Never EVER Get In The Middle Of A Cat Fight!

After nearly three months, our oldest Siamese, Jasmine is still having a difficult time accepting the fact that our youngest Siamese, Skippyjon is here to stay. At best, Jasmine "tolerates" Skippy in the household. She does draw the line, however, when it comes to him being in our, er .. I mean "her" bedroom.

Two nights ago we had all settled in for the night, me with Jasmine curled up by my side on the bed and Skippy supposedly snuggled in his spot with Adam upstairs. All seemed well with the world, until I heard Jasmine's soft purring turn into that tell tale belly growl that indicates Skippy has entered the scene.

I waited, hoping Skippy would take the hint and go back upstairs, but as is his usual reaction he decided to linger and antagonize the poor old cat perched above him on the bed. Finally, I sat up to see exactly where he was in the room and hopefully shoo him out.

As I pushed myself into a sitting position and threw off the covers, I managed to startle Jasmine. She, no doubt thinking Skippyjon had ambushed her sprang off the bed. Unfortunately, my right hand was planted just behind her when she decided to spring, and she dug her back claws into my palm in the process.

"Crap!" I exclaimed, and followed her out of the bed intending to go into the bathroom where I could examine my injuries in the light.

As soon as my feet hit the floor I realized I had landed between the two cats who were now hissing and growling as if they were possessed. Instinctively, I grabbed a pillow from the bed and tried to put it between them, hoping it would give me a chance to get out of the way before the posturing stopped and the tooth and nail part of the fight ensued.

I was too late. At the same instant I dropped the pillow in front of Jasmine, Skippy lurched towards her. Lucky for Jasmine, my right shin blocked his attack.

Not so lucky for me, because the same shin also caught the full impact of his bite.

"Owwww ...." then "Crap!" again.

With the pillow, I started pushing Skippy towards our bedroom door, finally forcing him into the hallway just outside our room.

As I slammed the door in the perplexed little cat's face, I realized blood was oozing down the front of my leg. By this time, I was closer to the hallway bathroom than to our master bath, so I opened the door again and flipped on the light.

On either side of my lower right shin was a set of puncture wounds the exact size of the Skippyjon's mouth. Blood was streaming from all four punctures marks, all the way down to the top of my foot.

Skippy sat staring innocently up at me, then dropped to his back and rolled around in front of me as if to say, "Oh good! You're awake! I was just hoping for someone to play with."

Resisting the urge to step ON him, I stepped over him and into the hallway bath where I grabbed a wet cloth with which to clean my injuries. Skippy, still not understanding what the fuss was about or that he was quite possibly in danger of losing one of his nine lives, followed me to the kitchen and watched curiously as I took four bandaids out of the cupboard and applied them to my leg.

In all my years of being owned by cats, this is a first! I've had my share of cat scratches, but this really beats all I've ever seen. My lower leg looks like I was bitten by a snake on each side of my shin.

It's swollen and red. And you wouldn't believe how much it HURTS!

From now on I will make sure I shut our bedroom door at night, just in case Skippy decides to go on the prowl instead of going to sleep with the boy. It's either that, or wear gloves and shin guards to bed. I'm pretty sure Mr. Taylor would not approve of the latter.

Dressing Up Is Hard To Do!

I've been exhausted for the last few weeks. It seems to take every ounce of energy I have just to get out of bed and dressed in the morning. Even if I wake up feeling rested, it doesn't last long. Within a few hours of being up and about I am tired to the bone again.

This is really bugging me. I recognize the symptoms as those associated with an even lower than usual iron level. The manufacturer of the ferrous gluconate supplements I use to take has stopped making them, so I had to switch to a different brand and form of iron. I suppose I'll have to toy around with the dosage until I feel better because obviously what I am taking now isn't doing the trick.

It's no fun being tired, especially when I have so much to get done.

On the lighter, yet still stressful side of things, we are planning to attend our neighbor's Halloween party tomorrow evening. We don't normally "do" Halloween, but we really want to go for the social aspect of it. We love spending time with our neighbors but it seems that every time one of them has an event, we are either out of town or otherwise obligated. As luck would have it, we are free tomorrow night.

Now I have approximately 26 hours in which to come up with costumes for myself and my husband.

