If it ain’t Jemima…

Are my kids the only ones who insist on artificial this or that?

I doubt it.

The other day we ran out of syrup. I didn’t know this until I was about to serve up some Eggos (which shall NOT be eaten without syrup unless specified in advance by young Master Hooligan). Some days it’s okay to have a waffle smeared with peanut butter or jelly or maybe both, but not this day.

Thinking quickly (ha), I offer some maple syrup. Real. Maple. Syrup. The kind that comes from (I’m guessing here) a maple.

You would think I had just poured rat poison on the plate. He wouldn’t even take a bite (it came back out, with a blecchh) and before I could say anything he had run to the sink and dumped the waffles down the disposal. Then we had a bowl of cereal.

Give me high fructose corn syrup, or give me death!

Tell Her About It

So tonite after dinner, I’m going on and on about how Zoot ran ten miles (and did a personal best in a 5K the day before), and Katie offered to help me google old girlfriends, and Randi had commented about the hot sex, and and and…

My wife says “Should I be jealous of all these women?”

Touche’

Security

Sorting through feelings lately has been a strange affair. I feel at times like I’m outside looking in, like looking in a window at somebody who is doing a jigsaw puzzle. Close enough to see them scratch their head, but not close enough to see the pieces clearly enough to say “that one goes there, on the right,” or anything helpful.

The “old boyfriend” or “old girlfriend” question is pretty universal, is it not? I mean, it’s rare to only have one. At least where I live. Especially when you are a kid, you have relationships, and hopefully you learn from them and then the next time you have a relationship you are better off. That’s the plan, I guess.

When I wrote my last entry on this, my wife was reading over my shoulder as I hit “publish.” She said ‘Awww..’ and gave me a hug.

Have you ever been really, really insecure? I mean ‘industrial grade,’ to steal a concept from the truck commercials. That was me.

Sometimes, that still is me. See, I don’t think this is about old boyfriends, or even that much about my wife, I think it’s more about me and my self concepts and such. It’s all about me… 🙂

And this is getting too damn deep for me to write more at the moment. Perhaps later. Sorry, the little alarm in my brain that goes “ding, ding, ding; oversharing!” just went off. And that’s pretty rare (as anyone who has read these pages knows) so I think I’ll listen this time.

More to follow.