Taking A Break From Me, To Talk About Me

At the beginning of May, I decided that I would blog Monday through Friday. I'm not sure why, maybe for consistency or maybe out of boredom. I honestly couldn't tell you. I'm happy to say, however, that I accomplished that goal. Not exactly a huge deal, but Yeah Me! anyways.
As a result of writing so much about myself and then, of course, rereading what I wrote an unreasonable number of times looking for flaws, I'm kinda sick of myself. I'm not sure why you aren't. Maybe it's because you only read each post once, or maybe you are sick of me and too nice to say anything. I appreciate your kindness.
I don't know about you, but I could really use a break from blighted ovums, cute boys and football; so today I think I'll write a little about myself as a toddler, back before I had a clear thought in my head. (Ha, who am I kidding about clear thoughts...anyone?)
I was a delightful child, the kind of colicky, crying baby every mother dreams of. Around the time I stopped vomiting and crying, the Army moved our family to Germany, and I really began to break out of my shell. I ran away from home every chance I got. It's not that I didn't like it there. It's just that there wasn't any candy, soda or, more importantly, grapes at home.
I used to sneak out of the apartment and go up and down the hallways to other apartments, knocking on the doors and asking each person that answered if they had grapes. If they didn't, I moved on to the next apartment. According to my mom, a few women on our floor actually started stocking their kitchens with grapes in anticipation for my visits.
Another favorite haunt of mine around this time was the grocery store which was conveniently located right across a major highway from our house. I'm not sure how I made it there alive, but I did. As a reward for my daring behavior, the cashiers would set me up in a cart with a candy bar and a soda. This action might have been counter-productive in trying to get me to stop crossing the street. I'm just saying.
On one of my many outings alone around the German countryside, I got nabbed by the Military Police (MP). I bet you didn't realize I was such a bad seed. After a rigorous torture process during which no blood was spilled, I received, what else? A candy bar and a soda.
The MP's tried to get my mom to come and pick me up, but she wanted nothing to do with me. She told them to lock me up and teach me a lesson. Either that or she had a house full of daycare kids and no car to get across town, I can't quite remember.
So the MP's did what they hate to do and called my Dad in from his Army training to come take me home. When he arrived, the MP's brought him into the room where I was and asked me, "Is this your Daddy?" I took one look at my candy and soda and one look at my Dad and with all the conviction a toddler can possess, I said, "Nope."
I think they shipped us back to the States shortly thereafter.