My husband buys me flowers, even when he doesn’t: a reflection on generosity within a marriage

Spring struggled to arrive in New England this year. We’d had only about half the usual inches of snowfall until mid-February, then caught up over a matter of days and had snow on the ground into April. The late burst of wintry weather left me yearning for signs of spring late in a gloomy March.

On my way into Trader Joe’s to do the grocery shopping, I paused by the cheerful floral display and gave in to temptation. I bought a small bouquet. Arranging them in a vase at home, I caught the thought flitting through my mind:

“I wish DH had bought these flowers for me.”

And then I stopped, took stock, and realized that he had.

My husband makes this kind of little effort all the time. He’s not a born romantic, but a self-made one. He knows that romantic flourishes make me feel loved, so he adds them to his agenda and perhaps ticks them off a to do list. But he does them. He makes the gestures. He prioritizes my happiness. He shows his love for me in this and other ways all the time.

I have friends who sigh that their husbands consider cut flowers a waste of money; they would complain if they came home and saw these sunflowers on the table. My husband says, “Ah, good, here’s something to make you happy, and I didn’t even have to stop by a store.”

So when my husband made his way home that evening, the first thing I said to him was:

“Thank you for the flowers!”

His face read froze into half-pleased puzzlement. I’m guessing his thoughts were something like, “Did I do something I’ve forgotten?” or “Is this some kind of trick I can’t yet figure out?”

He works too hard and he comes home tired, but more often than not his welcome is a list of complaints, demands, and urgent declarations. I’m as guilty of this as the kids are. The boys want their dad’s approval; I want an adult ear and the support of my partner. We all clamor for his attention because his time at home is too scarce and so precious.

“I bought myself flowers,” I explained to him, “and then I realized that they’re from you. I know that you would have bought me flowers if you’d been at the store. I know that you would buy me flowers every day if you could. You make it so obvious that you love me, I couldn’t miss it if I tried. So you bought me these flowers. Thank you.”

Generous love means meeting the needs of your partner in the way your partner requires. I ask for occasional flowers, a hand with the dishes, validation for my work in the home; he wants to be fed something he likes, to be appreciated for his hard work, to be given some time and space to unfurl his public stresses before fully engaging with the family in the evening.

This was my turn to be generous. Here was a loving gesture from me that DH could happily receive. His efforts are appreciated. His gestures have been noticed. His love has been accepted, and reciprocated.

Short, bright tea-time in my room

My house has enough eccentricities to be worthy of a post in and of itself. The quirk prompting my musings today is the presence of not one, not two, but three built-in wet bars in our home. Presumably, the architect feared for the poor soul who had to climb even one flight of steps before having a mixed drink over ice. There is a bar on each of our three levels, each complete with a built-in fridge, bar sink, pull out glassware shelves, and a mirrored backsplash.

One of the wet bars is in my bedroom. Heaven forbid a homeowner be forced to make such a portentous choice: go downstairs to the second floor bar (or, horrors!, the kitchen), or go to bed sober.

I enjoy my red wine, but I’m not otherwise a big drinker. There isn’t much call for a wet bar anywhere in my social life, but especially in the bedroom. DH doesn’t drink, and I don’t often entertain in my boudoir.

I toyed with the idea of buying a beautiful set of bar ware for display, but that’s not really my style. I love the idea of a glamorous, sparkling setup, but then I’d have to dust it. More likely, I would fail to dust it, thus living with another constant reminder of my lackluster housekeeping and the resultant allergens. No, even antique cut crystal decanters weren’t the answer to my superfluous home “feature.”

Instead, I outfitted my bedroom wet bar as a tea station. A coffee setup would work equally well, but that doesn’t suit my routine. I really love my coffee, but I don’t drink it first thing in the morning. Coffee is a fortifying, sit down treat with second breakfast or elevenses. I don’t have time to enjoy that until both of my children are occupied with their academic work, one at home and one at school.

Ideally, before the three-ring circus day’s schedule begins, I like to have a mug of strong black tea to jumpstart my brain. Yorkshire Gold, please!

My typical weekday starts with waking up a little boy, getting him (to get himself) ready, then shuttling him off to school. I’m not one of those living-on-air types who won’t eat before noon. I need at at least a bite of something before operating heavy equipment (the minivan my children dubbed Pookie) but my first breakfast is often just a slice of toast or a piece of fruit on the run.

