Bathtime with Bonanna

A few pictures of Young Old getting some bath time in with his grandma Bonanna a few weeks back. [Note to self: It's probably time for his second bath.]

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Young Old, bringing the back the Loin Cloth.

What a nice smile!...what you don't see is the product he's showcasing at the other side of the bathtub, Shit #973.

Pharaoh Old II getting a massage from his servants.

It's amazing how freshly cute The Boy is, what with the crusted milk burpage and wafting eau d' poo scrubbed clean.

I'm Tired So You Get Pictures Vol. 6

Still feeling very under the weather, so please weather this break from my witty prose with a few pictures that my mother took while visiting Young Old (and, I presume, myself and Mama K).

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This is what we call the Poop Squirm, seen here occuring mid-slumber. Thank goodness we don't retain any shred of the memory of shitting our drawers while dreaming, as this world would be a colder place for it.

Young Old doing his preacher bit. Testify!

As you can see, Young Old is now able to hold his head up for long stretches of time and is much more lucid and aware of his surroundings when awake. It's been endless fun watching his budding personality emerge. In general, I'd say he's quickly shaping up to be someone I wouldn't mind having a beer with after work. So far, so good.

There's that "I'm trying to tell you the meaning of life, but can't quite figure out how to work my mouth muscle" look.

No complaints here...he's one happy dude.

No words can describe how cute this was...

Mama K, radiant as always...

Papa Old is Sick

Sorry about the lack of a post yesterday, but I've been feeling a bit under the weather. It's an odd feeling, this not wanting to infect a loved one. Pre-Young Old, I actively tried to get Mama K sick, as it usually meant a day or two off from work together, bundled up in blankets, watching strange foreign films and slurping homemade chicken soup. The life. Post-Young Old, that's all changed...I don't want to even breath near him, for fear of killing him with the common cold. I know it's silly, and paranoid, but he's just so fragile, so immature, so...wittle. Yes, my rational brain understands that Mama K's breastmilk is chock-full of anti-germ serum, but no matter, that reptilian lower brain of mine tells me to "Watch the fuck where you're breathing. And don't you dare touch his face without a triple handwash in near scalding-hot water, Stupid." So Mama K, bless her lovely caring heart, has been picking up the slack, doing most of the diaper changes (suckaaaa!) and chest-naps. I was feeling better this morning, but now *wink* I think I'm developing a cough; I only jest...this sickness can't pass quick enough. I'm more than ready for some Young Old kisses and snuggles. I miss my boy...

Young Old the Milkoholic

A few shots of Young Old guzzling from the pseudo-boob with drunken abandon. Someone needs an intervention:

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This boy is addicted to milk. Daddy Old's his main enabler (God, I look tired).

His Aunt T is an enabler.

His Bonanna is an enabler.

There's just no helping his milkoholism.

He's even letting his habits spill over into the outside world, seen here taking nips from the bottle at the 9th/10th Street Food Cart Block downtown.

Young Old, The Movie

As promised, a smidgen of Young Old at work.



And yes, Mama K, he loves Mommy.

I'm Tired So You Get Pictures Vol. 5

I'm not so much tired, as frustrated. I was intending on unveiling a bit of video of Young Old, showcasing his sheer cuteness. Alas, the video is too big and won't publish, so you get some photos instead. I'll keep working on that video, though, so keep them peepers peeled.

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Grandma giving Young Old a bath. We've given her the name Bonanna, a mixture of her first name (Bonnie) and a bastardized version of grandma in Italian (Nonna). We originally were going to roll with her Hungarian background's version of grandmother, but we thought Young Old would get frightened whenever we used the word Nagyanya around him.

Aunt T about to lose a staring contest.

Uncle Green holding it down at Costello's Travel Caffe, our go-to for a good hang.

GrandPops and Young Old doing what they do best.

Mama K instilling in Young Old a healthy dose of penis envy at The Yes Men exhibit at the Pacific Northwest College of Art's gallery, which played host to several artifacts used in their infamous shenanigans (but where's the Halliburton Bubble, guys?). If you haven't seen their movie, do so now...these folks are wonderful additions to the human race.