When we first RSVP'd the event I was planning to design some kind of get-up for both of us that would be flat out amazing. So much for that idea. Unless I get an unexpected burst of energy and creativity, we'll be cutting eye-holes in bed sheets and going as ghosts.

There's not much chance we'd win the award for "most original" with that idea.

We could always wear our Harley leathers and go as bikers, but wait! We are "bikers" when acting in our alter egos so all our neighbors are already accustomed to seeing us like that on occasion. It wouldn't really raise any eyebrows if we were to arrive in such a manner. If we are going to go to the trouble of dressing up, then eyebrow raising is a definite requirement!

I tried to think of something we could pull together with other clothing items we already own and suggested we go as "Mr. and Mrs. Thurston Howell III" We might as well make some use of all that formal clothing we have hanging in our closet but never wear. I figured I could go into the grand-kids playroom upstairs and find some fake money to stuff in our pockets, just in case there was any question about "what" we were suppose to be.

Mr. Walter Taylor (the first and only) didn't like that idea. Bah Humbug!

He suggested we go as Annie Oakley and Frank Butler.

In other words, he wants to dress up like a cowboy.

Some guys never grow up, do they?

I still don't know what we're going to do. I don't own any "Annie Oakley" clothes (well, I do have boots and a hat) and Mr. Taylor has apparently forgotten that he sold his fancy Harley Cowboy hat on eBay a while back. What's more, I seriously doubt the neighbors would appreciate us showing up at their event equipped with rifles.

Sigh.

Hopefully I'll wake up feeling creative and energetic in the morning. If not, I'll call Walt and ask him to stop by Wal-Mart on his way home from work and pick up some last minute el-cheapo/boring costumes for us to wear.

So I'm not the life of the party right now. I'm sure the neighbors will get over it.

Nailing Jello ....

The Fox 5 Atlanta show had an interesting author on this morning. I didn't catch all of the interview, because as usual I was doing other things while "watching" the show.

Anyway, this woman has written a book about raising teenagers. I couldn't help but LOVE the title ... It's called "The Agony and the Agony"

Isn't that great?

From what I could tell, this woman actually knew what she was talking about as she described the perils of parenting teenagers. Let's just say I too, felt her pain.

Best of all, listening to her made me feel better about my own parenting skills, not to mention the teenager I am attempting to parent at the moment. Not that I haven't already realized it a million times over, but I've really been blessed as far as the boy and all his teenage antics go.

Adam is a good, no ... let me make that a GREAT kid.

A GREAT kid who knows exactly how to get on my last nerve and jump up and down until I crack. Argggghhhh! He can argue with the best of 'em, I tell you! He was surely born to be an attorney. Sometimes it seems there's no winning with him at all.

Just last night, he was taking out the trash when he paused to ask, "And just WHY do I have to do this?" (He's been doing it every week since he was ten, geesh and NOW, he asks?)

I explained that he does it because it's one of his chores. To which he, responded ... "And WHY do I have chores?"

One of these days I will learn to keep my mouth shut (maybe), but that day has yet to arrive, so I went on in a feeble attempt to explain that he is learning responsibility by doing chores and carrying his weight around the house.

When I saw that my explanation wasn't going anywhere, I added "It also contributes to your earnings every week?"

"What earnings? When do I get earnings? Where is my money?"

That one had me scratching my head in disbelief. I should have given up and sent him straight to his room (after he got finished taking out the trash, of course) but I didn't. My mouth was already in full gear (gee, wonder where the boy gets it, huh? you might be asking)

"Well, actually you've been spending your earnings every weekend for the last couple months. You go to the movies every Friday night, for example, and then there are the shopping trips you've just HAD to go on, and the money you borrowed from your father and have to pay back ..."

Then do you know what the boy said to me?????

He looked me straight in the eye and said, "Well then, I need a raise because I didn't have enough money at the movies last week, remember?" (I didn't have quite as much cash to hand him as I normally do, so technically I "owed" him seven dollars ... poor kid probably had to "rough it" and skip the sour skiddles at the concession stand, thanks to my oversight)

As a very wise man (or woman) once said, "Raising teenagers is like trying to nail jello to a tree." Maybe it was the same wise woman who was interviewed on Fox 5 Atlanta this morning, I don't know.

What I do know is this, as far as being the mother of a teenage son goes, I've really got it pretty easy. Sometimes I worry about Adam because he spends too much time in his room. On the other hand, I can honestly say that in fourteen years there has never been a time when I didn't know exactly where he was.