Morning stiffness is one of the characteristic symptoms of the autoimmune disease that I live with. With medication, this is much reduced, but I wake up something like the discovery of the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz. While my kids sleep on, I creak my way out of bed, shuffle into the next room to commence my morning ablutions, then spend ten minutes or so reading, gently stretching, and just generally allowing my body to warm up to movement again.

Tin Man

Just like me with my morning tea, except I pour it down my gullet instead of applying it to my knee. Usually. <dribble>

Bringing a counter top water purifier and an electric kettle into my bedroom gave me the means to have my first cup of tea during these quiet minutes at the start of my day.

Our local water doesn’t flow from the tap with a pure, clean taste, so I filter what I consume; my electric WaterLogic purifier uses a removable water carafe instead of requiring new plumbing, and it was a good fit for my narrow space. An electric kettle works just like the stove top version, but it’s plugged into an electric socket to provide heat to boil the water.

I use two trays to keep the space organized. A stainless steel surgical instrument tray came in precisely the right dimensions to fit the space to the right of the bar sink while accommodating both electric devices. If I miss the mark while refilling the kettle with stiff fingers, the drips don’t mar the wooden counter. (Who bothers with a mirrored backsplash while neglecting to install a water-resistant counter top around a sink? Drunken architects, apparently.)

Tea Station right

I chose the black T-fal BF6138 electric kettle because it was small in size and it does NOT ding when the water boils. This makes a lot more sense in a shared bedroom than it would in a kitchen.

A more decorative, handled wooden tray sits on the other side of the sink. It holds mugs, teapots, and anything else I might want to carry en masse to the kitchen for mechanical dish washing. If I had designed my own tea station from the ground up, I’d have a mini dishwasher installed beneath the counter instead of the refrigerator. I don’t need milk for my tea, and I really don’t enjoy hand-washing, not even a few lightly soiled mugs.

I’d always appreciated similar setups in hotel rooms, but never thought to try fitting such a thing into our cramped upstairs floor of our previous, much smaller home. The electric kettle and having what you need laid out nearby is all that’s really necessary, though. Bonus points if you have a convenient sink, but carrying water in a carafe will suffice with a little forethought.

If I move house again (God forbid!), I think I will forevermore duplicate this set up in a corner of my room. A small table or cart placed near an electric socket and the habit of replacing the consumable tea things the night before is all that it would take to keep enjoying my favorite ritual. It’s only a little effort, and a tiny space.

Sometimes, at the end of a long day, imagining my morning cup of tea is the soothing balm that defeats my pestiferous insomnia. I look forward to those quiet few minutes. I savor them.  The morning light, the soothing warmth of the mug in sore hands, the fragrant steam rising up to my face… Carving out a little space is a small price for a great luxury to enjoy every single day.

Have you set aside space in your home for your own little sanctuary? What’s your most nurturing ritual?

Books by my bedside 2017/04/23

Here’s what I’m reading this week.

I’ve noticed that I often bring up in conversation one or more of the fascinating books I’ve been reading lately, only to fail utterly at recalling titles or authors’ names. I’ll take this opportunity to at least have a handy reference available for anyone who cares to follow up on something I’ve said.

Just check my blog!

Fiction

The Marvelous Misadventures of Ingrid Winter by J.S. Drangsholt
Mockingbird by Walter Tevis
The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Non-Fiction

Economics, history & politics

The crisis of the middle-class constitution : why economic inequality threatens our republic by Sitaraman, Ganesh

The true believer : thoughts on the nature of mass movements by Hoffer, Eric

The white man’s burden : why the West’s efforts to aid the rest have done so much ill and so little good by Easterly, William

Language

Am I small? Bin ich klein? (Picture Book English-German Bilingual Edition) by Philipp Winterberg

German in 32 lessons by Adrienne

The little German notebook : a breakthrough in early speaking by Long, Charles Merlin

Starting out in German by Living Language (audio CD)

Math & technology

Gödel, Escher, Bach : an eternal golden braid by Hofstadter, Douglas R.

Biography & memoir

Tasting the sky : a Palestinian childhood by Barakat, Ibtisam

My doctor won’t take my insurance, and I’m thrilled

I liked my doctor, but I never got to see him

I’ve had the same primary care physician—the health care professional we used to simply call “my doctor”—for about a decade. I’ve always liked him, both professionally and as a human being.

