"Have you all gone mad?" My husband asked as we sat around the dinner table, last night. He was absolutely pissed that I had denied him ketchup for his oven roasted potatoes. "What kind of bizzaro world is this that I can't have some stinkin' ketchup on my potatoes?"

"Sorry babe," I replied, "Ketchup has corn syrup in it. You know that we cannot eat anything with corn syrup." He looked ready to blow steam out of his ears. "I don't five a damn if it has red food dye number 2,000. I don't give a crap if it is made with pure corn syrup, red dye and bleached flour....I want some ketchup and I want it now!" I ran to the fridge to secure the only bottle of ketchup we own. "No! I won't let you set a bad example for the kids!" I tried to block the fridge door. The kids all sat at the table, witnessing the unfolding drama that was our battle for ketchup custody. They all thought it was the funniest thing ever. Some were cheering on Dad, some were on my side.

Finally, Daniel pulled out the secret weapon...his fingers. He knows that I am powerless if tickled. Voila! Fridge access granted. He pulled the beloved bottle from the shelves and ran with it, tucked under his arm as if it was a football and he was playing in the Super Bowl. I screamed, "Nooooooooo!" from my spot on the floor. Just to make his point, he squeezed out a heaping blob of the no-no condiment onto his plate. The kids all stared, wide eyed, waiting to see if he would actually go against my orders and partake of its tomatoey goodness. He looked over at me, indignantly, and stated, "It's my birthday and if I want ketchup, I'm gonna have ketchup!" He devoured the whole pile of potatoes and ketchup, then sat back in satisfaction at his victory.

I just shook my head in disappointment. "I hope you're happy. You just set a terrible example for your kids," I jokingly lectured. He laughed, "I have been eating ketchup since I was a kid and I turned out fine!" I looked at the kids, who were waiting anxiously for my answer. "Yes, and you also have been hyperactive since you were a kid. Go figure." I made a mark on the imaginary scoreboard, with my finger and smiled. "You're such a know it all," Daniel scoffed. Sometimes I wonder if the kids think that they have complete screwballs for parents.