Showing posts from April, 2013

Raw and Uncut

I had a flowery story but I stratched it off today's list. This story is raw and uncut. The last day I used, I used speed heroin cocaine weed and booze. It was the day before check day. I had settled in with a half ounce to sell. I shot a half gram and two dimes. I was fucked up beyond reason. There wasn't a big police chase or much drama. I went out of that room in handcuffs with a whimper. It took a awhile in processing for the high to start to wear off. I ignored the girls who pulled crack out of their pussy and smoked it in the cell. I knew what was coming for me- pain. Kicking heroin is a living death. I have seen grown men beg to be suffocated by a pillow, too weak to stand. By the time I made it to the kick tank after stripping naked in humiliation. Inmates are forced to spread their ass cheeks and squat and cough. Some drugs are dropped or found. Most are not. I was processed into the kick tank. The kick tank is a large multi person cell with mattresses on the floor


Feelings are inconvient. Feelings are in the pit of my stomach. Feelings put me on the edge of tears for lack of reasons. I can talk myself out of most things. I'm a suppressor and debater of all things emotional. But feelings, they do me in every time. Feelings are like a handsome face that cranes your neck to see it passing. Longing for something long gone by you saw out of the corner of your eyes. Some people call it depression. I call it repression- those feelings bubble up at awkward time. Feelings are like a houseguest your forgot was there that shows up needing more attention. I share my head space with a select few. I have my boxes, my compartments for you and you and you. My inspiration, in a sense my salvation are the little faces that smash the packages I try to keep still. In the light, I really am not wrapped too tight. Feelings feelings feelings. No medication, no sedation, just relations. Feelings. Again? Today is four years since the death of my father. My son

Drug Porn

For some reason I am super emotional this morning. For the most part, my emotions are pretty muted. I am not the type of person to cry at weddings or funerals. It is hard to solicit a laugh from me. I spent a good portion of my life numbing my feelings. My children can easily break through whatever protective veneer I have placed over myself. Instinctually though, I have survived in this life by stuffing my feelings or purely ignoring them. Out of the blue, a thing or a person can smash through whatever denial I have of my human condition. I work in an environment where jaded is a required job skill. Counselor who are not jaded end up killing themselves or relapsing. This situation is counseling though. It is my real life. I see a reflection. I see a mirror into myself. Suddenly, I am forced to deal with my own pain and it is glorious. It is the feeling you get from picking at a scab. Some people would never understand but but I do not want to smooth my hurt over with a band aid. I w

Today's guest post: Ruvi from Germany

You asked me if I wanted to keep myself anonymous, and for a minute I was tempted to say 'yes'. There are still people who don't know I was a heroin addict, or maybe just people I like to believe don't know I was a heroin addict - I was, after all, so very subtle when I begged them for money or fell asleep in the middle of lunch! Actually, though, I not only don't want to remain anonymous, I don't think I can. These are the things I did. These are the people I fucked over. These are the places I wasted my time. It is frightening but it seems to me that there cannot be a way forward if I continue to deny or hide my past - because to hide things from others is also a way of evading consequences, and hence ultimately another way of hiding from oneself. I want to say here that I am still afraid of the fallout from my addiction. I hesitate to take an AIDS test. I know this is stupid, even possibly wrong. I have the referral for testing from my substitution doctor

Guest post from B from USA

Before I post, I am inserting a caveat. I  am completely abstinent meaning I do not drink, smoke pot, use drugs , etc.  However, in the real world, not everyone else is completely abstinent. I like to get divergent opinions from others. I also have been prescribed medication for pain after surgery. I took it as prescribed by the doctor.  I also have anxiety and have been prescribed ativan as needed for panic attacks. I have only taken three of them in a full year. However, if I need them, I WILL take them.  My point is- everyone is different. Recovery is different for everyone. Even now my insides kind of die thinking about it... truly one of the most powerful films of my lifetime and many others. What can I say? Was I a Suboxone success story? Have I been a "success story"? To those who follow a certain strict abstinence-based path... perhaps not... I of course disagree, and thank God for the lovely people of San Francisco and other progressive cities working to