A few years ago, I started looking around for a new doctor. I didn’t like my physician any less, but I hadn’t seen him face-to-face in years. Instead, every time I made an appointment, I saw a different nurse practitioner or physician’s assistant. I liked some of them; others, I didn’t spend enough time with to form an opinion. Even when I made an appointment for a physical eighteen (18!) months in advance, I could only see random members of my chosen doctor’s group practice staff.

The final straw came when that physical with the nurse practitioner that I’d scheduled one and a half years ahead was canceled one week before it was due to happen. My kids were younger then, and I’m their primary caregiver. It’s a role I take seriously. Parenting is my job, so I organize my life in order to do that job well.

I had scheduled all of my own “routine maintenance” appointments for the same summer week: eye doctor, physical, well woman exam, teeth cleaning. If I had oil, that’s the week I would’ve changed it. I enrolled the children in summer day camp so all my “business hours” were free for one week. I wanted to take care of my health needs without distraction or discomfort from discussing sensitive topics in front of little ears.

Modern group medical practice didn’t prioritize patient needs

The disinterested office staffer who called and blithely informed me that I must reschedule my physical for a date a few weeks later—after the school year had started, after my full slate of mommy responsibilities had resumed, at a time that absolutely did not work for me—clearly did not understand my frustration with her message. She certainly had no power to fix my problem, and she didn’t seem to care. That’s when I resigned myself to finding another health care provider.

Considering the current shortage of plain old family doctors in the United States, none of this is surprising. Having “good” health insurance seems like an oxymoron. If I can’t see a doctor, how is my health “insured”?

I did some research on the Internet. I’d read an article about doctors foregoing insurance to simplify their finances by accepting only cash payments, and I looked for one of those. None appeared to be practicing in my physician rich corner of New England, though specialists who can take advantage of my “good insurance” abound.

There were no good alternatives for straightforward routine care

I had reached the uncomfortable position of interviewing “concierge doctors” by late 2013 as I tried to find a solution I’d be happy with. I’m okay with the idea that some people want to pay large sums to have a doctor available at their convenience, but my needs seemed much simpler and very… common.

I’m willing to make an appointment. I’m willing to wait my turn. I don’t care if the office is luxurious, or exclusive, or much more than conveniently located and hygienic. I just wanted to see my doctor when I had a scheduled appointment, and have at least a chance of seeing him or her when I had an urgent need. I wanted my doctor to be familiar with me and my health history.

I didn’t think I was asking for the moon, but alternatives were lacking.

After six weeks of frustration and having selected the concierge doctor I liked best after interviewing the few available candidates in my price range, I happened to Google my old doc’s name one more time. You see, when I’d called his old practice to inform them I wouldn’t be showing up to see the nurse practitioner I barely knew at the inconveniently rescheduled time, they told me Dr. So-and-so had left the practice. They “couldn’t” give me a forwarding address. (Later, Dr. So-and-so himself told me that the practice was well aware of his new office, but they appeared unwilling to lose patients by sharing that information.)

My doctor was as frustrated with the system as I was.

Guess what I discovered when I Googled Dr. So-and-so? He had left his old physicians group practice because he didn’t want to practice medicine that way anymore. He was sick of being rushed through 20 appointments every day during which he couldn’t take enough time to hear out a patient. He was tired of being an insurance-appeaser when he had set out to practice medicine. He was leaving the system. He was as frustrated with it as I was.

I knew I liked Dr. So-and-so for a reason!

I’d stumbled onto an article in the local paper about my good old primary care doctor’s foray into the everything-old-is-new-again “direct primary care” provision of medicine. I could pay cash directly to my preferred doctor to receive medical care when I needed it.

Revolutionary? It strikes me as obvious. And let me add cost effective, convenient, and finally!

The simple analogy used in the direct primary care model is that it’s like routine maintenance on your car vs. getting repairs after a major accident you couldn’t predict.

You know you need oil changes and the occasional new tires for the car, so you factor that into your budget and carry on. That’s the stuff my doctor handles. I see him for an annual physical, when I’ve caught a cold, or if I sprain my ankle. I have his cell phone number; he answers it himself. I can email him or send a text message and I hear right back. He can fit me in today. He has time to talk to me until I have said everything I have to say about my problem.

