Hobbies

Speaking of hobbies, one of mine is reading, & I've had my nose in 1984 during the five free moments I've enjoyed the past few weeks.  Have you read 1984?  Wow, just wow, Mr. Orwell.  You know you're good when your surname becomes an adjective.  Between college football, 1984, & my kids, time with the blog has fallen by the wayside.  I need a secretary, really.  There's so much in my head, but so little time to sit & type it out.

Anyway, the dearth of blogs in no way correlates to the goings on with us.  The week after I was released from the hospital, an ordeal you can read about here if you're behind on your blog reading, I was told to stay home & rest & relax.  You can imagine how relaxed I was when Trey came home with this & announced he planned to change the oil in his truck:

I know, I know.  The best part is that the book was written by a woman (or a man named Deanna).  Henry & I spent a pleasant Saturday afternoon indoors watching the Aggies almost get the best of tan man Saban & the Tide while Trey spent roughly seven hours outside attempting to change his oil.  Reagan kept Trey company for much of the time, happily arranging & rearranging the sockets in his tool box.  The oil change was completed on Sunday afternoon after the four of us stopped at Auto Zone on the way home from church.  One of my favorite things to do on Sunday afternoons in August is hang out in the Auto Zone parking lot with my two young kids, one of whom has a tendency to scream (sometimes for no apparent reason), while Trey searches for replacements for the things he broke &/or lost while attempting to do something the kind folks at Goodyear will do for under $30 (& as an added bonus, they don't drip oil in our garage . . . or take two days to change the oil).  Deep breaths, deep breaths . . . sooner or later, Trey's hobbies seem to have ill effects on my blood pressure.  Thankfully, it's usually extremely low so I can afford for it to skyrocket every now & then.   

As I mentioned in a previous post, when I decided to host Jessica's baby shower, it was the kick in the pants I needed to spend a lot of money get some things done around the house I'd been putting off.  The first & perhaps biggest change was the painting of the master bath & kitchen.  

Here's a before shot of the kitchen: 

And a before shot of the master bath:

When I first saw the kitchen walls, I thought I could live with them (I always knew the master bath had to be painted.  That aqua was just blah, not me, & the faux finish . . . I wish you could see the face I am making).  After living in the house over a year, & standing & waiting for countless cups of coffee to be dispensed by my Keurig (pictured above in front of the red mess that was formerly my kitchen walls), I decided the red had to go.  I like neutral walls; it's just who I am, & I can't get away from it.  I am not opposed to pops of color via rugs, etc., but the red walls just started to overwhelm me; I didn't realize how oppressive they were until I was rid of them.  You can read about the momentous turn of events that resulted in my new walls here.  

Here is the finished product (that's my Keurig on the far counter, to the left).  It's now a much more pleasant place to wait for coffee to drip.  If it were ever super quiet in my house, which it is not, I think you might could hear the walls sighing in relief:

And the master bath . . . aqua be gone!

Naturally, with new color on the walls, I gave myself full permission to have a heyday in Target.  I'm in Target a lot, & it's always a fete of self-control to leave without a new rug.  

New bathmats (complete w/ my socked feet):

Some matching decorative towels I placed in a basket on the tub, along with some candles, to give the two guests we have a year the impression that someone actually sits in the tub & relaxes by candlelight every now & then.  Someone who perhaps might need a washcloth that just happens to coordinate with the bathmats:

And the final touch, these distressed wood & iron wall sconces from Hobby Lobby:

They hang on opposite walls & are identical (b/c I am anal & cannot sleep in a house that lacks decorative symmetry): 

I was just getting warmed up.  I spent the better part of one Saturday hauling Henry around town with me.  Our first stop that day was Lowe's, where I purchased curtain rods for Reagan & Henry's rooms.  I knew that while they appeared nonchalant, deep down inside my children were both aghast that I had yet to hang curtains in their rooms.  

The finished product in Reagan's room:  

Her curtains looked so nice I thought it would be a great time to see her bed through to its final conversion . . . & so the toddler bed became a full bed:

But wait, I thought, I have no coordinating bedding for this full bed . . . what a quandary.  I didn't want to get rid of anything in Reagan's room, because I still like all of it (& because there should be a limit on what you spend to decorate the room of someone who's still 50/50 on urinating in the toilet).  So, I took to the Internet & looked for bedding that would coordinate with everything already in her room - - the rug, the lamp, the wall decor, etc. 