The highlight reel

I am sitting in a doorway. My feet are pounding. My shoes are two sizes too small. I scored them on the sidewalk. My socks are wet from days of rain. The sweat from walking the miles of the city has made the flesh start to peel off my feet. My veins are throbbing. I have no options left. I have been sticking needles in the soles of my feet. My arms and legs are covered in tiny blood spots. I have poked myself over and over looking for that sweet spot. There is no mercy for junkies and fools. They put me out. They promised me I could stay the night. I paid to get in. I shared all my drugs but at three am they kicked me to the curb. I am tired, too tired to argue my fate. I am sitting in this doorway. I am wet again. The tears are rolling down my face. There is no place for me to go and no place where I am wanted. It slowly starts to rain. I shiver, I shake. I have no jacket or blanket. I am staring at my reflection in the pool of dirty water. What the fuck happened to my life? The sha

Guest Blog Questions Answered

I have received 15 questions on guest blogging for my site. These are the major categories: What is the theme of the blog? My blog is about addiction, depression, family, transition, horror, humor, filth, and self forgiveness. I hope that you have been reading regularly. Will you revise my submission?  I am not an editor so I suspect I will publish your post without my comments. Although I do retain the right not to publish something I personally find offensive. What would I need to talk about ? You do not have to be a freakishly open self discloser like me. I think that this site has a sense of community for many that read it. I get people from all corners of the world with a variety of different perspectives on drug use/addiction. Why should I do it? Why not? You have all these thoughts, why not put them out in the world? You can publish anonymously if you so desire. You can email me at or traceyh650 on twitter if you have more questions

Clean Sock Appreciation Day

A pair of crusty discarded socks are pictured here. These socks are so hard and stiff, they can stand at attention. This poor pair deserves a post of their own. They are a testament to the struggle of their previous owners. Sadly, some other homeless person will come along on put these on because they are less offensive then their current pair. I would like to declare today as clean sock appreciation day. The clean sock is seriously under appreciated by all but a few. Dear socks, I salute you.

Crash course in cravings

I was looking for a picture to post on here or an image that would inspire me.I thought about taking a picture with an old syringe we have here. It is used to give the animals their flea medicine. It comes without the needle thankfully however it is strange drawing up fifty units for my cats. I put the empty drum against my arm to take the picture. Stupid, I thought. I wonder if this triggers someone just to see the image. It makes for cool art but certain images are religious artifacts to current and former addicts. Just a glimpse of their outline in our peripheral vision recalls euphoric cravings. In my years off of drugs and alcohol, my process has been a unique one. I get cravings, yes, but in odd situations. I would like to share a story of my own stupidity and callous complacency. I was walking to work from my apartment to the methadone clinic. I worked at a top notch clinic for many years that was free and supportive of clients. I used to walk to work in the pitch black. I a

Cabbage Stew

This is a guest post from England: Before i opened my eyes in an early morning, i would think 1. have i got alcohol next to the bed or wherever i was, 2. Have i got gear or enough money for gear, next swallow a few diazepam to help alcohol withdrawals then spew up then drink my vodka.This was everyday the same. After drinking maybe a half litre of vodka i or my wife at the time would argue who's going to score as nerves were always bad in a morning.So we got the gear, had a dig and fell back into the same usual feeling and eventually would go out to find ways to make money but thats another story..I am 50 now and have been clean 99% of both drink and drugs well heroin! but still have the odd downer and i am capable of drinking one beer or two if i go to the pub but no more, this is once a month at most as i was in hospital last year through a brain defect wich made me forget to take my methadone and also my insulin.I was seen wandering around my town with odd trainers and pyjama

The evolution of happiness

I was not going to write anything this weekend but I wanted to put in a few words about how incredibly lucky I am. The family life I have is too wonderful to describe in a few adjectives. I was at my daughters softball game today. The field is a mixture of sand and grass. It is all fenced in with gates that are slightly rusty from the sea air. As I was trying to think of some type of profound advice to provide to her , I looked down and saw animal tracks. The tracks were clearly not dog or deer. They were from a bobcat. The tracks let to some kind of natural crime scene where some slightly smaller tracks ended. As I reflected on the natural order of the world, I thought about myself. I rose above the world of predators to walk upright again. I relish my place among the humans. I took my place on the side of the field. I let the other parents step in and teach while I observed. Sometimes I just need to watch and enjoy the progress I have made in the past fifteen years. Yet I am com

