3 Is The New 2

Whoever it was that coined the phrase "terrible twos" committed a huge injustice to parents, in my opinion. You brace yourself starting with the "I can move independently and thus get into trouble" stage knowing that the naughtiness and whining and exercises of free-will will continue but hopefully peak through that second birthday. Once you can see that third birthday on the horizon, relief from the tantrums and stubbornness is in sight. Right? Not in my house.
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What is the phrase for three? Is there one? Can I suggest "Talk-back Threes" or maybe "Throwdown Threes?" After only three months experience with age three, I would gladly go back to two. My 3 yr.old son is stubborn, constantly testing the limits, playing Hubby and I against each other. He is smart enough to know my emotional buttons and is not afraid to push them. He has the vocabulary of a middle-schooler and never stops talking. He has very well defined ideas of how he thinks the day should go and what everyone around him should be doing and God-forbid if we should stray. The whining, the "No, I will NOT do that!", the shaking his finger at me as if I was in need of a lesson or two. I didn't have to deal with any of this at two. He has always been a smart kid and fairly whiny at times. But age three has taken the defiant whining to a whole new level.

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The other morning, he went into full meltdown mode at 7am because I would not let him watch Cars (a very typical 3yr. old boy obsession from what I can gather). I told him he could watch it when I was putting his brother down for his morning nap which was a mere hour away. Not good enough. He started crying and stomping and muttering things like "I am just going to run away from you! Then how would you feel?" When I didn't respond, he said "Can anyone hear me? I said I was going to run away! Doesn't that bother you?"

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Now, so as not to paint my little guy as a holy terror, he is a very sweet boy who loves his mama very much. He is tender and loving and comes up with the most adorable and creative things. I adore him. Truly adore him. We are deeply attached and connected and both prefer to be with each other than with anyone else. But, lately if things are not how he wants them, he scrunches up his cute little face and squints his eyes and tells me what he wants. Or he ignores what we say and continues doing whatever he feels like doing.

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How did my 2yr. old baby who was simply learning to exert his independence and test the boundaries become this 3yr. old little man who can't be bothered with obedience? How can he go from the most loving child one minute to this whiny mess simply because I won't let him eat peanut butter out of the jar with his fingers while watching a movie on the couch?

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It is a constant battle to ride the line. You know, that line between giving into his toddler-tantrums and trying to help him learn better ways to express himself. I don't want to crush his sweet spirit, just reign it in a bit. I certainly don't want to miss the joys of this age by focusing so much on the challenges. Even though the whining drives me to the point of insanity, this age is like the culmination of his "baby-ness" and the beginning of being truly a "little boy." Kinda bittersweet. I want him to grow into a functional, wonderful, healthy little boy who has a strong self-esteem and an even stronger sense of the love of his family. But I also don't want to loose my mind in this stage of dealing with his seemingly constant opposition.

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9 more months to go.... 4 will be better, right?

This is an original Chicago Moms Blog post.

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The farmer works from sun to sun...

I am about to sit down at last after a long day but B is crying, again. I change course and push the door open into the room that we share. He's in his sidecar bed, eyes closed, head frantically rubbing from side to side, looking for his pacifier, looking for me. I lay beside him, rubbing his back, kissing his head, singing and saying "shhhhh, shhhhh" for what seems like forever until finally he relaxes into sleep.

Tiptoeing out I hear A calling to me from the next room. Peeking my head in I see him trying to suppress a smile in order to convey the seriousness of his need. "I need something" he says, "I need someone to lay by me." Not being a snuggler, his is a request that has only begun in the past few weeks, though now he asks nightly. I crawl into bed with him and he puts his feet across my knees and his head to my head. Though I am a snuggler, my need for some rest at the end of the day sends me urgent messages - get out of here as quickly as you can! I do my best to supress the message and stay in the moment; its not often that A has the inclination or I have the time to just sit quietly alone with him. We both need this.

But I don't linger long, knowing that B was only lightly asleep and not wanting him to wake and get so worked up that I can't get him back down. And sure enough, as I close the door with a kiss blown towards still-wakful A, I hear the pitiful cries of my insomniac infant. This time, he will not be soothed until I nurse him. With a full tummy he is willing to lie alone in his bed, for a few minutes anyway. I gaze on his sleepy-baby body and try to conjure the feelings of wonder that come so easily to me when I am well rested. The only wondering I'm doing these days is "will I get a two hour stretch to sleep, or only fifteen minutes at a time tonight?"

