and have at least one piece of Ikea in every room of the house. We raise money for charity, we recycle, we grow our own veggies and we never have enough sleep. 

At least once a month I despair that I have nothing to wear and my husband threatens to give away the kids toys that they’ve left outside overnight. We rarely go to concerts or new restaurants but have friends over regularly. We aim for a couple of alcohol-free days a week and I choose to accept my body for what it is rather than hit the workout circuit. My boys exclaim ‘that’s not fair!’ about something totally fair almost every day and still struggle to aim into the toilet bowl without pissing on the floor. I wash my hair on Wednesdays and make spaghetti Bolognese at least once a week. I get unreasonably annoyed when the television channels randomly change the days and times of my favourite shows [currently Scandal and Grey’s Anatomy] and have put my hand up to be the class parent rep for the 4^th year in a row. My boys still hug and kiss me every day and if my husband is at work, he’ll call at least once to ‘check in’ on our day.

Seizing the day for me often means making a good, strong cup of coffee, changing the sheets on the beds and cooking up a few meals for the freezer. I’m not sure that’s very ‘carpe diem’ but that’s what an ordinary life is. And what is so wrong with that? The constant message to live a greater life is a crazy amount of pressure. If you’re not using your jellybeans wisely, you’re wasting your days. Wasting your days. What the fuck does that actually mean? And who’s going to measure the waste? Me?? I don’t really feel like I’m wasting anything. But then there’ll be another article about living an extraordinary life that makes me think – fuck, I’m doing this wrong. If I don’t have a desire for a greater life, am I just lazy? I should be doing things. Having adventures. Impacting the world. Leaving a legacy.

Wait... what? Isn’t that what I’m doing? 

Some days my sons do something so impressive that I feel I am part of an extraordinary journey. I teach them things. And they learn right before my eyes. Their brain fills up with things I tell them. We go to the zoo and I see it through their eyes and it’s a wonderful adventure. I get dragged through the nocturnal section which has never interested me and delight in seeing the baby bilby and my boys and I whisper so we don’t scare it and it’s so exciting. I tell them stories of their grandparents. Stories that are so foreign and removed from life today that they seem like fairytales. They ask for more and I realise I am my family’s memory and the tapestry of my family lives in me and that is extraordinary. I reach out to my gorgeous sons and hold them to me and I feel their heart, that I MADE, beat against my own chest. I made people. And now I’m growing people. And that is fucking extraordinary.  

Love Rush

Do you ever look at your child and hurt with love?

It’s Sunday night. Hair night. So the boys are showered and gleaming and smelling like apples. I sit on the black leather couch sandwiched between them as we watch X Factor together. We’ve just finished home-made pizza for dinner because Sunday night is also my night off for dinner and Mark’s default dinners are pizza or barbecue. Last night was kebabs on the coals, so that was his barbecue card taken care of leaving tonight for pizza. One made by Stefan, one by Nathan and one by Mark. I have one piece of each and proclaim them all to be as delicious as each other [which is, actually, the truth]

Nathan is fully invested in X Factor. FULLY. Because it’s a competition and he loves himself a good competition. He has decided that we will all barrack for a different act, but Stefan wants to barrack for the same act as Nathan, so this causes issues because it's not a competition if you're both on the same side but Stefan doesn't like to lose so hitches himself to Nathan's winning wagon. He's clever like that. Stefan is into the show as much as he’s into anything which is quite a lot until he gets bored of it. Today he’s been complaining of his throat hurting when the sides touch, which is his way of saying ‘swallowing’ so he’s even more cuddly than his usual 120%. He wants to go to bed because he’s tired but he knows Nathan will stay up until the end of the show which means he will have to go to their shared bedroom alone and he does not want to do that, because his throat hurts and ‘I don’t want to be alone Mum’ So instead he pulls the hood of his dressing gown over his head to block out the light and goes to sleep in my lap, holding my hand. And I look down at his gorgeous face in his peaceful, warm slumber and my heart hurts. I hold his perfect little hand that no longer has those adorable baby dimples and instead has long fingers and nails that I notice need cutting and I think ‘didn’t I just cut them yesterday?’ But it wasn’t yesterday. It was weeks ago and I don’t know where that time went. 

He sighs and I absent-mindedly pat his bottom and I remember when his whole body used to fit in my lap which surely was just last year but my heart skips a little bit because I know it’s been many years and as I’m gently tracing around his cheeks with my fingers, Nathan stretches out next to me and his legs are almost as long as mine. When the fuck did that happen? I pull him into me and I feel him relax as he rests his head on my shoulder and I’m taken back to when he was just a baby, before Stefan, and it was just Nathan and I and we were so in love with each other. When even the simplest moments between taking him out of his stroller and putting him in the car seat were opportunities for intense cuddling and big, wet, open-mouthed baby kisses on my cheek. And I’m quietly grateful that he still kisses me goodbye before he runs off to class in the morning at school.