Behind the wall

Todays guest post is from the UK: I often think of a situation that happened quite a few years ago, and wonder why the person involved agreed to do it? Forced, owed money, or maybe it just appealed to him. In the North of England there are rows upon rows of terraced housing, over a hundred years old. There are small back yards to the rear, and 'ginnells' we call them, which are like a big pavement to get you round the back of the properties. This particular area was pretty run down, there were as many empty properties as there were people living there. There were a lot of squatters, and a lot of drugs. So basically a group of dealers came up with an idea to stick someone round the back of a disused property to sell dark and lemo. (heroin and crack). But instead of leaving this guy exposed, they gave him a mattress a bucket, and built around him and his new found items with bricks and cement, so he was basically "bricked in". There was a small hole so he could

Looking for guest bloggers

I try to be superwoman. I am maintaining this blog, writing a book, working full time, and spending time with my wonderful family. It occured to me after reading some of your emails, I would like to highlight some of my readers as guest bloggers on a Saturday or Sunday. This is when, in theory, I should be paying special attention to my family. There is no money or compensation. However, your writing would get exposure to 100-150 daily readers from around the world. Posts would be around 4 paragraphs so 250-500 words. Total abstinence is not a requirement. Email me at for more information.

Just don't cut my face

I completed my 28 days of methadone detox. I was feeling pretty good about myself. When I kicked the $50 a day habit, I was able to slow down. I was sitting on the rocks at the civic center one night. The rocks were part of a public structure with a fountain in the middle. The night breeze in SF changes the water from fountain to hose. We moved higher up to stay dry. I am drinking a 40oz when I find my new boyfriend. He had a black eye and a bald head. These were all the things I needed to know. My new boyfriend was not a heroin addict. He would drink and lose his mind. He was not used to someone like me. I was not a social person after coming off of a year in a nod. I have maintained by room through a combination of county welfare and tricks. I was recovering from a horrible case of hepatitis A that allowed the county to maintain my welfare checks with just a phone interview. I am going out. Where are you going? I need money. Chipping again. I thought you got off that shit. I am o

"Some times it makes me happy"

I go on you tube and other film sites once a week or so to see what people are saying about the movie "Black Tar Heroin". This may be how you found me, found my blog. When the movie came out, I was one bitter bitch. The first week it showed on HBO in the US, it had like two million viewers. Suddenly, I went from anonymous person in early recovery to poster child for junkies everywhere. The exposure was painful. The first few years after the film came out, I had some regrets of slitting my wrists in front of a camera with no chance of being saved. My mother was quietly embarrassed as was my family. Many people admired me for being honest. Mostly, the fact that the film never mentioned that I was clean stuck in my throat like a splinter. Would the painful piece expel itself or lodge deeper in my core. After a few years, I entered a long fuck it period where I was rarely recognized. A few times friends had viewing parties of the movie. I would get pissed as if my life was a

The Relationship Question

After the question of can I stay off drugs, the next question is the relationship question. If you have a relationship, a person may ask how can I convince this person to stay? If you are separated you wonder if bold sober gestures can return your lover's affection. If you are alone as most of us start off, we begin to plot and scheme our way back into some type of relationship. I was quickly formulating ways to manipulate outcomes. Although I had never had a healthy relationship, I was sure I could secure one with all my prowess. I was staring into a pool of water. The reflection I saw was not myself but the person I hoped I could evolve in to after I found a man. I needed to see myself clearly before I could begin to find a relationship. Of my early recovery suitors, one relapsed. Another discovered he was gay. A third was a sex addict. The final one, the one I thought had some possibilities, beat the girlfriend I did not become. A victory of common sense saved me from that m

Devil on your shoulder

I have been working around addicts since before I had less than six months clean. I consider myself to be relatively jaded however my walk to work today provided some new levels of sadness. First of all, in the San Francisco Bay Area we have a train system known as the Bay Area Rapid Transit or BART. This BART is not to be mistaken with the other BAART. The other BAART is a string of methadone business well honed into a money making machine. Anyway, upon arrival at BART, the smell of piss is completely overwhelming. Three of our four escalators are out of service. It was recently documented in sensational headlines that the escalators are breaking beacuse they are getting clogged up with urine and feces. I hope you are not eating breakfast readers. That is the reality. As i got a few blocks closer, there was a man standing in front of the donut shop. I smelled him long before i saw him. he smelled like feces from a half a block away. This many clearly had a devil on his shoulder.  He

Hey Readers!