Monthly payments to the doctor cost half as much as a cable bill

I pay my doctor a monthly fee that covers as much medical care as I need. It costs less per month for me than my cable bill, or my husband’s data heavy cell phone bill. That’s or, not and. If you can afford to spend $4 per day at Starbucks buying coffee, you can afford this caliber of medical care for one adult and one child at my doctor’s practice. This is a manageable bill for a middle class family.

I still have health insurance. It’s that <cough> good kind. I use it to see my specialist care providers, or when I need an expensive test like an MRI or a bone scan. My doctor can still order tests for me at the same local hospitals, and he can still submit the forms for those big ticket tests to my insurance provider, but he also tells me what the cash price would be. Thousands of dollars out of pocket? Yes, let’s do paperwork.

Cash prices for simple tests can be just a few dollars ($3)

But many simple blood tests done in the doctor’s office cost just a few dollars, so I pay the bill and skip the forms. A cholesterol test costs less than a latté when it hasn’t been marked up for the rigmarole of insurance reimbursement. It becomes fairly obvious why insurance rates are so high when you compare these prices for yourself in the context of your own care. It turns out that there’s a huge cost created by the complexity of the insurance system itself.

When you use your insurance, you’re paying for extra billing staff in every medical office, the insurance company’s offices, the army of employees at said offices, and even profits distributed to investors in those private insurance companies. You aren’t just paying for your blood test, so the cost of your lab work goes up.

I’m still insured against a catastrophe

If the big stuff hits, that’s when my health insurance will kick in, like the major bodywork you’d seek after a car crash. God forbid I ever need it, but, of course, I will use my insurance if I require expensive hospitalization or ongoing care for a major illness or injury.

The insurance company keeps sending me letters encouraging me to find a PCP and get a physical. Their closed loop system doesn’t have any way to acknowledge that I’m receiving preventative care without asking their permission or sending them bills. It’s eerily hard to get the records at my specialist’s office updated with my doctor’s details because they can’t match him to an insurance provider ID in the computer system. It’s like he doesn’t exist. I think they literally put a sticky note in my paper file in case they need to reach Dr. So-and-so.

That’s a little frightening considering the push toward electronic record keeping. Is the insurance model so entrenched that it is inconceivable for a legitimate doctor to be working outside its bounds?

Frankly, it offends my sensibilities that something as personal as health care is becoming the exclusive territory of monolithic institutions that provide no additional expertise when it comes to medicine, instead introducing financial complexity and bureaucratic overhead to what was once a straightforward relationship between medical provider and patient/recipient.

Direct primary care works well for my family

My experience with direct primary care medicine has been wholly positive. It has removed obstacles to my receiving prompt care, and it has enhanced the care I get by providing the time and access necessary for excellent communication with my physician. The closest thing I’ve got to a complaint is how hard the insurance industry red tape makes it to integrate my direct care doctor with everything else.

Direct primary care won’t solve America’s health care crisis, but it is a sound model that could go a long way toward alleviating the pain of accessing routine medical care for many average families. That seems like a good solution to one pretty big problem to me.

Do you have convenient access to your preferred doctor? Are his or her costs reasonable? Do you get enough time with him/her at every visit?

Would you consider following a doctor you like to a fee-for-service or direct primary care practice if you were given a choice?

Capsule wardrobe for Hilton Head Island, under-seat carry on size

This won’t be as pretty as the Polyvore sets you’ll see on fashion-oriented blogs. I’m not a photographer or a fashionista. In spite of this, I want to post a capsule wardrobe as I packed it in an under-seat size carry on bag for a recent (early March) family trip to Hilton Head, SC.

Amtrak luggage on cart redacted

Train carry on luggage at Savannah, GA Amtrak station. For two travelers, we had three Tom Bihn bags: an Aeronaut45 (with our train compartment friendly Rolo inside for organization), Western Flyer, and a large Shop Bag full of snacks and bottled water.

Compact capsule wardrobe saves precious vacation time

Packing lists and capsule wardrobes—which is just a fancy way of describing a simplified wardrobe that can be mixed and matched to create many combinations— help me enjoy my trips more. My stress is reduced, I don’t waste precious vacation time deciding what to wear, and I can present myself the way I prefer to be seen when I’m meeting new people.

