Rambo's Rampages...

Theodore, do you want to go upstairs or to your bedroom? *Points indiscriminately in the middle.*  Theodore, where does it hurt? *Points to his wrist.* Which is definitely NOT where it hurts. Theodore, is that what you want to watch? *Yes* Or is this what you want to watch? *Yes* Theodore, you DO NOT pull things off of the counter. Go sit on the steps for time-out. *Opens up hallway door, picks a step, and sits.* I think he's messing with me. 

In case you were wondering, I DO still have a son named Theodore. He IS still simultaneously adorable and a pain in the butt. Lots of changes have come his way and are still coming for this little man, but here is where we are currently: Per the doctor's orders, he has been trying new foods so that we can hopefully accomplish a swallow study. By "try new foods" I mean, we are attempting to get him to put anything in his mouth and swallow it. Theodore acts like he wants to eat food; he gets very excited when he sees it and asks to have some. However, all that leads to is maybe a tiny lick off the spoon and then instantly wiping his mouth with whatever he can find to remove said food from his mouth.  Despite this, though, we have started to accomplish our goal. We have found a great sippy cup for him, we are experimenting with puree type foods and different drinks, and even succeeding in getting something into his stomach.  Great, right? Well, I guess it depends

Sometimes I'm the worst. No, really, don't try to stop me from saying this. **************************************crickets************************************************* Wow. Really? No one? That hurts, guys. Despite the many protests from the audience I just received, I must admit that sometimes I am the absolute worst person. Okay, not really, I'm not a mass murderer or a puppy killer or a fan of Nickelback. But, in the past, if my cup got tipped at just the right time I may have been known to slam a door or crush my childrens' hopes and dreams with just a word. Hypothetically. Unrelated: I may be starting to see why no one tried to stop me earlier.....   But there's something that I've been wanting to get off my chest. Deep breath. And go. When the kids were little, Israel the eldest, like Gandalf the Grey- very distinguished, would be getting his breakfast or possibly even helping the younger two get their breakfast. At this time they were

I'm 20 stories up stepping out of the window that's almost as tall as myself. The adjacent building is so close I can almost reach out and touch it. In fact, I am certain I could make it through the open window facing me with just a jump. But I can't. The powers that be do not allow it. Instead, I have to walk a tight rope that I'm not entirely certain will even hold me. All the while people from the surrounding rooms are throwing anything they can find at me to trip me up, make me lose my balance and retreat back into the room from whence I came.  Hours upon hours are spent here, nay, days upon days; until the thought of falling to my death is far more appealing than sitting on the stupid phone any longer to coordinate one more doctor's appointment for Theodore.  I would literally rather fall to my death. I'm not sure I could explain it any more clearly.  I- would rather- die.  I don't know whether it's bureaucracy or stupidity that makes it so

Two words: Sewing injury. Six words: Sewing injury not involving anything sharp. Did you even know those existed? I didn't. I do now. I've been suffering with this war wound for two weeks now, and I'm pretty certain I'll never have full function of my hand again. Okay, that might be pushing it -- a little.  For those of us who aren't seasoned seamstresses/sewists, let me warn you, you can seriously hurt the joint in your thumb. The girls and I worked furiously for 5 days, measuring, cutting, pinning, sewing, more pinning, more sewing. I am still paying for it. In fact, I think it's gotten worse. What started as a tight, muscular cramping is now a constant, dull, hot aching in the joint. I know what it needs, but the creator in me is not willing to do it. I have so many ideas swirling around in my head that if I stop accomplishing them I may implode. I wonder if that really is the cause of death for most artists- the inability to produce their inspi

Boo. *whispers* It's me. It's time for some spring cleaning. Digging this blog out from all the boxes and things of life that have piled up on top of it, sweeping away the cobwebs, and getting real.  This past year has been a tough one. Down to the bones tough. And I've had some pretty rough years- times I would never ever choose to relive. But this one tops the cake.  (Theodore is phenomenal, by the way. And other than making me rethink a few life choices as he now enters his "threenager" stage - yes, he's 7 - he is the man. So no worries there.) This past year left me falling. Unsure. Questioning. Crying. Everything, literally EVERYTHING that I had stood on before, everything I KNEW to be true, was suddenly pulled out from under me. I was like those cartoon characters who run off a cliff but don't realize it right away, and once they do it's a fast fall straight down.   I have been a Christian, a Jesus-follower, a Bible believer, WHATEVER