If you are from Russia, Thailand, El Salvador, Norway, Mexico, the UK or anywhere - I would love to hear from you in comments or email.

Jesus Jim

What type of man will go searching for the company of another man? A man like Jesus Jim. Jesus Jim was a kind soul, or at least he thought he was, and generous. He met my boyfriend at the hustler spot. I am not sure how they struck up a conversation. My boyfriend was gorgeous. I would have wanted to fuck him myself. In fact I did from time to time when the drugs did not take my appetite away. My boyfriend and I had an arrangement. He was a hooker. I was a hooker. We pooled together all of our money and misery. We both had the same dos and don't- no kissing, no anal, do as little as humanly possible to get the most money. At night we clung together nodding off and eating ice cream. We were in love and unashamed because we had each other. Jesus Jim fell in love with my boyfriend. This man lived his whole life "in the closet". He was a youth minister, a pastor , or some other title that frowns on fucking boys off the street. He was mildly attractive. He was employed. He


My week at work was fucked. It started out with a client assaulting a staff member. Glass was everywhere in our lobby. When a client is taken away in handcuffs by the police, it is never a good feeling. There is a serious downside working with addicts and people with mental health issues. They are unpredictable. The person was crying way before the police came. I know that cry. There is a particular cry that we all have when we KNOW we have fucked up. Whether it is a relationship or missing an appointment or using again after periods of abstinence - we just know we fucked up something good. For many people, this begins a cycle of depression and self- loathing. It is easy to feel worthless. It is much harder to face our mistakes head on. Opiates lend themselves to stewing in your own brew of negativity. Opiates create a hatred marinade. And the flesh that gets grilled is tough. It will not yield to delicate handling. There is a scene in Black Tar Heroin where I am laying on the bed

Inspired by my Readers

I am truly inspired by you readers. I love reading your comments and emails. If you do not Speak English, email me your questions. I will put them in google translator and send the answers back to you.

A Typical Mourning

The children get up around 5:45 to 6:00 am. Yes, that is extremely early. I am a heroin addict so I really enjoy sleep. Now, I really enjoy coffee. The three kids like to watch television before they go to "school". I had made a promise to myself that I was going to be a responsible mother and fight obesity by not letting my kids sit in front of mind sucking programing. Ha! That still makes me laugh. with one child, there was a certain amount of novelty and ability to cope with things. With two children, we could spilt our attention. Now, we went from man to man to zone defense. If it was not for "Dora the Explorer" I would not be able to get ready for work in the morning. Really, I have tried it. Between them jumping off the furniture and hitting each other with toys, I can barely get my bra on with out breaking up an argument. I never thought I would be in this position in my life. The first five years of my life were just focused on staying off drugs. I was in

TShirts Update

Thanks you for all of your interest. I have six lucky readers who will be getting a shirt. I am a  procrastinator so be patient. One has already been shipped out with more to follow. When it gets closer to the time when I am finshed with the book, I may print another batch.

The Baby Factory

Deep within the prison of my soul there was a baby factory. The baby factory was surrounded by the strongest steel. It was a dream that was guarded at all times. No one went into the factory and no one came out for thirty six long years. The baby factor lay dormant- waiting wondering - would there ever be activity or would the doors stay closed forever. I would tell people about the baby factory. Many of them would laugh. Who would want a junkie slut for a mother? Who would ever want me? I started to believe those things to be true. The plants covered the barbed wire. Ivy grew across like tracks on an arm or a leg. At thirty five, the heat got turned up in the factory. I began to sweat in anticipation. I had found love. I had found life. It was time. The switch was turned on. I manufactured three beautiful children. I crafted them with love and care. They received the best parts of myself. I am an artisan. I am their mother. I risked my life for these children. I let them cut me op

The hammer and the nail

One of the things I struggle with in my daily life is the feeling like I am somehow different from other people. Many times, this is the absolute truth. I sit in a staff meeting and I can pretty much be assured that no one else there lived in an alley, had survival sex, or has track marks that look like a relief map of Brazil on their thighs. The divots look like valleys while the unadulterated flesh looks like Virginia peaks in comparison. Many people do something in their lives that they find troubling or shameful. What if there were a thousand of those things? Each street corner or song or memory or movie creates a recall of cringeworthy events. I think many people relapse because they cannot sit with the stew. The heavy feeling in your stomach as if you swallowed hot rocks of remorse. It is hard to start over. I came to a place of forgiveness within my own paradigms. On prostitution "well at least I was getting paid for it while she was at a bar giving it away for free.&qu