Teaching Young Old the finer points of beer drinking at a recent trip to the Pyramid/MacTarnahan's brewery in NW Portland. Cheers!

Introducing the Faux Titty

As I informed you last week, Mama K has officially returned to work. Thankfully, her employer has allowed her to stagger her maternity leave, temporarily only going back Tuesdays and Thursdays for a month, then adding Wednesdays till December, at which point she'll go back full-time. I say thankfully not only for her sake, but for my sanity, as it allows me to transition more smoothly into this whole "Mama K's Away, Dad's Here Today" thing. Young Old was confused as all hell the first day we hung out together alone, constantly looking around, wondering where that big ol' booby with the face attached to it happened to be. Luckily, bottle-feeding, or mock-milking, as we've been calling it lately, was a none issue. A few days before Mama K went off to the coal mines, we decided to do a few trial runs with the bottle, delivered by Daddy Old. Young Old instantly got it, probably because he's a genius. Relief instantaneously flowed through us...every parent fears the baby won't eat anything but milk direct from the source. But there were downsides to the ease with which Young Old was imbibing from the glass booby. Mama K felt more than a little jealousy at how much less work it was to bottle feed. You'd think breast-feeding to be a naturally simple act. Stick the nip in the mouth, baby feeds. What no one tells you is that it's a learned action for both parties, involving correct methods of latching, holding, squeezing, rotating, supporting, and cleaning. The bottle involves none of that (and in fact, requires only eight or so baby mouth muscles, whereas breast-feeding requires close to seventy). Mama K also felt some feelings of uselessness, something I'd been feeling these last weeks of breastlessness, despite my near-constant diaper changes and late-night rocking sessions. We had to have a long talk about how necessary we both were to this process of raising a healthy happy kiddo, and that regardless of how we feed him, the milk was something only she could provide (halle-fucking-lujah). In the end it all worked out, we came to terms with our changing roles, and reaffirmed the importance of both of us working together as one...

The product...one belly-satisfied babe.

A few pictures of his first experience at hittin' the bottle:

I'm Tired So You Get Pictures Vol. 4

We're using the faux-nipple sparingly, but they're called pacifiers for a reason.

Young Old's Auntie Ren was in town a few weeks back, and fell right into the role like a natural, helping out with diapers, morning snuggles, etc. Thanks, Sis, you were a great help...feel free to move into our spare bedroom and take over full-time, anytime.


Grandpa Don was here all last week, and spent a few hours each day in this pose, napping with Young Old.

I love the way our little man is hugging his Mama. As you can see, we've been spending a lot of time resting on the couch. Young Old can't walk soon enough, as some serious exercise is definitely called for at this point...my six-pack is gone, my man-boobs are fitting nicely into Mama K's pre-pregnancy bras, and I haven't seen my penis in weeks. And Mama K just gets to sit back and lose weight by titty feeding. Such is life.

Young Old the Budding Cinephile

For those of you out there who know of my love of the moving picture, you've probably been counting down the days till I took Young Old to his first movie theater. I resisted at first, loud explosions and fiery cuss words probably not being in his best interest, but alas, I am a weak man. Two weeks after his birth, Young Old found himself accompanying Mama K and I to the Kennedy School, one of several second-run theater-pubs in the McMenamins empire. An old elementary school, the Kennedy has been remodeled into a fun-lover's wet dream...the classrooms have been turned into hotel rooms complete with student desks and chalkboards, the cafeteria warped into a full-scale restaurant, and courtyards turned into soaking pools. Former janitor's closets, the detention room, and the teacher's lounge have all been turned into cozy bars in which to imbibe their many handcrafted brews and spirits. My favorite room, however, is the old auditorium, which has been transformed into a movie theater replete with decrepit yet comfortable couches and loveseats. It really is one of the finer things in life, settling into a dark, cavernous room with a strong IPA in one hand, a slice of pizza in the other, and watching a movie on the big screen for $3.00.