Back out in the living room I've actually managed to sit down and look with despair at the dishes, the toys, the laundry, the paperwork, when I hear my name being called yet again. I walk to A's door and remind him that he has Blanket, that I've sung him his last song, that I rested with him already, that's he's already had water, that he can go pee-pee in his night-night-time diaper if needed, that he must try and go to sleep by himself.

And so it goes.

Is there a way that I could bottle up just a bit of the ongoing, never-ending, giving that fills every moment of the day and night and store it up for the days when they sleep not only away from me, but far away? I ask only for enough sleep that I can be present enough to realize that these are the best and most fleeting days of my life.

Cross-posted from Catherine's personal blog, everyday life as lyric poetry.

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Motherhood is a journey

I've just gotten back from a two week vacation. Ah, the bliss of the beach, of getting away from routine, of helpful Grandparents.

And the time away offers me a rare chance to reflect. While navigating O'hare airport with my children (and their stuff!) in tow, my two year old insisted on walking the length of the terminal on his own two feet. So we walked, slowly, hand in hand to our gate.

As we walked, we (slowly) passed by a young woman nursing what appeared to be a very newborn baby. I looked at her, and our eyes met. I looked down at her tiny baby, then over at my independent toddler, then back at her. As I looked, my heart took in the brief months the two children represented and I felt awe and wonder at the miracle and the journey; of where we were 30-some months ago, and where we are now; of how much changes, so quickly. Our eyes met again, and I saw that she had followed the same progression as I had, only as my heart looked backwards, her's looked forwards. We smiled at each other, and understood.

It was a special moment, shared with a stranger. We know nothing about each other save for one thing - this shared journey we are on, and all that this journey entails.

Sometimes, frequently, I look at my first born and wonder where these almost three years have gone. Have I missed them? I must have missed them, I figure. The toddler I know so well, and the baby I can hardly remember - where are the countless hours and days that join them into one? Why can't I recall them in my mind, or see all the stages of his life when I look at his face today?

Because I didn't miss them; not even one day, hardly even a moment. I have been there for every stage, for unending minutes and hours and days. Sometimes around the clock, I have been there for it all. And yet, I cannot account for it, I cannot look at his baby pictures and then at him and tell you how the change came.

But I'm grateful to know I was there. I have loved every minute of this roller-coaster journey.

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Given in Love

Cross-posted from Catherine's blog, Everyday Life as Lyric Poetry.

I am weaving my way through the crowded auditorium, baby crying in the sling, earnestly trying to get out of the service and into the "cry" room before the fussing becomes screaming.

With small children going anywhere often seems like more trouble than its worth, and church is no exception. More often than not getting out of the house is just a lot of hassle in order to do the same menial childcare tasks in a less conducive environment. We are visitors today; I have special reason for wanting to be present. Instead this outing becomes just one more opportunity to be banished from adult conversation.

Finally finding the room, I pause and read the sign on the door. "Breastfeeding Mothers Only" it reads. Great. Not only am I to be relegated to a closet, but my sex determines that I am the only one in the family who can be. Putting my hand on the handle, I push the door open.

My senses and emotions are flooded before my mind has a chance to take it in. The room is dimly lit, perfect for soothing a child or a mommy's soul - it offers itself immediately as a sanctuary. The furniture is nice, comfortable. All my logistical needs are anticipated - there are Boppy pillows and tissue, a water pitcher and glasses. A silver tray is laid out with communion wafers and cups, awaiting my participation. Next to it is a plaque which reads: "Mother, what you have given in love has become part of me. I thank God always for you."

Immediately there are tears rolling down my face. I hadn't known I felt invisible until I felt seen. I hadn't realized the ceaseless sacrifices of Motherhood felt so frequently undervalued until someone showed me honor and value because of them.

Far from being relegated to a closet, I nursed and rocked my baby in tranquility. Far from being singled out for a lesser experience because of I was a breastfeeding mother, I lingered in the refuge created just for me.

It so often seems that the ongoing sacrifices of Motherhood lead not to a place of honor in society, but actually to a lack of status, a lack of desirability and value. The reasons and subtleties of this are many, but I was truly surprised to see the toll it had taken on me, the deep, deep place that was touched for the first time by the thoughtful preparations that someone in this church made for me, and others like me.

