Baby For Rent…

18 months is not my favorite age.  That’s about as nice as I can say it right now. Both of my boys on the day they turned 18 months had some sort of sneaky, aggressive, annoying, whiny gene activate that turned them into tiny Tasmanian Devils. (While I was writing that sentence Will illustrated it…

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Drowning in the Little Things… and Finding Hope Again

I am amazing in a crisis.  I mean, I could direct FEMA if they asked me.  Something clicks in me and I go into this mode where I can access memories I didn’t know I had, and multitask and prioritize like a triage nurse. But when it comes to the daily crisis of raising a…

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