A few months back, dreading that the world of film was going to end for me with my son's birth, I stumbled across the Kennedy School's "Mommy Matinee." Though I take some small affront at the sexist wording of the event, the idea is either brilliant, or horrifically hellish based on your ability to tolerate screaming infants. The first showing of the day mid-week is dedicated to parents and their babes; the aforementioned screams and shitty diapers are tolerated, if not wholly encouraged. Sign us up. Our first visit found Young Old drifting off into sleep within moments, likely due to the most recent, and unfortunately sub-par, entry into the Indiana Jones saga, The Crystal Skull. The following week we came back for more, watching the infinitely superior Get Smart. Young Old chuckled the entire time, recognizing a solid comedy without having any prior experience with them. Impressive, my boy.

Next up, The Big Lebowski, one of my, and surely soon to be Young Old's, favorite films. I think a tradition is in the works, friends.

It's going to be a long day...

I know, I know...the day's barely begun, and yet I'm dead-tired already, having not been able to do our usual noon wake-up.

Mama K went back to work today, so I'm officially a Stay-At-Home Father starting around 7am this morning. I could tell that Mama K was having a hard time leaving her son with a titty-less man such as myself, but she didn't say a word, just passed Young Old over to me as the still-weak sun was filtering in through the blinds, gave me a long hug and kissed us goodbye. Bless her heart, she's a good mother. Know that the little guy and I will be missing you every second you're off slaving away...

Thankfully, my mother and sister arrived last night, so the cavalry has arrived, back-up has been called in, etc. They've been a big help already, thawing milk, burping, bathing, and changing diapers (finally, a reprieve!).

Anyway, a picture of the little hobgoblin blogging with Papa Old:

Young Old @ Lunar Cycle No.1

Depending on how much sleep we managed the night before, Young Old's arrival into our world alternates between feeling like he slid out only yesterday or sucked in his first breath 37 months ago. Some days it feels like a mix of the two extremes, a sense of being mired in sleepy molasses, yet unable to keep up with our little man's blindingly rapid physical and intellectual growth. I've a feeling we're in for one strange and wild trip...

Our boy at Month One:

BIRTH CONTROL

No apologies will be forthcoming for this public service announcement. If you can't hack it, wait a few more years to procreate.

An Alaskan Tradition

Mama K hails from Alaska, the land of curling, french-speaking separatists, oil sand fields, moose droppings, free health care, and more "Eh?" responses than should ever be allowed. Yes, we're talking about Southeast, little known as a province of O Canada. [Sorry, folks...I realize the humor here is missed by most people, but had to get in a personal dig at Mama K and family. -Ed] The fishing village she spent her youth in was, and somewhat still is, a hotbed of community traditions. Mass potlucks, grizzly hunting parties, shared governance, co-parenting (including breastfeeding...can we all say "gross"), self-made fireworks and parades, and rumored wife-swappings...this little road-less, generator-powered town of less than 100 rugged pioneers took social interaction very seriously, highlighted by their deep dedication to raising children as a united effort. Part of the initial welcome package for newly arrived former fetuses, the birth quilt was something everyone poured their love into. Keeping traditions alive, for the most part (this one was created solely through the efforts of Mama K's close childhood friend), a quilt arrived the other day for Young Old.

And what a fine piece of work it is:

Thanks, Molly O...it's beautiful.

You Too Will Need a Butt Bag

Growing up in a society such as ours, one tends to accumulate something approaching a working knowledge of the items required to raise a child. Diapers, clothes, food source...call it good.

Unfortunately, this knowledge is somewhat limited in it's understanding of waste management. Believe me, there are many things that one must purchase or create for the various realms of responsibility that baby books don't adequately prepare a budding parent for. We're talking nipple cream, booger bulbs, vomit-spillage mops, upholstery stain cleaners, and industrial-grade sanitation suits.

