I’m not what you call a morning person. In fact, I’m not what you would call a “people” person, either. But, that’s a tale for another day. The irony of me not being a morning person is that I love breakfast. It’s my favorite meal of the day. I love breakfast foods. Eggs, pancakes, waffles. God! Do I love waffles! And breakfast meats? It’s like a smorgasbord of deliciousness. Bacon, Canadian bacon, sausage patties, sausage links and scrapple. Yea, even scrapple. Breakfast is God’s gift to mankind.
For the most part, I try to eat healthy. Day to day, I either eat oatmeal or Life cereal or Grape Nuts for breakfast. I know. I know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: “Why bother living, you freak?” And believe you me, I agree with you. That’s why come Saturdays, I’m like a two bit hooker getting her fix on. ‘Cause, that’s when I break out the Cap’n. No, not Cap’n Morgan. Please. I’m a loser. Only rock stars have Cap’n Morgan for breakfast. And I don’t have the moxie to be either.
A couple of weeks ago, Sarah graduated…er, “stepped up” or in this case “stepped out of” eighth grade. Now I know every parent thinks their kids are brilliant, right? Well…except for me. I mostly think my kids are a pain in the ass. But, I gotta admit, Sarah is pretty farking smart. Mostly because the kid tells me all the time how smart she is. There’s some truth in it, though. She’s had straight A’s since like, third grade. I don’t lie. She has. Well…except for last marking period. But…I’m getting a bit ahead of myself here.
(editor’s note 12/1…this page is being updated. new pics will be up, well…”soonish”.) Well, I figured it was time for you to meet some of the folks in my life. You know…put some faces to the names. So, without further ado…
My first child. Smart. Too smart for her own good. Unlike most pre-teens that might challenge your authority, Trixie challenges my intelligence. Fortunately IQ test after IQ test, I tend to score at least two points higher than her. As I remind her constantly. To which she follows up, “your score drops the older you get…”
Your typical pixie. Cute. Sweet as pie one moment. The next? Makes you wish that you, and everyone else in the room, was never born.
The Bart to my Homer. Never saw a bathroom he didn’t like. Plans on being either a rock star or professional wrestler. Either way, I’ll be right behind him. Reminding him that he’s still a doofus.
The enigma of our clan. Slippery as an eel and wily as a fox hopped up on goofballs. If I didn’t see him being born, I’d swear he was from another planet.
The sweetness in the morning after
You are the cry that turns to laughter
You’re the hope that ends disaster…”
My brother. Could quite possibly be the strongest man on Earth. Has the strength of ten Grinches, plus two. I’ve seen him pick up three men, twice his size, over his head and throw them 100 ft away into a pool of water. His Kryptonite? Cookies. And his favorite movie is Roadhouse.
My brother’s bride. Sweet girl, hasn’t aged an iota in the 15 years I’ve known her. Doesn’t eat any kind of meat product. Although, I think she secretly eats pounds of bacon when no one’s around.
The quintessential prankster. Just make sure you check behind your tires before you back out of his driveway. Bricks have a tendency to magically appear there.