Karma Must Own Me.

My recent attempts at trying to reconcile with karma took a major step back this week. While gardening on Friday I killed an albino earwig. Apparently they are sacred. This beast was too special for the standard Sevin dust treatment. Hand-to-hand combat, man versus nature, his pinchers versus my hand shovel . . . only one of us was to walk away from this battle.

On Sunday, while putting the cover on my boat, one of the bungees came loose and hit me in both eyes. Forty minutes from town and with no cell service, I drove the truck and had a friend drive me to the E.R.

Lesson learned. Leave the albino earwigs alone. Kill all the brown ones you want. Kind of like buffalo.

The reason we all live in Wisconsin is upon us. Mosquitoes be damned. It is time to hang outside for the next ten weekends of glorious festivals, parades, and what we consider HOT weather. Boating, camping, beers, and brats. And Earwigs.

FIND THIS BOY A MOM

Jaded—no longer interested in something, often because of having been overexposed to it.

Narcissism—excessive self-admiration and self-centeredness.

One of the two, maybe a mixture of both. Either way it must be me, yet I always seem to keep trying. Doing the same things over and over again, but expecting different results. Is this not the very definition of insanity? There is only one heart in my chest, but it is covered in bruises. Fifty one days ago it happened again; I had my heart ripped out of my chest. Problem is my son loved her also. Is it possible that I only date sadists? I have lots of female friends; they just aren’t sadistic enough for me maybe.

In a few weeks a young lady I met over twenty years ago is coming up to visit Hunter and I. We have always been friends and I have had a crush on her since the day we met. Time, distance, and other relationships have kept us on good terms. Hopefully six days together will not ruin what we have; every time you lose a relationship of any sort you also lose a friend.

As we grow longer in the tooth and our hairs continue to gray (and fall out), my search continues. Wisdom seems to tell me to become jaded, as hurt always comes again. Ego tells me to become a narcissist; don’t let someone hurt you again. Raising a three year old by yourself makes you scream FIND THIS BOY A MOM!!

A House Full of Three Year Olds

While touring the La Crosse County Juvenile Justice Center a few weeks back, I got some disturbing news. The head administrator mentioned that on occasion, parents will bring in their unruly children and drop them off. Sounds like a daycare for naughty kids… perfect. They don’t take kids below the age of 10 is the problem. I have seven years to wait. He would love it there. Every meal is hot. Lots of friends, a Wii on a big screen TV, plus computers and snack time. Of course he doesn’t like breaking other people’s stuff—only mine.

It’s not that I don’t love him, but red headed three year olds are an extinct demographic in many parts of the world and for a good reason. There are many milestones in his life that we will celebrate, but the one I want to witness the most, ends with the words, “I now present to you the graduating class of 2026.”

Just this weekend I discovered the down side to successful potty training. You get to stop… a lot. We stopped at every single exit between Madison and La Crosse, including rest areas. After a while, I think it just became a game to him. Being a point A to point B guy who does not like to stop for anything, even bridge collapses, it occurred to me that the people that invented crack lived in a house full of three year olds.