I catch myself feeling concerned because he is, (in my opinion) overly sensitive about his girlfriend's feelings and is constantly trying to "help" her with issues in her life. But I realize he has a very strong mercy gift, a real sentimental heart with great compassion for people .. and that is a gift.

So what if at age fourteen his "gift" isn't exactly honed to perfection yet!

One of the greatest blessings came the other night when I called up the stairs to him for something ... probably to tell him to get off the phone and go to bed. He snapped at me, "MOM! WAIT!"

I responded by snapping back and correcting him for speaking harshly to me.

He opened his door and stepped out to the top of the stairs and apologized, then went on to say that I had interrupted him while he was praying.

Praying!

I get aggravated at my son for things like back talking, questioning my authority, arguing, and even snapping at me because I've interrupted his conversation with God! It irks me to no end that my son insists on wearing eyeliner (yes, eyeliner .. because the girls all think it makes his eyes look amazing... and I have to admit they are right) It gets on my nerves that he listens to heavy metal music (Christian lyrics but heavy metal none-the-less, and I can't stand the sound of it!)

His lack of enthusiasm towards his school work makes me want to tear my hair out at times. "But MOM! I don't need to understand Algebra! I'm never going to use it again after I get out of school.

He can't seem to grasp the idea that unless he passes Algebra he won't be getting out of school at all!

God help me!

As frustrating as it gets at times, I know there are a million mothers out there who would give anything to have a kid like mine.

Mothers who don't know where their fourteen year old sons are at night. Mothers who've had to bail their kids out of jail. Mothers who suffer the ultimate loss when their child dies of an overdose, or drunken driving.

I feel absolutely ashamed of myself when I think about it.

Adam will be fine, even better than fine. My son is going to be amazing!

He's a teenager, for sure. He's dealing with becoming an adult, finding his own way in the world, evolving into the person God has called him to be.

The beauty of it is, I know that Adam's personality traits (even the ones that drive me batty) were given to him by God and God knows they will somehow work out to his benefit someday. That is what I have to step back and remind myself of when I catch myself wanting to ground the boy until he's thirty seven years old.

God has great plans for my "imperfect" son, and they are GOOD! That goes a long way towards helping me keep my sanity on those days when I think I'd rather be nailing jello to a tree.

Talking to Myself, Preaching to the Choir ...

I am fairly certain I am talking to myself here, and yet I continue to put words onto the screen like nobody's business.

Here I am, intentionally careful about what I say, lest I hurt someone's feelings or let any proverbial cats out of the bag. Let's just say I have access to a whole litter of cats in a bag right now and haven't said a word. No-sir-ee! It's been a real test of my discipline to keep my mouth shut concerning certain issues in recent months. I've done well, if I must say so myself.

And I will indeed say it! "I've done well".

But why? Why, when I am the only one reading what I've written anyway?

Given the distinct possibility that no one ever reads my blog, I will hereby give myself permission to ramble. At least for tonight.

I don't care much for the month of October. I never have. The onset of October means that all possibility of opening my front door and finding that a gloriously sunny summer day awaits outside, has passed and won't return for another eight months!

This was only made worse by the fact that my mother passed away in October, four years ago today as a matter of fact. October 27, 2004. What an awful, ugly night that was.

October finds no friend in me. It haunts me with a sense of gloom and doom around every corner.

How unlike "me" that really is.

Bubbly, happy-go-lucky, ever so optimistic me!

Well, not this month and especially not tonight. I've spent the day on an emotional roller coaster, never knowing from one minute to the next whether I'll be laughing or crying, venturing out, or looking for a cave in which to drag my weary self and wait for the dark clouds to pass.

I was such a blubbering fool a few short hours ago that I'm fairly certain my husband regretted even coming home from work. One minute I was sitting at the computer happily pecking away and the next I was sobbing uncontrollably, tears flooding down my face and onto the keyboard so badly I feared it might fry.

On the other hand, today's ride on the emotional roller coaster was actually an improvement over yesterday when I spent the whole day feeling so low I wanted to do nothing but hibernate. Today, there were a few "highs". That's a good sign, huh?

So, there it is! A glimmer of hope, a sprinkle of optimism.