This is actually the second time I've had a significantly memorable experience in this same church's Cry Room, though each were in different buildings and for different reasons. Thank you, for seeing me, and for valuing me. Thank you, for thinking of the details that we must always be thinking of. Thank you, for caring not only for those with the freedom to sit quietly and think, but also for those of us who are called away to continue working and giving.

"Mother, what you have given in love has become part of me. I thank God always for you."

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Apathy

Today's guest post is by Susan from Bartlett.

Yesterday didn't go particularly well. In short, the girls and I aren’t adjusting to our new routine (i.e. schools out). A lack of routine ultimately means that one of us (or all of us) slip into “apathetic, just get through the day” mode. Whenever I'm in apathetic mode I always look back on my day with regret. On apathetic days I’ve lost my patience more, and haven’t spent my time wisely. On apathetic days, I wonder why I’m staying home with my girls. On apathetic days, I resent my husband. On apathetic days, I’m not much fun to be around. I care less, gripe more, smile less, and scowl more.

So, in a giving fashion, I decided to share my apathy with an unsuspecting pedicurist. I sat in the chair and just exhaled. I breathed. I contemplated my day and I felt really, really foolish, and really, really spoiled.

Staying-at-home hasn’t come without sacrifices, and whoa can I just sit on that word for a moment. Finances. Ouch. Career fulfillment. A little ouch. Isolation. You betcha.

When my husband and I decided that I’d stay at home, it was pretty much a financial discussion. In short, I wouldn’t make enough to cover our daycare and related expenses. Plus, we just weren’t comfortable with the idea of outsourcing the girls’ care. I tried working for a bit after my older daughter was born and it was disastrous. I was stretched too thin; dropping the ball at work; dropping the ball at home. So I resigned, and wrote the tell-tale letter, “It is with great regret that..….”

Looking back, I don’t have any regrets. Most often I love being at home. I love knowing my girls. I love floating through our day. I love not missing a moment. I’m too selfish to share these moments with someone else.

And yet, I’m selfish enough to deny myself these moments by slipping into an apathetic, self-pitying mindset…..wow, something to consider.

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Responding, Not Reacting

Today's guest post is from Susan from Bartlett.

“I don’t love you Mommy!”

I gasped, utterly stunned. I couldn’t believe my 4yr. old daughter had said that to me. It hurt. It stung.

For a split second I thought about me: I’m a failure. She hates me.

And then I noticed that she was intently staring at me, watching to see how I would respond. She was testing me; trying to get a reaction.

A couple responses played out in my mind: a stern look, a time-out, a spank. Instead, I got down on her level and said, “It hurts my feelings when you say you don’t love me, because I love you so very much. You are so special to me. And, in our family, we don’t talk to one another like that. Do you understand?”
She hugged me, and told me she understood, and that she did love me. Gratefully, this type of “I don’t love you” moment hasn’t happened again.

The evening before this encounter with my daughter, I had finished reading chapter one of “Bringing Up Kids Without Tearing Them Down” by Dr. Kevin Leman. One of the big takeaways from chapter one was to remember not to take a child’s misbehavior personally, and to remember that all behavior has a purpose. And, as a parent, you are to respond to a child, not react. Wow, talk about a light bulb moment. Those words just jumped off of the page. I have a high-maintenance, strong-willed child, and parenting her is an on-going challenge. Not take child-parent interactions personally, and there actually might be a reason behind my child’s misbehavior? Okay, this is good information.
If you haven’t read any of Dr. Kevin Leman’s books consider checking him out. His writings are Christian-based, ultra-practical, and down-to-earth.

And, for those moms that have heard their child utter those ugly “I don’t love you” words, remember that they do love you. They do. They really, really do.

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Not Much Time for Basking

Our guest blogger today is April from Plainfield. She is a mom of two, Doula, and green-smoothie queen!

Recently I got one of those emails updating me on my 2 month’s old development. I gave it the cursory glance, not reading it too much, after all he is my second child. I’m a pro at this, right? There was however one section at the bottom that caught my eye. It was a part of the newsletter where a question is asked and 3 different experts weigh in. The question was: “Is it okay to watch TV while I’m breastfeeding.” I almost chuckled reading the question, thinking to myself, “Of course it’s okay; how could there be any other answer?” I was almost shocked off my seat when all three experts gave a resounding “NO”! What? How is it not okay to watch TV while breastfeeding? All three experts went on to say that breastfeeding is a time to bond with your baby and all your energies should be focused on that during the feeding session.

