Most of the time, Theodore makes me crazy. Whether it's crazy happy, or crazy frustrated, he can be counted on to bring the crazy out of me. Yesterday we were outside working on the yard, and since we don't actually have a usable yard, the kids like to play in the streets. "Our children have no yard," I remarked to Matt, frustrated. "The streets are their playground. We basically live in the ghetto."
Theodore seizes every opportunity where me or Matt are looking away to go running down the street as far as he can, traffic or no traffic. When I notice him racing away, I call out sternly for him to "Come back here. Now!" and I know, I know he can hear me, but he deliberately disobeys. This is his response to most directions. And it makes me crazy. I worry that one day if he really is in danger he won't listen when it matters most. I may have to consider putting him on a leash.
One of the sweeter, more charming activities Theodore has been up to lately is "fixing" his ride-on train. He tips it over on its side, and carefully maneuvers his tools around it mumbling, "Iss boken, I fix it." His focus and dedication are unmatched. In those moments, he's adorable and his intensity is sweet and beautiful. If only there was a way to reign in the untamed beast, but maintain the beautiful sense of abandon. I'm not sure there is, for any of us. Balance is a tricky mistress even in the best of times, and in a lot of areas I need to learn how to employ it more gracefully. But for today I'll take the crazy, the good and bad.
Chaos is like a bird; when you try to cage it, you lose everything that makes it so beautiful. Theodore sounds like my kind of friend. I like the idea of just running down the road for a while.
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