Our newest invention, used to stow away dirty butt rags in the baby bag to avoid cross-contamination between Young Old's anus and his pacifier:

Beautiful Losers and Desserts

Feeling a bit adventurous, the evening found Mama K, Young Old and I heading out to the spanking-new North Portland art gallery Artery for their Beautiful Losers exhibit showcasing over a dozen offbeat underground painters, screen printers, and photographers who connected in NYC during the early 90's, and have since enjoyed mainstream and international success. I came to see the work of several artists that had a big effect on me during my rebellious graffiti-filled teenage years, namely Barry McGee (his Twist pieces/portraits adorning the streets of San Francisco were fucking amazing), Shepard Fairey (anyone remember the "Andre the Giant has a Posse" stickers and the ubiquitous OBEY wheatpastes?), and Harmony Korine (his films Kids and Gummo were on near-constant rotation in the VHS deck of my youth).

Barry McGee at Deitch Projects, one of the most important galleries in NYC...I had the pleasure of delivering some art there last year to make a few bucks while out in Brooklyn visiting my buddy Reid.


Shepard Fairey with some recognizable (and maybe opportunistic) propaganda.

Afterwards, we decided to head out to our favorite dessert joint, Pix Patisserie. We quickly devoured our tasty treats while Young Old began to fuss his little heart out, washing it all down with cups of addiction-satisfying Stumptown Coffee, Mama K's first cup since we set out to impregnate her. It was decaf, of course (we'll show a bit of restraint and wait until Young Old's 3rd birthday before introducing him to the wonders of caffeine), but her heart still thumped like a marathon-running crackhead's. It'll be another long, sleepless night. Good thing we're getting used to those...

Mama K and I's Pix picks, the Queen of Sheba Truffle Cake and the St. Honore, respectively. My mouth is still watering.

I'm Tired So You Get Pictures Vol. 3

Well...to be quite honest, I'm not only tired, but I'm a bit drunk. We had our friends Jeff and Sydney over for dinner tonight and they came equipped with a couple bottles of "2 Buck Chuck" direct from Trader Joe's. Anyway, not much in the mood for writing...I'd rather be hanging out with Young Old, weaving tall tales of gentle goblins, sober pirates, and fiendish Republicans.

So yeah, a few pictures to tide you over.

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Young Old and I on a recent neighborhood excursion with Mama K to return those goddamn Mom to Mom diapers (see earlier post). He loves his stroller, checking out the passing scenery or napping like a narcoleptic whenever he so pleases.

Mama K's life. Milk Bladder, Burp Rag, Sleep Aid. Those are her three job titles. And I love her for it. She's easily the most patient, loving person I know. Big ups.

One of our favorite shirts...thanks, Annie! One of the great things about this whole "Baby" thing = free shit from loving friends/family that you previously wish you could buy but couldn't afford. More on that later.

Mark of the B(r)east

Big Brother recently cast his gaze upon our son, as evidenced by this envelope dropped in our mailbox by uniformed government agents. Young Old's first piece of mail, and it's the allotment of a number, his number, a notification that he's now part of "The System."

While we muttered about the silly necessity of it all, Young Old was displaying a marvelously mature level of apathy, showing less interest in any imagined black helicopters hovering overhead than in the delicious taste of said envelope as he brazenly began to devour his SSN card, a federal offense, to be sure.

"Fuck the Man" in his own special way.

I'm Tired So You Get Pictures Vol. 2

Not only am I too tired to write much (maybe four hours of sleep last night broken up into 1/2 hour chunks), but Young Old is in need of consolation, so I'm typing this with one hand...

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The rarest of moments.

Another rare instance of sleep.

Okay, so maybe he does sleep a lot, but Jesus, it's at all the wrong times. I don't think he's quite grasped the idea of day and night. Seen here with our homie Pork, who's basically another mother to Mama K and I. Not seen is her hubby Mike, who threatened to cook Young Old up if "it" came near him. We love you guys.

Telepathy rules.

This little pig in a blanket loves kisses.

Or not.

One thing he does love is his personal Milk Bladder AKA his mother.