It's the end of the day and my heart is bursting with love and pride but it aches just a little with guilt too. Because today, those gorgeous boys drove me mad. They fought with each other and dobbed on each other and pushed each other’s buttons. And every time they came to me with some bullshit complaint about the other, I got a little bit more pissed off. Each time that I had to tell them to stop fighting, or stop playing with the ball in the house, or turn the tv down, or remind them to use their manners, or go outside to play, or just shut up... my voice rose just a little bit more. So that by the end of the day, just before pizza, I didn’t want to look at them anymore. I didn’t want to hear their whining. I didn’t even want to be around them.

And I wonder, how can that be?

And I answer, because you’re a mum.

27 reasons women don’t want to have sex

Hey guys.

How many times have you had sex this month? 

Not as many as you would like, I bet.

Well, there’s a reason for that and it’s probably on this list...

1. You don’t pay any attention to our mind’s needs.

Surely by now you know that the best foreplay is that which involves stimulating our mind first. Not sure what that involves? Talking. About stuff that interests us. Not sure what interests us? It's going to be a long time between drinks for you buddy.

2. You don’t make any effort to get us in the mood.

See above

3. You don’t clean up after yourself.

We get sick of doing all the cleaning. Especially cleaning up after you. Pick up after yourself and then maybe you’ll ‘pick up’.

4. We’re tired.

That’s a legitimate reason. Maybe if we didn’t have to do all your fucking washing, we would have more energy.

5. We spend our whole life looking after your kids first, your home second and ourselves last. There’s not a lot left for you.
Yes, it’s in that order. If you want to change it, try helping out at home and there may be something left for you.

6. We’re bored.

Beware the bored woman. We end up online or scrapbooking or eating.

7. We don’t like the way our bodies feel/look.

Our body changed after childbirth and we haven’t reconciled that yet. Or we’ve hit forty and the boobs have hit the floor. Unlike you guys, the way we feel about ourselves affects our libido. Right or wrong, that’s a fact.

8. We really do have a head ache.

Again, legitimate reason. The last thing you want when your head is pounding, is a pounding. Right?

9. We’re scared the kids are going to walk in.

Do I need to explain this?

10. We’re annoyed that you just don’t get it.

The fact that someone has to write a list about all the reasons we don’t want to have sex with you is a turn off.

11. You think your hard dick is our responsibility.

It’s not. You wake up with that thing. Sort it out.

12. You need to have sex to feel loved. We need to feel loved to have sex. STALEMATE

13. We’ve just had a baby.

And there are a hundred reasons that varies from woman to woman. From stitches to c-sections to extra, extra weight, to uncontrollable emotions, to pain, to haemorrhoids, to bleeding. We’ve just had a baby. Give us a break.  

14. We’re breastfeeding.

And suddenly our boobs take on a whole new meaning for us. They’re feeding your baby and that’s not as easy and gorgeous as it looks. Our nipples are cracked and our breasts are sore. They probably leak and we feel very much like a cow. That’s not a fuckable feeling.

15. We don’t want to get pregnant... again.

What’s the ONLY way we know that’s not going to happen?? You got it. Just say ‘no’.

16. Your mother is in the next room.

That’s all.

17. It’s too cold.

18. It’s too hot.

19. We have our period.

That means bleeding and cramps. In the legs, in the back, in the stomach. Very unsexy.

20. We’re just not interested in sex at the moment.

21. We just had sex yesterday.

You want to do it again?

22. We just had sex last week.

You want to do it again?

23. You take too long.

Hurry up. There are kids in the house and your mum’s in the next room and your washing needs to be done.

24. You don’t take long enough.

Is that it? FFS. Give us a minute to get there too.

25. We just got our hair done.

That’s expensive. Don’t mess it up.

26. We resent your freedom.

We’ve had your baby[s] and you remain unchanged. We’re dealing with changed bodies and changed lifestyles. Our emotions are inextricably linked to our children and for some of us that’s a massive adjustment to take on. Some of us are housebound. Some of us are depressed. All of us are tired. You go to work. Talk to grown-ups. Play golf. Ride your bike. Come home and want sex. Ummm... no thanks. Arsehole.

27. You're not Christian Grey. 

Disclaimer #1 – this list is NOT about me and my husband [though I did contribute to it]. It’s a compilation from my friends and their husbands.

Disclaimer #2 – I KNOW this is a generalisation and I KNOW it’s written from a heterosexual, middle-aged, mother's perspective. It’s the only perspective I have.

This list is, by no means, complete... Can you contribute?