Rarely do I see a travel wardrobe capsule that reflects the reality of someone like me. Items of clothing on my petite yet plump and short-waisted body look nothing like the stock catalog photos on Polyvore. More importantly, my priorities begin with function before moving on to the more enjoyable considerations of color and form.

Dressing appropriately while maintaining health & function

I have an autoimmune condition that involves widespread joint pain. I suffer particularly from foot problems. My wardrobe is constrained by the limiting factors of shoes that accommodate bulky rigid orthotics and clothes that don’t squeeze or pinch even when inflamed joints swell.

My symptoms flare when I’m tired. Travel, no matter how wonderful, comes with physical and sometimes mental stress. Traveling light is one way to reduce symptoms from my condition: I’m less likely to wear myself out, physically, with a lighter weight bag.

And yet! I’m a colorful person who enjoys attractive clothes. I don’t obsess over fashion, but I accessorize daily. When time is ample, I willingly spend some of it on my appearance. I rarely wear black, which I find both boring and depressing, and my neutrals are often dark red or dark plum instead of sedate grey, navy, or taupe. I express myself sartorially.

Wardrobe and sleepwear

Every stitch of clothing (minus my raincoat) for five days with 40 degree (F) temperature variations in the forecast. It was COLD when we left; STEAMY arriving in Savannah.

Wardrobe considerations—climate and events

Our trip was for four nights and five days. We flew to Savannah, stayed three nights in a Villa at Sea Pines Resort, then DS1 and I rode the train (Amtrak, overnight) back home. We left and returned to temperatures in the 40’s; it was 60-79°F in Georgia and South Carolina. Because DH was traveling for work, we needed dressy clothes suitable for socializing with professional colleagues in a resort environment.

With a rental car and apartment style accommodations, I could have easily packed everything plus the kitchen sink. Aside from enjoying the planning exercise of creating a packing list for this trip, I wanted to travel light on Amtrak. There was no baggage car on our Northeast Regional train after connecting in New York City. The train’s carry on restrictions are much more generous than found on airplanes, but handling luggage remains one of my least favorite aspects of travel.

I used my smaller travel pack for this trip, a Tom Bihn Western Flyer. Even fully packed, I can typically manage this bag myself. It’s better when I don’t bring a laptop, which I didn’t need for this quick getaway.

Packing lists — never forget a vital item

Here’s my clothing packing list, adapted from this one at LadyLightTravel.com:

Packing List for Hilton Head

Outerwear

teal raincoatFor early spring travel, outerwear choice is pretty critical. We had occasional light rain in the forecast. Even a week or two earlier, I would have gone with my purple, lightweight down coat, but water resistance is my bottom line in spring. All five pockets on this coat zip securely closed—a travel essential!

  • Teal Duluth Trading soft shell coat (thin gloves, not shown, in a pocket)
  • Purple down vest
  • Purple thin knit cap (not shown, in coat pocket)
  • Teal waterproof sneakers
  • Grey Propet Women’s Travelactiv Mary Jane (dressiest shoe I could consider)

 

Ahnu shoes sneakers

Ahnu Sugarpine shoe rainbow! Podiatrist approved, and colorful enough for me. Front row: airier mesh; Back row: waterproof styles.

I had to make sure everything I brought worked with my comfortable, supportive Ahnu Sugarpine sneakers in teal. These are my go to shoes for reducing the likelihood of crippling pain from too much walking. I opted for the waterproof pair that coordinates nicely with my raincoat and capsule color scheme of teal-magenta-grey.

Bottoms

I started my fashion choices by selecting the bottoms. As a fairly modest dresser, there are some pants I won’t wear with more revealing tops. I wanted the freedom to remove layers as necessary in case the temperature was hotter than forecast while still literally covering my bum.Bottoms1

To layer underneath on the colder, northern ends of the trip, I had pieces ranging from long johns, to silk pettipants, to pantyhose (which violate the comfort doctrine, but I do wear them as needed to add discreet warmth when dressed formally.)

I’m counting my soft, stretchy Angelrox Goddess dress as “bottoms” because it layers well and stands in for a skirt. These dresses (I also own a full-length Goddess Gown) are body conscious so I usually wear a wrap or otherwise layer on top. Tight is not my style. The Goddess dresses are so soft and so comfortable, though, I can forget to be self-conscious about the snug fit. Wearing one, I feel as glamorous as an old time movie star with the comfort of pajamas!