This answer almost rivals a comment a doctor made to me when my first child, my daughter, was born. He told me, completely straight faced, that I should spend the next 6 weeks in bed with her, nursing her on demand, bonding with her and not getting out of bed except to go to the bathroom. No housework, no cooking, just laying around and bonding. I don’t know about you, but I don’t live in Biblical days where I have servants fanning me with branches and hand feeding me peeled grapes.

Just this week here are a few things I’ve had to do while nursing my baby because life dictated it be so: wipe my daughter after she’s done going potty, check on dinner so half an hour of work doesn’t burn, hold my daughter in my lap while she bawls after falling down on her bottom while going down the stairs, play Candyland with her, put together puzzles with her, clean up spilled water the dog left so no one (read my 3 year old daughter) falls down, and many more things than I can remember. Just because I have a 2 month old, dear baby boy doesn’t mean life is giving me the luxury of sitting and staring at his precious face while feeding him.

But this morning, I had a rare moment. My daughter was downstairs playing contentedly after breakfast and I went up to feed the baby and put him down. I was able to stare at his sweet little face, watch his eyes start to roll back in his head, wonder what those eyes would see during the course of his life. I held his little sweat soaked and milk sticky hand, counted and recounted each finger, wondering one day who his wife would be, whose hand he would hold. I stroked his chubby thighs, counting the chub rolls, down to his little toes, touching each one, wondering what they would look like in sandals when he went to high school. Then I looked back at his face, basking in its beautiful babyness, knowing all too soon that it would be gone and I would have trouble remembering what it used to look like.

And then just as suddenly the tree branches stopped their cool breeze and the peeled grapes disappeared and reality came back to me in the form of my daughter yelling to be wiped, the dog barking up a storm at someone walking by outside and…wait a minute…is that the smell of burning eggs…?

We're always looking for guest bloggers! If you'd like to share something with the Dupage Mamas community, send us your completed post or half-baked ideas.

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Mom of the Year

Well, sorry to disappoint y'all, but I am fairly sure that I have won "Mom-of-the-Year" this year. I mean, it is all over the news. Have you seen the footage?

Farrah Brown wins Mom of the Year
(I am kidding, of course.)

I was recently sent an award of sorts, a bloggy-award. This particular award came with some very specific rules that should be followed if you want to play along. In the spirit of building community and honestly sharing a little with y'all about my motherhood journey, I would love to share with you my responses.

(1) Admit one thing you feel awful about involving being a mom. Get it off your shoulders. Once you've written it down, you are No Longer allowed to feel bad. It's over with, it's in the past. Remember, you're a good mom!

I feel awful every time I let my emotions and fatigue get the best of me. I am not always good at controlling my emotional outbursts when my 3 yr old or increasingly my 9-month old frustrate me. My toddler really knows how to push my buttons and I often think I expect too much from him emotionally and behaviorally. He is extremely verbal and I often mistake that for maturity. He is still only 3 and learning about his world and his actions. But, it is hard for me not to let his whining and disobedience get me all flustered. I yell too much. I hate it when I yell. It makes me feel truly awful. I try to keep calm and not let it get to me, and I am learning and getting better. But, I still have a lot of room for improvement.

2) Remind yourself you are a good mom. List seven things you love about your kids, you love doing with your kids, or that your kids love about you. These are the things to remind yourself everyday so you know that you Rock!

I love when my 3yr. old tells me he loves me, which he does several times a day. I love that he feels so comfortable expressing his affection for me. I hope it lasts and our relationship continues to grow. I also love when he says, "Oh, Mommy...." in that tender way. So sweet!

I love the way my baby's face lights up when we catch each other's eyes. He has the most expressive eyes and they brighten right up when he sees his mommy.

I love to take my boys on walks in the wagon and see them interacting and playing together. I love watching the 3yr. old hug and love on his brother, even if it is a little too rough sometimes. I can't wait for them to grow up as each other's greatest playmate and friend.

I love holding them close in the sling and feeling their bodies relax and sink into me, knowing they are totally safe and completely connected to me.

