Raisins

Jack is a huge fan of raisins. He loves to eat them right out of the little red boxes, usually while snuggled on the futon upstairs watching cartoons. Now, Jack is, at best, a careless eater. So therefore there are often rogue raisins in and around the futon, and when I happen across these, my first thought, as someone who has lived through two terrible cases of PPSD (Post-Puppy Stress Disorder), is "Please God let that be a raisin."

The interesting thing, as Dan points out, is that I KEEP GIVING HIM RAISINS. The way that I see it is a) they are fruit, and b) they are not Cheetos.

This week Jack and I, as a rare treat, went to the grocery store alone together (this is only moderately easier than going to the grocery store with Dan, the cart-packer). While in the produce section, Jack spied some dates...which, to the uninitiated, are just very large raisins. He convinced me to buy some and, thinking that they'd be easier to contain than their smaller cousins, I agreed.

Fast forward to later that evening, at snack time, when Jack is eating dates. Fast-forward again to when I find a half-eaten date STUCK TO THE ARMREST OF THE FUTON. Ironically this was not upsetting to me, as I knew immediately what it was. It would, however, be quite worrisome to perhaps someone who had lived through PMST (Post-Monkey Stress Disorder.)