Tops

This is where I cut back from my usual policy of having one or two extras, just in case. The weather was forecast to be moderate enough, and I knew I could go shopping if necessary. I usually do bring more pieces than this, but I absolutely did not need additional tops to wear fresh, interesting outfits every day.

  • Grey cotton/spandex Duluth Trading No-Yank Tank (not shown)
  • White ExOfficio crinkle kimono tunic
  • Floral sheer silk poncho
  • Magenta faux twinset (sheer silk turtleneck & cotton/nylon cardigan)

Accessories

This is where the magic happens! Wow, no, not really that exciting, but… this is where a bunch of clothing pieces that I like turn into full-fledged outfits like those I wear at home when my full closet is available.

I don’t bother with makeup very often, and my hairstyle is almost as minimal as wash-comb-go, but I didn’t realize how much my accessories matter to my sense of being “fully dressed” until after our home was burglarized a few years ago. Mostly, I was grateful that we weren’t at home or hurt and that nothing more than “stuff” had been stolen, but every morning for weeks, I would turn to the shelf in my bedroom where my costume jewelry had been and feel my heart sink at the empty space dusted with police fingerprint powder.

The thieves took most of my deceased grandmother’s costume jewelry and a little velvet box full of Post-it sized love notes my husband left me every Sunday morning before his karate class during our first few years of marriage. It’s ironic that they missed our hidden safe where my few expensive pieces of “real” jewelry  were hidden, but they stole slips of paper many times more valuable to me and lots of $20 jewelry that gave me joy but probably earned them virtually no cash.

  • Pashmina in grey/magenta/teal
  • Scarf in teal/white rayon
  • Angelrox teal “sleeves” (arm warmers or fingerless gloves)
  • Earrings (silver dangles)
  • Earrings (colorful stone dangles by Shayla Lynn Jewelry)
  • Necklace (silver with moonstone by Shayla Lynn Jewelry)

Unmentionables

Here I am mentioning the unmentionable, but I have to specify these details for completeness if you’re wondering how a capsule wardrobe really packs into a case as small as the Western Flyer.

  • Floral silk caftan
  • White rayon tank/tunic for sleeping (also works as a top in hot weather)
  • 5 pair underpants
  • 2 brassieres
  • 7 pair socks (one wool, 2 thin ankle socks, 4 no show footies)

These don’t factor into the wardrobe as far as style goes, though I’ll admit to a touch of smugness that my travel caftan color coordinates in teal blue.

Underwear and socks pack so small, I do usually bring enough to avoid hand-washing because I don’t enjoy it. I could get by with two pairs of each by sink washing every night, but I’ve never felt the weight loss was worth the time spent from my vacation day.

Remember that the outfit you wear on travel day doesn’t go into the carry on. Here’s what I wore onto the plane along with my water resistant teal jacket.travel outfit

Everything else

This is where I confess to everything else I stuff into my carry on bag… except there isn’t very much. First of all, my full confession includes the fact that I prefer to carry my everyday purse (a Tom Bihn medium Cafe Bag) aboard as a personal item. I don’t have to cram all my daily distractors into my Western Flyer!

I have a Tom Bihn Packing Cube Shoulder Bag that is always packed with my carry on comfort kit. This is where my inflatable neck pillow, silk sleep sack (we call it the sleestak, a la “Land of the Lost”), ear plugs, eye mask, and lip balm live. During a flight, it is big enough to temporarily house my Kindle or iPad, too, if it is easier to reach than my purse.

Aside from the Packing Cube Shoulder Bag, my Tom Bihn 3D Clear Organizer Cube 3-1-1 toiletry kit, and my electric toothbrush, I stash a water bottle in the front pocket of my Western Flyer, and I always carry at least a small personal PackTowl with the water. I’ve read my Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy! Also, my little guy is prone to motion sickness. And playground swings are often wet. A towel always comes in handy for moms as well as hitchhikers.

Putting it all together

When you’ve packed it all, the Western Flyer looks like this.

It zips closed without a fight. The Western Flyer isn’t over packed, and the bag weighs in at 9 lbs (just over 4 kg.)