First blood

There is nothing, absolutely nothing, more completely primitive than a 12 month old with the vomit virus.  They do not understand toilets, trash cans, or bowls. 

I feel like Rambo in the mountains, covered in gunk, oblivious to the smell and how hideous I look. 

It has been one hell of a night and day.  My husband came home and asked if I could put away the Easter baskets.  He lived a good life while it lasted.

"You don’t seem to want to accept the fact you’re dealing with an expert in guerrilla warfare, with a (wo)man who’s the best, with guns, with knives, with her bare hands. A (wo)man who’s been trained to ignore pain, ignore weather, to live off the land, to eat things that would make a billy goat puke."

He drew First Blood.