What I discovered is perhaps my greatest online shopping victory, ever.  I went to the usual - Target, Pottery Barn Kids, etc.  Nothing struck me.  On a whim, I looked at the bedding at Pottery Barn Teen, & I found a duvet cover & shams that could not be more perfect had I stitched them myself (in some alternate universe where I could sew).  Not only was it all on sale, it shipped free because they were having some "all bedding ships free" promo.  I consider myself a wise consumer, however I admit I am easily lured by free shipping from Pottery Barn because their shipping charges are OUTRAGEOUS.

Here are some shots of Reagan's bedding.  Don't be thrown by the 'dorm' label; we do think Reagan's intelligent, however we're mainly looking ahead to a Mother's Day Out program in the near future: 

And, because I know you care, here's my find on the newly converted bed:

   

She is pleased:

Because I can't leave well enough alone, I bought this mirror, pictured below,  to add to the montage above her bed.  She threw a few Hello Kitty dolls on the bed for good measure:

So remember my heydey in Target?  In addition to the goodies for the master bath, I bought this rug for Henry's room:

This is the little quilt that adorns his bed.  I actually took this picture to text it to Jessica, who lives in Dallas, home of many Pottery Barn Kids locales.  I decided to buy the window panels that match Henry's quilt, but wasn't about to pay to have them shipped to me.  Some days I feel my whole life is about skirting Pottery Barn shipping charges.

Jessica arrived for her shower, window panels in tow.  Unfortunately, if you recall, I was so sick at the time of the shower I could not have cared less about a panel-less window.  

I did place the bag with the panels on the ground near the curtain rod so as to give the shower guests an idea of what might one day come to fruition in Henry's room:

According to the PBK website, this is what the finished product will resemble:

As summer gives way to fall, which is signified by the official changing of the fake fruit in our house . . . 

. . . Reagan & Henry are actively involved in their hobbies.  

Lying around:

Sleeping:

Reagan continues to develop her photography skills.  This is an abstract set of her Pink Coupe she's been working on when she can get her hands on my iPhone:

It's always fun to get in bed at night & scroll through my photos to see what she's been up to; obviously she's been in a transportation mood lately:

They both continue to excel at being awesome.

So that's us lately.  I hope you're enjoying Kirk & football & the cool(ish) temps as much as I am.  I know it's cooled off a smidge because it's now possible for me to buy groceries & unload them & my kids from the car without needing to change my shirt.  Lovely, I know.  October looms, & it looks to be a memorable one.  Yes, yes, I will turn thirty-three next month, however I will also become an aunt (unless Jessica way overshoots her due date of the 22nd, making the conclusion of this blog post much less dramatic).    

AZ

A Breast Saga

Let me take you back in time a bit to the last week in August of this year.

Happy Three Months, Henry

Oh Henry

By the Numbers

Oh, August.  I am tempted to say I "hate" August, but I'm trying mightily to rid my vocabulary of the word since I don't want to hear it roll off Reagan's tongue, so I'll say I despise August.  It is undoubtedly my least favorite month.  Due to the heat making me so irritable I don't even want to sit & type, which typically is what I fly to do when I have a few moments of time, this will be the mathematical version of what I have to say, as opposed to the English major's version . . .

Best. Week. EVER.

'Tis the Season

In case you've been eagerly waiting to read it, I am working on a short narrative relaying the events surrounding Henry's birth.  Some of the details are rather harrowing, & between a reticence to revisit the pain & a lack of alone time with my MacBook, it's been slow going.  Stay tuned.

A Month of Sundays

Since last I blogged, Henry has taken the world by storm.  And by, 'by storm,' I of course mean I've lugged him all over the twin cities in his infant carrier while he maintained a fairly consistent sleep/wail cycle, interspersed with occasional calm glances at his changing surroundings.  

Strange Days

Since Henry & I were discharged from the hospital & Trey drove us home (stopping to visit the Chick-fil-A drive-thru, so Henry knows how we roll), I've left the house once, & that was to take Henry to the doctor.  Other than that, I've not so much as walked to our mailbox.