I love that my 3yr. old wants Mommy to sit by him and rub his legs and sing "Jesus Songs" to help him fall asleep. I get annoyed sometimes that I can't just chill on the couch. But then I remind myself that he won't always want me to sit with him and I should cherish it while I can.

I love watching my boys be just boys- exploring, letting their creativity and curiosity drive them. I am excited that warmer weather is here and we can start going on nature hikes and play in the dirt. I love watching them go crazy with paint or crayons (and yes, I have let my 9month old paint). I feel like it is these moments when their true personality comes out and they aren't so constricted and "parented." I wish life had more of those moments.

I love that my boys are growing up knowing that they are actually sons #2 and #3 and that their oldest brother is in heaven with Jesus. I love that they will look forward to heaven so they can be with Jesus too and meet their brother who died before they were born. I love that my 3yr old expressed grief and longing for his brother and that talking about him is just a natural part of our lives.


Motherhood is hard. I think we can all agree about that. We don't always do it perfectly. I know I am not always the mother I wish I was to my boys. I fail them daily. But I also love them with my whole self and would stop the world from turning if they asked me to. And I try to daily remind myself that my deep, deep love for them covers a multitude of frustrated moments of less-than-ideal mommy behavior. As we approach Mother's Day, let's all remind ourselves that we are good moms who are daily putting our family's needs above our own. We give selflessly to our children, not because we have to but because we choose to.
If you want to play along and answer part or all of these questions, this award is for you too. You are all the Mom of the Year. Share your answers in the comments or in an e-mail or on your own blog.

And it wouldn't be Mother's Day without a gift, right? If you play along and join in this conversation, you will be entered to win this beautiful fresh-water pearl bracelet from a really wonderful company called Narimon (we will be sharing more about their ministry soon). I will choose a winner at random next Friday. Please share part of your motherhood journey with us and let's encourage each other. If we share this task of mothering our kids together, it will make the road easier for us.

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Book Corner: The Midwife

Ever since I entered this journey of pregnancy, birth, and parenting over three years ago, I've spent a lot of time contemplating Mothers. I've contemplated what is required of Mothers; I've contemplated the wisdom that Mothers have the potential to cultivate as a result of what is required. But more than anything else, I've contemplated the fact that my experience as a modern day Mother is very, very different from that of the average Mother around the world since time began.

When I consider the experience of the women who have brought forth each generation of life on this earth it blows my mind. For the most part, they have married young, likely without a say in the matter, and had no access to birth control. This means a life of being pregnant, or nursing, or both, for the majority of your years. And caring for your expanding family without today's technological assistance - simply providing clean water might take more effort and forethought than I need in a whole day of child care. But more than anything I think of the dangers inherent in each of the many pregnancies a woman might have - the risk of losing the child was high, and the chance of dying herself was as high as 50-50.

I've reflected on this frequently in the past three years. They've been challenging enough, but I entered into them freely, and without fear that I might die just as likely as live to see my child. I worry about my childrens' safety, but the odds are high that they'll be just fine. And I've pondered at the strength of my sisters and mothers from times past - and in some places, still today.

So when a copy of The Midwife: A memoir of birth, joy, and hard times by Jennifer Worth arrived at my door, I was excited. The memoir is that of a young woman, not yet a mother herself, who practices midwifery in the slums of 1950's post-war London. Her clients are startlingly poor, and have no other access to medical care outside of the faithful women in their community who are trained to attend births - and save lives in the process.

From the preface:

In January 1998, the Midwives Journal published an article by Terri Coates entitled "Impressions of a Midwife in Literature. " After careful research right across European and English-language writing, Terri was forced to conclude that midwives are virtually non-existent in literature.

Why, in heaven's name? Fictional doctors grace the pages of books in droves, scattering pearls of wisdom as they pass. Nurses, good and bad, are by no means absent. But midwives? Whoever heard of a midwife as a literary heroine? Yet midwifery is the very stuff of drama. Every child is conceived either in love or lust, is born in pain, followed by joy or sometimes remorse. A midwife is in the thick of it, she sees it all. Why then does she remain a shadowy figure, hidden behind the delivery room door?

Terri Coates finished her article with a lament for the neglect of such an important professions. I read her words, accepted the challenge, and took up my pen.