Things are looking up. Maybe I'm on my way back.

This afternoon, after dragging myself first into, then out of the bathtub (yes, even that took more effort than I felt I could spare) I dried myself off and reached under the counter for the antiperspirant. Shaking the can, I lifted my right arm and sprayed.

It had an odd appearance. I wondered why. So, I sprayed some more, then caught the reflection of myself holding the can in the mirror. It wasn't antiperspirant I was dousing my underarm with at all. Instead I had liberally soaked it with a heavy dose of hair spray.

I realized I couldn't put my arm down, as that would surely cause it to be stuck to my side indefinitely, so with one arm held high, I walked over to the bathtub, picked up my wet washcloth and proceeded to wipe the nasty sticky mess away.

It reminded me of the time many years ago when Mom walked into the kitchen, opened the pantry door and took out the "Pam" non-stick cooking spray for a recipe she was planning to make. She was talking (as was almost always the case) and absent mindedly began spraying her hair with the cooking spray as she chattered away.

We all busted out laughing, which was her first clue that something was amiss.

Inspecting the can she was clasping in her hand, she started laughing too, then placed it back in the pantry and asked nonchalantly, "Does my hair look oily to you?"

Maybe that was my mother's gift to me today ... to have me do something silly that would remind me of her...

And if only for a fleeting second, make me laugh.

Speaking Of Traveling ...

Let's just say I took the concept of traveling to a whole new level in my life today. For several months I've been pondering the idea of actually becoming a travel agent of sorts. Like I posted in my last entry, I enjoy looking for travel bargains, even if I'm not going anywhere. Given that fact, what could be better than getting paid to help other people travel?

OK, I can think of one thing and that is the fact that I will have to travel myself in order to "review" certain destinations.

Cool beans, huh?

Another great thing is, I can do this along with my Life Coaching business! Me .. a mega-multi-tasker.

Who'da thunk it?

I really am excited about the prospect. Truly I am, and I wanted to spend the evening studying all the ins and outs of the trade ... but I can hardly hold my eyes open much less actually THINK or remember anything I read for more than two seconds.

So, the studying will wait until the weekend when I might have a few hours down time again.

For now, I will just hope to fall into a decent enough state of slumber tonight that I will dream of all the exotic places I will go! That will have to do, until I actually have the chance to plant my feet in the hot white sand of the Caribbean again.

Oh, I am going to have that beach house yet! Just you wait and see!

And when I do, you're all invited to come visit me there!

Dangerous

It's no secret to those who know me well. I can be dangerous when I'm bored.

I don't mean "dangerous" in the sense that I'm likely to hurt someone or anything like that. The kind of "danger" that is born of my boredom is more of a fun sort of creature.

I say all this because I love to spend my "down time" surfing the internet. I check my email accounts first (I believe I'm up to five of them now) After that I have a forum or two I visit, followed by a quick look at places like "MySpace" or "Facebook" to see what's going on in the lives of my hundreds of cyber friends.

It isn't unusual for the process to take a couple hours, depending on how sociable I'm feeling at the time.

If I am not feeling particularly sociable, or find myself in a rather blue mood, I'll inevitably end up on some discount travel site searching for the best possible vacation deals on the planet. Seldom am I actually planning to go anywhere, I just like to window shop via the miracle of the world wide web!

This almost always backfires on me.

Let me explain. It seems I am "gifted" at finding good travel deals. Seriously! I can almost always find vacation arrangements that would truly cost my husband and I less than we would spend if we stayed home. For instance, two days ago I came up with a five day cruise for less than $200.00! I don't remember the details, like where it went, what ship it was on, etc. Those are only minor considerations.

What I do remember is that for under 200 bucks apiece, we could have five bliss filled days of lounging on a pool deck overlooking beautiful blue waters a thousand miles (or more) away from telephones, housework, barking dogs and all the other pesky little things involved in NOT being on vacation.

The same couple hundred dollars would also cover nearly a weeks worth of maid service, all the food a person could ever dream of ingesting, waking up in some brand new exotic location every morning (or afternoon, if that's what we'd prefer) .. nightly entertainment, dancing ... I could go on and on.

So, there I'll be with my mouth gaping in amazement at the computer screen wondering how in the world we can afford NOT to take advantage of the fabulous deal displayed before my eyes, when reality rears it's ugly little head.

