Sam is being dangerous sometimes and it is really freaking me out.  Now, it is true that it really doesn't take a lot to spook me.  Sometimes you can just look at me with a slightly quizzical face and I get sweaty.  But, really, that's beside the point.  Today he was chasing Anna (Heather's oldest daughter) and she ran into his bedroom.  About 30 seconds later she yelled, "Booey (that's me), come here!"  So I walked down the hall, through the living room, took a quick right, walked toward the front door, sharp left, walked through the doorway and stopped.  With    My    Mouth   Open.  Yes, I was shocked.  Because there, on my dad's bed, sat Anna.  And sitting right next to her was Sam.  Sam.  Yes, the guy formally known as my brother who should be nice and snuggily safe in his wheelchair.  But was he?  No.  Nope.  No way.    And when I ran across the room, clutched his shoulders and said,  "WHAT ARE YOU DOING" in a high pitched, slightly-hysterical voice he just shrugged his shoulders and said, "I was chasing Anna and she climbed on the bed to get away from me.  So I got out of my chair and went after her."  Oh.  Of coarse.  Now it all makes sense.  Silly me.  Sorry I asked.  So I did the only thing that any sane older sister would do.  I whipped around in a 180 degree circle and in the loudest voice possible I yelled "MAAAAMMMM!  SAM GOT OUT OF HIS CHAIR AND IS SITTING ON DAD'S BED AND NO ONE EVEN SPOTTED HIM OR ANYTHING!".  Yes.  I tattled.  I tattled long and hard and I am not afraid to accept that title.  I am the residential family "tattle tail" (and proud of it).  So my mom came out of the bathroom and was very disapproving and disappointed and pursed her lips and even wrinkled up her forehead.   And Sam did a lot of shrugging to counteract the disapproval.  Then he got back in his chair and slowly, with his head hanging in a shamed way, wheeled out of the room.  Okay.  Actually he didn't act shamed at all.  The truth is, he wheeled out at a regular pace.  Perhaps with a little skip in his wheels.  Can't shame THIS man.  He has looked death in the eye and said, "HA, DEATH!" (or something like that).  You can't really affect that kind of person with some motherly looks and disappointment.  It just isn't possible.

So...PT Steven and OT Rachel, if you are reading this, perhaps you can shame my brother.  Next time you see him please tilt your head down and stare at him with slightly raised eyebrows.  Clasp your hands behind your back. Make sure your mouth is turned down at the corners.  Wrinkle up your skin, right between your eyes, just a little bit.  Look sad.  Look disappointed.  And maybe you can even say, in a sad, crushed whisper, "But why Sam...why?  After all we have been through together...how can you do this to me?"  Okay?  Please do that.  And if he does as much as one, little shrug, you have my permission to pinch him aggressively and then strap him in his chair with a large piece of rope.  Ha.  I'd like to see our little Houdini get out of THAT trap.  But of course I am kidding.  I am kidding...or am I.  Perhaps the world will never know.

(I really was kidding.  Don't tie my brother up with rope.  I do not advocate the restraint and bondage of disabled car accident victims.  Don't even pinch him.  Or if you do, just pinch a little bit...and smile while you do it.  And call him "buckaroo").

And Sam,

If you are reading this STOP GETTING OUT OF YOUR CHAIR WITHOUT SOMEONE THERE TO SPOT YOU!  You are making me a nervous wreck.  This whole irrational, disjointed blog entry is all your fault.  I'm a mess.  Now all these innocent readers have to suffer through reading this junk just because you got out of your chair.  Knock it off, buckaroo.  Pinch.  Smile.

Love,

Your oldest, older, very emotionally fragile sister,

Bec