This is a brief excerpt from the book:             I have been arrested 11 times. The first time was for shoplifting four packs of   Kools for a friend. They were so grateful at my attempt to resolve their nicotine cravings, they left me at the store after I was detained. I had to get myself home from the central station in Downtown Cincinnati.               The second time I was arrested was much more typical of the addict experience. I was out late at the bar. I had been studying for finals so I had been running on very little sleep. I was not the best student at this point so I would cram and month into a day and hope for the best come test time. I was out for a quick drink and a dance at Cooters. This was a nightclub that hosted gay dance nights. I had been sampling my favorite- vodka and cranberry. I have racked my brain for many years. I honestly do no remember having more than a few drink. For you novices, one of the issues with mixed drinks is that you can not always gauge the

Help! Or what does that mean?! Some resources...

In the past few weeks, I have had about twenty comments and emails from readers who have questions about getting "help". First of all, I am willing to put this in print, total abstinence is not for everyone. I am not sure of your individual circumstances but I am not judging anyone. The world would be a much kinder place if we focused on helping people be happy and healthy. If you are interested in learning more about "harm reduction", here is an excellent website  . The people who run this center are kind people who really believe in personalized goals. There are some excellent reading materials and links on here as well as information on books. For overdose prevention and drug eduction materials you can go here!/DOPEProject I, personally, am completely abstinent. I feel this works for me so I do not mess with it. In addition to 12 step websites, there is a wonderful website called Lifering. They hav

Confessions of mini van mom

So I was not afraid when a man put a 22 in my face and threatened to kill me. However dear readers, I am terrified of driving a car. In fact, I become a complete nervous wreck even as a passenger in a car. I was in an accident in 1992. There was blood and chaos and the jaws of life. I still remember the sounds of my friend screaming. Her leg had been crushed. It was raining. I asked Lance how my face looked. I could tell he was lying as he said I looked alright. Blood was rushing down my face. As I reached up, I thought I was touching my forehead. I went into shock when I realized I was touching my skull. The skin had been peeled back and apart My face! My fucking face. They stitched me up with inch long stitches fifty of them in total. I must have looked like Frankenstein. I am surprised the bar Sudly Malones would serve me. Vicodin and Vodka. They said I would need plastic surgery. I got strung out soon after. Flash forward to today. My daughter needs me to drive her to school

Stray cats

Yesterday, I had an interesting interaction with a man by my work. I walk down an alleyway to get to my job every morning. The alley is frequented by addicts of all types. A year or so ago, I had to perform an exorcism there. A heroin dealer was meeting his clientele there every morning at 8:00am. At first, I was offended. I never found a dealer to be consistent let alone on time. Then, I was irritated that my old clients from the methadone clinic started trickling in to meet this guy. Finally, I was pissed that the guy wore eye glasses. What kind of a heroin dealer wears freaking eye glasses? This man had to go. I told his clients to kindly insure four eyes that if he did not shake this spot, I would call the authorities. Absolutely no respect for the sanctity of the detox. Anyway, my new boyfriend from yesterday was FULL. This is a term used in the gay speed world that indicates a person is out of their mind on meth. My new friend had his things sprawled all over the sidewalk. T

My Little Family

I talk ALOT about my addiction Blah Blah Blah. The real joy in my life is my little family. I have three kids which is kind of astounding considering I was not even sure I wanted them until I was 35. My husband is a nice man. We have been together since May 2000. Honestly, he is the first healthy relationship of my romantic life. I put a ton of personal work into myself. I will be spending the next few days doing family stuff.

Giveaway- Black Tar heroin tshirts

I have some tshirts that were made to celebrate my 7th or 8th recovery anniversary. I am willing to give a few away. Email me at I only have large and extra large. I am going to give away five. I can ship them internationally.