A Brief Announcement

We Wait

Belly Shots

Opposites

Logistics

Another semester of teaching is now in the books.  If there's any better feeling than laying a semester to rest, it's laying a semester to rest when you're thirty-five weeks pregnant & one dumb, repetitive question away from ending up on the evening news.

Turn, Turn, Turn

To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;  
A time to plant, and a time to pluck what is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; 
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; 
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones;
A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; 
A time to gain, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to throw away; 
A time to tear, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak; 
A time to love, and a time to hate;
A time of war, and a time of peace.  (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8)

The Weeks After Thirty

A few weeks ago, I woke up one Thursday morning & realized I was 30 weeks pregnant.  When your pregnancy rolls over into the 30 week range, it dawns on you that soon, you're going to have an actual baby.  Ironically, while it may seem like an ideal time to hoard sleep, sleep becomes elusive as your belly swells, your back aches, & every night in bed you think of one more item to add to the list of things to do before you hit that magic number, 37 weeks, at which point you're officially carrying a full term baby & the show might begin at any moment.  Don't let a due date fool you!  Don't assume you have another week to buy a few more Christmas presents, as I did when Reagan, who was due December 28, arrived on December 13.    

Behind the Veil

Reagan recently celebrated her third Easter.  The Catholic Church recently elected a new pope.  I just finished a reread of The Great Gatsby in preparation for the May 10 release of Baz Luhrmann's adaptation of Fitzgerald's work.  All this has created a maelstrom of symbolism in my mind that may, or may well not, make sense as I attempt to work through it in this blog.  



I begin with a pictorial of Easter in the post-Reagan era . . .

February 6

On February 6, 1911, Ronald Wilson Reagan was born in Tampico, Illinois.

Miss Digler's New Bed

Shortly after I learned my first child would be a girl, I began an intensive search for antique white nursery furniture to match some antique white pieces I already owned.

HIJKLMNOP

Last Friday, Reagan's Papa had a deposition to take in Dallas.  Naturally, Reagan, my mother, & I accompanied him on his trip over Thursday to make a weekend of it before I grow too large to successfully handle the rigors of a weekend of shopping.  In Dallas.

I Got A Name

A good character is the best tombstone.  

Those who loved you and were helped by you 

will remember you when forget-me-nots have withered.  

Carve your name on hearts, not on marble.

~ Charles Spurgeon  

Like the pine trees lining the winding road
I've got a name
I've got a name

Like the singing bird and the croaking toad
I've got a name
I've got a name

And I carry it with me like my daddy did . . . 

Last summer, Trey & I visited California, a trip I catalogued here.  We spent our last night there in San Diego, & we ate dinner at Croce's, a restaurant owned by the widow of the late Jim Croce who recorded the above lyrics for his 1973 album I Got a Name.

If you think names are inconsequential, you've likely never spent time around an expectant couple, or been the student who, on every first day of class, had to correct the teacher's pronunciation of your name (or, alternatively, bear in silence its mispronunciation for months & months).  If you think names are inconsequential, you've probably never had a conversation with a woman who chose to hyphenate hers.  You may recall that the feud that sparked one of Shakespeare's most famous lines, " . . . that which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet," was inspired by two warring families, generations forbidden to one another because of their surnames.  

Reagan, last night your great-granddaddy Zeigler died.  When my mother's mother died, I was about five weeks pregnant with you.  I sat at my grandmother's graveside knowing there was life stirring inside me.  Again, I find myself in the throes of one of life's poignant moments.  Life & death shadowing each other, whispering hello & goodbye as generations shift within & around me as I carry the very feisty great-grandson of a fine man whose candor was always tempered with a genuine smile.  I see both - the candor, & the smile - in my husband, & I love them equally.  


Trey with his parents & his Granddaddy Zeigler on the day I took their name:

Thank you for a life well lived, & for your good name, Mr. Zeigler.  Despite its breach of the i before e (except after c) rule, something I, an anal grammarian, grapple with, in the three years since I adopted it, it's sparked many interesting conversations with people who admire you, & has, I suspect, on occasion been the reason I received superior customer service in local establishments.  I pray I raise two Zeiglers who bring you, & your name, honor.  