I am grateful that she did pick up her pen, for what she wrote is very eye opening. Though only fifty years in our past, the stories that she tells sound to my ears as though they were far removed - and they echo the stories of women throughout the ages. I am amazed both at the love and the burden they carried. I am inspired by their perseverance, and humbled by the painful, difficult roads they walked.

Reading this book I continue to question, not only from the perspective of midwives but from that of mothers: Why are these stories untold? Why is the heroic act of bringing new life into the world not sung more loudly and more often than all the epic tales of history? Why do we memorialize acts of war and death while relegating the every-day miracle of a woman in labor to that-which-must-not-be-discussed? Why is a Mother's story not considered the most lovely and desirable story?

There is much joy in The Midwife, but there is much hard times as well. I put it down with a renewed understanding both of the love of parent for child as well as the reality of loss, devastating loss.

But in both cases, I recommend this book highly. Birth may be a beautiful story or a hard story, but it is the story of life.

Catherine is one of the co-founders of DupageMamas. This post is cross-posted from her personal site, everyday life as lyric poetry. Have you read a book you'd like to recommend? Send us a post and we'll put it up!

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My Nursing Journey

Today's guest blogger is Elizabeth from Wheaton.

If five years ago you would tell me that I would be nursing a 30 month old boy and a 13 month old daughter at the same time, I would have looked at you like you had grown a second head. At that time I was still deciding if I wanted to nurse at all….let alone extended or tandem. But life has a funny way of working out.
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When my oldest was in the NICU, nursing and pumping seemed to be the only tangible thing that I could do to help her aside from to hold her and snuggle her. But I could nurse her—I could express milk and that would help both her and I. And so, I began down the journey of nursing. Sadly, my milk dried up quickly due to stress and returning to work despite non-FDA approved drugs and herbs. But when I was expecting my second child, I knew that I would nurse again. There was no ‘maybe…we’ll see’ ambivalence. When my son too arrived premature, we again had a difficult time starting. His mouth was too small and he would tire quickly. However, through the help and support of friends, lactation counselors, my husband…pretty much anyone…we were able to establish a nursing relationship that we still treasure. It is his time. His time to snuggle and be close. His time to be held. It is also my time- my time to hold him, to touch his hair, to keep him close to me.

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This time I did not have the drying up issue…quite the opposite. I had too much milk. Neighbors, friends, and milk banks were the lucky recipients of literally gallons of milk when my freezer filled up and I couldn't store anymore.

Then enter the baby…and yep, another preemie. This one so small and weak that she could not nurse for a while. Again the pump and I bonded. She was fed milk through a tube until she was strong enough to eat. During the baby’s NICU stint, my son did not stop nursing. He clamored for it. He needed the reassurance and comfort that even though his life was upside down, mama was still a safe place to fall. He needed to know that I was still there to catch him and cuddle.

So here I am. Nursing two when I never thought I’d nurse one. To be honest, it is very convenient. When my nurslings need it, their milk is right there. No bottles, no warming….right there. Lets face it. With three kids, if I had to remember bottles and formula also I very well may forget a child. My brain only has room for so much.

Aside from the convenience, there are many benefits to extended breastfeeding. You can look at the World Health Organization to find more out about all that. I am not here to reiterate what they say so well. Suffice it to say there are vast benefits for mom, baby, and the environment.

Now the not so cool parts:

My husband, who was so very supportive and encouraging me to try nursing in the beginning, would now like to have his wife back. Milk is not so sexy.

I would like to have a bit longer of a leash. It is all mama…all the time. No one else will do. And I would like to stop feeling like a twenty four hour diner.

And secretly, I am starting to resent nursing my son. I am ashamed of that. I would like to say I am selfless and giving, but I want some of me back. The big question: How to balance both their needs with mine without losing either one of us?

Despite all of that, I am glad I have nursed this long. In fact, I am proud of it. Proud of being able to do it even when things were rough. Proud of my husband for being supportive, and of all of us for not giving up.

Extended and tandem nursing isn't for everyone and certainly had it's pluses and minuses. But it is what has worked for us. At least so far.

Do you have a story to share? Dupage Mamas is all about giving you a voice within a safe and supportive community. We welcome you to share part of your motherhood journey with us so we can all learn from each other and walk this parenting road together. E-mail us your story. We would love to hear from you!

Photo Credit: CrunchDomesticGoddess

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