More pics from some of the areas where I used to use. These are along market street in San Francisco. The last pictures is a screen shot I took of how many people are reading my blog. I am completely shocked as I just started in late January

The First Person

If you are wondering what it would be like to meet me, I am a total bitch in real life. Everyone thinks I hate them for the first two or three months they know me. It is not that I hate everyone. I am very socially inept so it comes across as if I am scowling. Plus, I am silently judging you. I am summing up all of our differences. I was harshly ridiculed in elementary school because of both my weight and my intellect. Children were very cruel to me. There were many days when I imagined myself being an entirely other person. I would sit out in the yard in the summertime. The screen doors would be open. I would listen to my parents argue. I would imagine myself as an adult but I was generally dissatisfied with my visions. There was one summer I did not take a shower or get out of my pajamas for two weeks. I am not sure what my parents thought because they did not say much of anything. There was not a word in my vocabulary for what I call it now- depression. Depression comes in waves

Eating me alive

Part of my story- the story of my human frailty- is my relationship to my body. I became a compulsive over eater at around six. My weight, or lack of self esteem has been a life long issue. In my addiction, I got down to 119 pounds. This may not seem small but I am 5'8". At a 119 pounds, I was completely flat chested. You could see all of my ribs and my sternum bones. I had no fat left. The last place you lose weight when you are starving is in your vagina area of which I had no fat left. Me and my boyfriend were two skeletons on the bed. Still, I would look at the fat calories on food labels. I was obsessed with being thin for the first time in my life. Around the time of high school and after, I got down to 160 pounds. This was my ideal weight according to the multitude of weight loss programs I attended in my childhood. The first time I saw a friend eat a whole pizza and throw it up, it was a revelation. Binging, purging was a little to stringent for me. My friend and I

Historic Recall

I am going to spend my lunchtime at work writing more for my book. I am up to 54 pages. I would like to get a first draft complete by June. I think I will complete my goal. Writing this book has messed with my mind. I am dreaming about people I have not seen in many, many years. I had a dream about heroin last week. This is not unusual but always unwelcome. In case you are wondering, I am the manager of a large program that helps ex addicts and people with issues such as depression get jobs within the cicil service system. We provide meaniful opportunities for employment. My salary is paid for directly by the California 1% tax on millionaires to pay for innovative mental health services. Chances are if you used drugs, you have some history of anxiety or depression.  I have a certificate in substance abuse counseling but I do not work directly with clients on a daily basis. I am in constant contact with addicts seeking recovery as they are in my office building. I see them everyday

Playing Around on my blog

First welcome new readers from Russia, Columbia, Nigeria, and India. As an interesting fact- my children speak and understand some Russian. Secondly I am playing around with new formats and backrounds. I am a writer not an artist so feedback would be appreciated. Also, ready to take your questions.

Check out time

The goal of many a street level drug addict is to find some place inside to live. This may involve a few key steps: finding a rich partner, finding a sugar daddy ie a John to pay all bills, finding an abandoned building, finding a shooting gallery that has room for you. A shooting gallery or crack den is a place where addicts congregate to use drugs. I have seen beautiful houses turn to rot and grandmothers turn a blind eye for a small fee. I was the type of addict people did not want to share space with. I was not a thief nor a liar. I could never find a vein so I would spend up to two hours with a ten pack of needles poking at myself. Today I know I am blessed with extremely low blood pressure but then I was cursed. I would scream and cry. Residents would be in their delicate nods while I roused them with my frustration. I "own" a home today. Really, the bank owns it but someday it may be all our. It is nice to have a stable place to call my own. The walls are pretty ba

Like Stones on My Chest

I had a friend who died last year. She used to say our troubles lie on us like stones on our chest. Just when we hope to take a breath in, the weight of our burdens crush our ability to get out from under our problems. I try to keep my life simple. The reality is I am in a constant state of nervous energy. At first I thought all the years of drugs made me different. Not true. I ate away my feelings. I numbed all the frayed edges. Many days, I am one step away from losing my mind. I am not adverse to admitting my flaws. Holding together a family, a job, and being one hundred percent sober is a challenge. Many of my readers ask me if I do any sort of substances. The answer is simply no. I cannot drink. It sets off immediate cravings for drugs like a cascade effect. I do not take any type of medication unless absolutely necessary. It is too easy for me to reach for a pill. The feeling is a familiar one, like a comfortable pair of pajamas. The problem is when I put those pajamas on, I

Spring break

I am spending today hanging out with my kids. They are so close in age it is hard to keep all their memories from blurring together. I love spending time with them. I am generally a person who is short on patience. They are teaching me to relax again. The kids are camping in their room.a little different than my experience camping in a shooting gallery and much more pleasant