AZ

My Masterpieces, Volumes I & II

In May of 2011, Trey & I began preparing our former home to put on the market.  Trey bought the house in 2005, & Sophie & I joined him in October of 2009.  From the moment I saw the inside of the oven, I knew the day would come that it would have to be cleaned in order for us to sell the house.  I don't know how much of the gunk that had accumulated was Trey's doing, as I didn't look inside the oven when he originally purchased the house, but regardless of fault, I knew I'd spend a long while scraping the inside of the little white oven.  I was right.  It was a lengthy & disgusting process, during which I ripped open the skin on my left hand.

The Nones

Awhile back I bookmarked this article.  Then I got lost in the holiday maze & was further distracted by my iPad & a few novels & I forgot about it, until now.

Point of View

So, yeah.  I haven't been writing much lately.  I've returned to teaching, though I don't think that's the main culprit.  January is, in general, so blah.  The weather, the end of college football, the Christmas decorations that linger . . . blah.  I think perhaps most of the blame for my idle keyboard can be placed on Trey, who gave me an iPad for Christmas.  It's fantastic, & serves many purposes, however, it's no MacBook & thus, I don't sit & type.  Nevertheless, my book club met a few weeks ago, & that discussion has been lingering in my mind, & has now festered to the point that I've set my iPad aside for a moment.

Take a Bow, Mr. Orwell

Pronouns

To begin the year, a brief discussion of pronouns.  That's right, pronouns.

In the text I use in my English classes, there's an entire chapter dedicated to pronouns.  A pronoun, of course, is a word that takes the place of a noun or another pronoun.  Initially, students are usually perplexed that we're going to spend several class periods discussing pronouns.  Pronouns are easy, they say.  As we delve into pronoun case, a lecture that ends with the forever problematic who/whom & whoever/whomever issue, they begin to rethink their original assessment of pronouns.  Who & whoever, by the way, are subjective, while whom & whomever are objective.  Here's a hint: always think of Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls.  It's not For Who the Bell Tolls, because whom is the object of the preposition for, hence = objective case.  This isn't always helpful to my students since most of them have never heard of For Whom the Bell Tolls.  *Eye roll*

A pronoun must always agree with its antecedent.  If the antecedent is singular, so too is the pronoun that takes its place; if the antecedent is masculine, so too is the pronoun that takes its place.  My text refers to pronouns as feminine, masculine, & neuter, or gender neutral (such as it), & this always gets a laugh from several students.  

If you're still reading, I'm reaching my point, I promise.  Earlier this week, I received a call from my doctor's office.  They were rearranging Dr. Sheppard's always hectic schedule & wanted to know if I could see her this week instead of next, as originally scheduled.  Given that I currently have no schedule as I've not resumed teaching, I gladly said that was fine.  They moved my doctor's appointment up a week & also offered to go ahead with the eighteen week ultrasound that was scheduled for January 10th.  Thus, it is with joy & a bit of surprise that has yet to subside as of the time I write this that I announce that Reagan's younger sibling can now officially be referenced as he.

During the early months of both my pregnancies, it was bothersome to me when people referred to the baby as it, because a baby is definitely not neuter, or gender neutral, & these instances always made me think of my pronoun lecture.  Yeah, you don't want to know what goes on inside my head.  Perhaps a word or two later about the detrimental push for gender neutrality in our culture.

Here he is:

He's sucking his thumb in this one:

I know you can't tell he's a boy in any of these, but out of respect for my unborn child, I'm not going to post those pics online.  He's a he, I promise.  I knew it the moment the technician placed the wand on my belly.    

 We're told all looks well.  I am measuring a little larger than 17 weeks; I always measured a little ahead with Reagan as well.  He appears to have long limbs, like his sister, who is currently seeing eye to eye with a few four-year-olds we know.  I'm happy the appointment was moved up a week, because now I can spend my last week of Winter Break figuring out what to do with the mounds of girl clothing we've accumulated in the last two years.  My first thoughts upon realizing he is a he were these:

-Oh, I have so many girl clothes

-Now I can buy tiny argyle sweater vests

-I have a son

-It's not true that you're sicker when carrying a girl

-Only one wedding to pay for

I've got to go.  Since moving in our house a year ago, we haven't done much with the front bedroom, though the closet is full of tubs of Reagan's clothes.  The plan is to pull out all the gender neutral stuff (which is basically a few white onesies), & I guess haul the rest to the attic.  I need an empty closet to work with considering that my mom left the doctor's office after the ultrasound & headed to Spoiled Rotten to buy boys Christmas clothes on sale, size: 6 months.  Oh boy.  