Ugh!

It takes a lot of work to go on vacation. There's the house to secure, the dog to get to the kennel, the cats to arrange a sitter for ... and the boy, who happens to be enrolled in a public school that frowns on absences due to fun things like cruising to foreign countries.

Oh, and work. I almost forgot about work. *sigh*

If no one works, then there's no money to indulge in even the most inexpensive voyage.

So, for the time being I suppose we'll be staying put.

Don't be surprised though, if at some point in the not too distant future I write to report that I am just back from a wonderful bout of island hopping in the Caribbean where I soaked in the sun and drank sweet little concoctions topped off with tiny umbrellas, to my hearts content!

Indeed! My resolve seems to be melting away even as I type this entry. If I listen closely enough, I can already hear the sound of a steel drum band warming up for the sail away party that's about to begin.

I'll just plain kick myself if I miss out on the fun ... now where did I put my passport????

Cats and Tuesday Evening

Here it is Tuesday evening and I am sitting in the recliner with one of my two Siamese cats, Skippyjon on my lap. He is lying across my left wrist as I type. I believe he thinks the movement of my hand under his chin is meant to be a treat for him, rather than a mere method of getting words onto a screen.

Cats are like that. In their minds, the world revolves around them. Personally, I find that to be one of their more endearing traits.

I love Skippyjon. He makes me smile. He's a skinny little clown, always poking around the house looking for things to get into. He loves to tease the older Siamese, Jasmine who has not quite yet accepted his presence in the household. As soon as she spots him anywhere near, she starts growling, an eerie noise that starts as a low rumble deep in her belly and rises to a positively evil wail quite possibly capable of making the hair stand up on a banshee's neck.

It never fails, Skippy gets Jasmine all riled up then just sits down and stares at her as if to say, "Whut?? I didn't do anything!" He reminds me of a mischievous little boy, always getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

I can't really remember a time in my life when I haven't had at least one cat. As a child, it wasn't unusual for me to have four or five of them living in the back yard at once. Back then, all my cats were of the average orange tabby garden variety. They were also always named "Jingle Bells".

Hey! I was two years old, and Jingle Bells was my favorite song. It was quite appropriate that my favorite pets be named after it.

It also helped ensure a response when I stepped out onto the back porch and called for them. At least one (and usually two or three) of the furry orange critters would come running from way back behind our garden and crawl into my waiting arms.

Like every other little girl, I had dolls to play with, but given the choice I would take a cat over a doll any day.

Cats were more like real babies, after all. They wriggled and squirmed as I pulled frilly dresses over their heads and buttoned them in, then wrapped them in baby blankets. I would even lay them down in my doll baby beds and make them take "naps" after feeding them milk from real baby bottles.

Come to think of it, that's probably why they tolerated me as well as they did. They knew when all was said and done, I would finish up by feeding them milk from a bottle. The humiliation of wearing a dress and sleeping in a doll bed was a small price to pay, considering.

The weird thing about the cats I had as a child was that they always ran away in February. It never failed. I would go out one cold winter day and all of my cats would be gone. My dad explained that February was when cats went off looking for husbands and wives so they could start families of their own. Believe it or not, I bought that story until I was up in my teen years. Only then did I realize that my father was "assisting" my cats in finding their so called "husbands and wives" by loading them up in his car and giving them a ride out to a local farm where they'd spend the rest of their lives serving as "mousers" in one of the farmers many barns.

Thankfully, I had three aunts who seemed to have a never ending supply of "fresh" little orange kittens and my stock of "Jingle Bells" would be replenished in the spring. Then, the cycle would start all over again.

Cats have played such an important role in my life that I can't imagine life without one. To this day, simply picking one of our three cats up and snuggling it in my arms brightens my day. Something about the sound of a cat purring always soothes my soul.

I need my cats, especially at times like these when the blues seem to be nipping ever so closely at my heels.

And cats even come in handy on a plain old Tuesday evening when I've nothing better to do than sit in my recliner and peck away at the computer keyboard with one of them draped lazily across my arm.

I love cats. That's the way it's always been, and that's the way it always will be!

Banished

Adam's girlfriend, MacCayla is visiting today, therefore I have been banished from the media room for the afternoon. The two teenagers are supposedly watching a movie, but the last time I checked, they were on the computer "MySpacing" instead. Meanwhile, the movie is blaring away in full volume surround sound, causing the house to shake on it's foundation.