  

AZ 

Reagan's December

As the year draws to a close, I've nothing profound to say.  I'm exhausted from the recent holidays, the year's many disheartening political turns, a steadily growing belly, & contemplating the best way to brace for the fiscal cliff over which our inept leaders are about to plunge us.

Absent words, I end the year with a montage of Reagan, comprised mainly of pictures from her second birthday party & recent Christmas merriment.  Many thanks to Reagan's Aunt Jessica, who took most of these photos.

The Gentle Slope

Winter Break

Well, December is marching on & bringing with it all that this month entails, which for me is a slew of birthdays.  Trey turned thirty-four last week, & Reagan & my dad turn two & XX today, both lucky thirteen babies.  Last year at this time, in addition to birthdays & the general holiday hustle, Jessica's wedding was approaching & Trey & I were preparing to move, so this year seems pretty relaxed in comparison.  All of my fall grades have been submitted, which may mean nothing to you, but brings me considerable joy.  I'm getting a much needed haircut today & preparing for a family gathering to celebrate Reagan's second birthday.  It will, of course, be a nautical themed party featuring all things Ariel.  Jessica & Heath are slated to arrive in the twin cities sometime tonight, which means, among other things, that soon Jessica & I will go see Breaking Dawn, Part II as she's been busy finishing law school & has yet to to see the final Twilight film.  Priorities, you know?

Part of Your World

Perhaps no four words in the Bible carry as much weight as these four, found in John's gospel: ". . . the Word became flesh."  They're words much of the world will hear this month as Christmas approaches.

Defying Gravity

Things are happening fast.  Or, perhaps I am simply moving slowly, but I find myself with a photo logjam I must rectify.

A few Saturdays ago, our church had a Fall Festival at Kiroli Park.  Though it was past Halloween, the kids wore their costumes & enjoyed the merriment while I & many other adults checked our phones for updates on the Alabama/A&M score.  While Alabama's one loss may not keep them out of the title game, it's always fantastic to watch them lose, & it somewhat improved what had been an otherwise dismal week, for me personally & for all Americans who value hard work & personal responsibility.

The Final Countdown

Last year around this time I purged myself of my need to defend Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series, laying it all out in a blog post.  To be clear, I find the content of her books praiseworthy, not the overly cheesy movies that omit significant portions of Meyer's original text.  Nonetheless, it is what she wrote that sells the movie tickets (well, her writing + Robert Pattinson).  I still stand by that defense, & I'm too tired & pregnant to say much more. If you doubt my lack of stamina, consider that at midnight tonight, as thousands of women stand in lines, hustle into theaters, & sit down to munch on popcorn as they wait, for the fifth & final time, for Edward Cullen to grace the screen, I will be tucked in bed asleep.  I am not planning to see the final Twilight film until Sunday evening, believe it or not, when I'll join a group of friends, one of whom is driving from Colorado.  Okay, she's coming home for Thanksgiving, but still, I'm delaying watching the movie until she's here.  That is friendship.

To My Fellow Elves

Laboring

I'm warning you, you may want to slice yourself some cheese before reading any further, because this post is heavy on the whine.

I think it's unfortunate that most people assume labor refers to the hours during which a pregnant woman, having carried her child to term, attempts to coax her baby out of her body.  Let me tell you, I am laboring now.  I enjoy good health; I've never broken a bone or had a kidney stone (both experiences I've been told are more painful than childbirth), so I don't have much to look to for comparison, but I can say with certainty that this past week has been one of the most physically challenging weeks of my life.

Pumpkins, Pregnancy, & Political Pandering

Pray for Morning

The Older Sister

Of Late

I need to make a confession.  Lately I've been preoccupied with an assortment of random things - politics, new furniture, the September book club selection, & college football, to be more precise.  I've received some complaints from Reagan's grandparents blog devotees about the dearth of photos of Reagan on the blog, which I admit is an understandable complaint considering the numerous photos of empty chairs & Paul Ryan that have been featured.  So, here's a rundown of how Reagan & I have spent the latter half of September.