Not only am I not allowed in the media room but every time I've so much as looked in on the little lovebirds, I've been scolded. Apparently, I'm not allowed anywhere near the foot of the stairs that lead to the hallway that leads to the media room either.

It's a bit confusing being confined to such boundaries within my own home. Perhaps, next time the boy is entertaining a young lady, I should invest in a shock collar and electric fencing so I know just where those boundaries are before I get yelled at.

Shoot! I'm only trying to be helpful. Just a few moments ago I suggested that Adam offer his guest a snack. He obediently came downstairs and opened the pantry, then complained that nothing in there appealed to him.

Innocently, (of course) I suggested that he take a bag of "Funyons" upstairs with him. He replied that he didn't want "Funyons".

"Why not?" I asked, reminding him that "Funyons" are one of his favorite snacks.

"MOM!", he gasped in frustration, "You're just spazzing out today over nothing!" and ran back up the stairs empty handed.

I suppose he didn't quite get that I was joking or at least he didn't find it very funny. Of course I know why he doesn't want to share a bag of "Funyons" with his girlfriend. Geeesh! I may be old, (relatively speaking) but I'm not stupid!

Never-the-less, I am giving the youngins just a little space this afternoon, and I am "humoring" them by staying downstairs (most of the time.)

I'm trying not to break any of the "rules" Adam set for me before MacCayla got here. Although it is difficult, I am resisting the urge to go up there and tell her embarrassing stories about Adam's younger years. Neither will I give in to the desire to pull out his baby pictures.

No. Today I will allow his sense of security to build. Then, next time Miss MacCayla comes to call, I will pull out all the stops! Mwahahahaha!

After all, a mother can only be expected to "behave" for so long.

Oh What a Ride!

I really should write a book.

And maybe once all the events of the past week or so have blown over, I'll do just that!

The latest development in this drama that has become my life, actually started nearly a month ago when Walt was in Africa. I was working in the prayer room at church on Monday evening, when I attempted the unthinkable feat of standing up from my desk while simultaneously turning to the right. All of a sudden, a sharp pain shot behind my left knee cap causing an involuntary and rather loud "OUCH" to escape my mouth.

The guy sitting next to me responded by asking, "What was that popping sound?"

I laughed, not thinking much of it really, and limped on up to the front of the room.

My knee bothered me a lot over the next several days, enough that I had a hard time sleeping with the pain. Never-the-less, I was determined to "walk it out".

That approach worked fine for a while. During the two weeks that followed, the pain gradually decreased until I was feeling only an occasional stab, sometimes maybe twice a day.

Then came this past Monday night. I was working in the prayer room as usual when I noticed my knee was aching ... again. Later that night, the aching turned into a sharp pain and by last night (Wednesday) my knee and the entire area of my leg above and below it, was swollen and throbbing with pain. I showed the humongous bulge now sitting where my knee cap use to be to my husband, and announced that I was NOT, I repeat NOT going to the doctor for it.

Upon waking this morning (if you can really call it "waking" if you haven't truly been asleep) I decided to cash in on my "woman's prerogative" to change my mind, and drove myself to Urgent Care.

The doctor asked me what I was doing when I hurt my knee, took a look at it, then made me lay on the exam table while he performed several torture tests on my already aching left leg.

After he was satisfied that my knee hurt in virtually every position into which he'd twisted it, the doc informed me of the diagnosis.

A torn meniscus.

The menisci are the curved pieces of cartilage that line the outer edges of the knee caps. They help to keep body weight evenly distributed, protecting the kneecap from damage.

I don't care so much about all that medical jargon. The main lesson I've learned about the menisci is that it hurts like heck if one happens to get torn!

Ahh! But for the moment I am not in any pain. The nice doctor gave me some magic pills that made all the agony go bye-bye. He also told me to keep my knee wrapped in an ace bandage and elevated for the next five days.

If after that my leg still doesn't feel better (without the aid of the magic pills) I'll have to consider letting an orthopedic surgeon get inside my knee, all up close and personal to the meniscus, and fix it.

Having discovered that the magic pills have the capability of expediting trips to my new and improved happy place, I'm not going to worry about that right now. Nope! I'm just going to sit here and enjoy the trip!