Trey had to be in San Francisco last Monday morning for a deposition, so naturally he left town the  Thursday prior to do a little sight seeing.  Reagan & I enjoyed our girls weekend doing very, very little, changing our pajamas once a day to stay fresh as we roamed the house.

While digging in a closet, she discovered the chair I bathed her in when she was tiny.  It provided about an hour's worth of entertainment.

Anytime I spend lengthy amounts of time in the house, the blender inevitably makes an appearance.  We stuck to basics like strawberries & bananas.  Much like the vacuum, Reagan has an iffy relationship with the blender, so I made one large shake that we shared & quickly tucked the blender away in the cabinet.

We drank real coke:

Shared a vat of macaroni & cheese for dinner:

Watched TV in the "big bed:"

Once Reagan was snuggled in her own bed, I returned to mine to settle in with Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None.  Not what I'd usually pick up when in the house without Trey, but it's the book for September, so I forged ahead, feeling fairly secure with the alarm turned on & my revolver by my side.  Seriously.  

I was also comforted by this purchase I snagged at the Books-A-Million counter while waiting to pay for And Then There Were None.  The salted dark chocolate was gone before the first body hit the floor.

Tuesday afternoon, Trey returned bearing gifts . . . a pillow for Reagan:

Patriotic chocolate for me:

Chocolate Golden Gate Bridge, again, for me:

Stanford T-shirts for Reagan & I, just in time to celebrate their win over the perennially overrated USC Trojans:

I must backtrack for a moment & tell you that prior to his trip out West, Trey finally made the leap & jumped on the Apple bandwagon, one I've been riding high for years now.  He purchased an iPad under the pretense that he needed it for work.  He's been extremely happy with his purchase, & already I am hearing whispers of an iPhone 5 purchase.  While in California, he visited Apple's headquarters, which of course means Reagan & I added yet another awesome T-shirt to our Daddy's Depositions collection:

Hers:

Mine:

Last week wrapped up with the delivery of a piece of furniture I've legitimately needed for a good while now, my desk (where I am currently seated, happily blogging away).  Other pieces of furniture I do not legitimately need will, of course, follow.   

In an HGTV-worthy endeavor, I've transformed an unused, empty corner off the dining area into my home office, or as Trey calls it, tax deduction corner:

Below, my loves - Reagan, my MacBook, & my new desk.  I'll put a picture of Trey on the desk, & the whole thing will be complete . . . & maybe a Paul Ryan screensaver, for good measure.  

So, that's us lately.  The only other thing worth noting is that tree frogs of various sizes have taken to plastering themselves on our patio doors & windows at dark, which is endlessly fascinating to Reagan.

I snapped a pic of this one Friday night so that during the day, when the frogs aren't around, I can show Reagan the picture when she asks to see the frogs, because ask she does:

It's now officially fall.  This is our first fall in our house, & I am excited about it, & not because I got a new desk.  Many of the great writers had a slobbering love affair, to borrow a phrase from Bernie Goldberg, with spring.  I much prefer fall.  I may have to dig up some poetry, or prose, fawning over fall.        

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.

~Albert Camus   

AZ

The Rest of the Story

Now you know the rest of the story.

- Paul Harvey

The Week in Pictures

The Gifts of the Greeks

After many years have slipped by, 

the leaders of the Greeks, opposed by the Fates, 

and damaged by the war, build a horse of mountainous size . . . 

Then Lacoon rushes down eagerly 

from the heights of the Citadel 

to confront them all, a large crowd with him, 

and shouts from far off: 

'O unhappy citizens, what madness?  

Do you think the enemy's sailed away?  

Or do you think any Greek gift's free of treachery?  

Is that Ulysses' reputation?  

Either there are Greeks in hiding, 

concealed by the wood, 

or it's been built as a machine 

to use against our walls, 

or spy on our homes, 

or fall on the city from above, 

or it hides some other trick:  

Trojans, don't trust this horse.  

Whatever it is, I'm afraid of Greeks, 

even those bearing gifts.'"

-Virgil's Aeneid, Book II