Please excuse the dorky parents and watch for that booty shake. Obviously, we've been listening to a lot of James Brown lately.
April 14, 2010
April 13, 2010
Young Hippy's Drum Circle
Something you should have learned by now, GrandPops. This dude marches to the beat of his own drum, and no other's. Thank goodness.
April 9, 2010
Weddin' Crashin' '09
As further proof of the insane number of weddings we attended last year, here are a few more photos that folks have sent us in the time since:
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The crusty appetizer is really ruining this touching moment, bud.
The Crew remains mostly childless, but we're working hard at spreading the infection.
Distant Cousin Alexis and Young Old running game on the dance floor.
Cover of GQ magazine, October 2009. [That's the Geriatric Quotient, FYI. -Ed.]
My ingenious method of keeping Young Old silent and immobile during his Auntie Ren's ceremony consisted mainly of a steady stream of previously sequestered salted-pretzel sticks. Feel free to bite this style.
No need to wait till age 21 to have an intellectual conversation with your son over a frothy brew AKA Dada Juice.
Mama K and Young Old get on the Good Foot.
=====
The crusty appetizer is really ruining this touching moment, bud.
The Crew remains mostly childless, but we're working hard at spreading the infection.
Distant Cousin Alexis and Young Old running game on the dance floor.
Cover of GQ magazine, October 2009. [That's the Geriatric Quotient, FYI. -Ed.]
My ingenious method of keeping Young Old silent and immobile during his Auntie Ren's ceremony consisted mainly of a steady stream of previously sequestered salted-pretzel sticks. Feel free to bite this style.
No need to wait till age 21 to have an intellectual conversation with your son over a frothy brew AKA Dada Juice.
Mama K and Young Old get on the Good Foot.
April 8, 2010
Young G's by the 1, 2, 3s
We didn't even have to work on this one. Coming from my genetic pool, it was instinctual.
April 3, 2010
Young Old, Lunar Cycle No. 19
Young Crapper at nineteen months:
Astute readers will notice the mini-toilet. Yes, that's right, potty training is now underway. More on that in a later post.
Astute readers will notice the mini-toilet. Yes, that's right, potty training is now underway. More on that in a later post.
April 2, 2010
I'm Tired So You Get Pictures, Vol. 36
I wish I knew what he's thinking, how his design process works, why he picks one color over another and utilizes this line here and that curve there. Us simpletons will never fully grasp the mind of genius. Regardless, more fodder for the baby book.
Nessa Bug indoctrinating Young Old in the ways of the video game addict. Welcome to the club, little buddy.
Auntie Annie and King Richard participating in a very unorthodox version of musical chairs. Obviously, you all lose.
I have to admit, I'm a bit jealous. I'd sure like a ride in the dump truck.
Young Old has turned into a voracious reader. There is no satiation for his literary cravings. He'll ask you to read the same crummy kid's book 487 times in a row, then look morally offended if you decline to participate in the 488th recital. Glancing around, he often spies his next victim, then bombards that individual with boundless cute and undying irritation until they succumb to his wordy desires. It's all a bit out of control. We find ourselves running at the site of a book in Young Old's greedy paws, friends have stopped visiting, and the UPS gal won't even deliver to our home any longer after getting sucked into a marathon reading session a few weeks back. But being overjoyed at the prospect of some verbal relief, we're more than happy to play dumb when unknowing victims stumble into our humble abode. Auntie Annie, tag your it. Our apologies, but better you than us.
All aboard the Flying Suppository, aka Portland's aerial tram. It was a good hang, guys. Come again soon. Seriously.
Monster mash. Graveyard smash.
My two favorite people. BFF for reels.
Originally, we'd intended to disguise Young Old's given name on this weblog, but if you've been watching any of the videos, we've spoiled that plan a hundred times over. The name's Jasper, but he'll forever be a Young Old. [Thanks to the Bellingham crew for the beautiful table and chair set. Easily Jasper's, I mean, Young Old's most used and cherished belonging. -Ed.]
Frisco the Cat has been taking things surprisingly well lately. She still won't give Young Old the time of day, but at least incidents of hissing and clawpawing have dropped significantly since she lost that ocular sphere of hers. Maybe it's age, but since the surgery, she's mellowed out a great deal. This, of course, hasn't stopped Young Old from doing all in his power to molest and harass her on a near constant basis, relentlessly chasing her around the house, creeping up on her blind side, and attempting to shove any object he lays hands on into her empty socket. Frisco, you're a true champ.
Nessa Bug indoctrinating Young Old in the ways of the video game addict. Welcome to the club, little buddy.
Auntie Annie and King Richard participating in a very unorthodox version of musical chairs. Obviously, you all lose.
I have to admit, I'm a bit jealous. I'd sure like a ride in the dump truck.
Young Old has turned into a voracious reader. There is no satiation for his literary cravings. He'll ask you to read the same crummy kid's book 487 times in a row, then look morally offended if you decline to participate in the 488th recital. Glancing around, he often spies his next victim, then bombards that individual with boundless cute and undying irritation until they succumb to his wordy desires. It's all a bit out of control. We find ourselves running at the site of a book in Young Old's greedy paws, friends have stopped visiting, and the UPS gal won't even deliver to our home any longer after getting sucked into a marathon reading session a few weeks back. But being overjoyed at the prospect of some verbal relief, we're more than happy to play dumb when unknowing victims stumble into our humble abode. Auntie Annie, tag your it. Our apologies, but better you than us.
All aboard the Flying Suppository, aka Portland's aerial tram. It was a good hang, guys. Come again soon. Seriously.
Monster mash. Graveyard smash.
My two favorite people. BFF for reels.
Originally, we'd intended to disguise Young Old's given name on this weblog, but if you've been watching any of the videos, we've spoiled that plan a hundred times over. The name's Jasper, but he'll forever be a Young Old. [Thanks to the Bellingham crew for the beautiful table and chair set. Easily Jasper's, I mean, Young Old's most used and cherished belonging. -Ed.]
Frisco the Cat has been taking things surprisingly well lately. She still won't give Young Old the time of day, but at least incidents of hissing and clawpawing have dropped significantly since she lost that ocular sphere of hers. Maybe it's age, but since the surgery, she's mellowed out a great deal. This, of course, hasn't stopped Young Old from doing all in his power to molest and harass her on a near constant basis, relentlessly chasing her around the house, creeping up on her blind side, and attempting to shove any object he lays hands on into her empty socket. Frisco, you're a true champ.
April 1, 2010
Ho. Ho. Ho. Round 2.
Seeing as Young Old's previous experience with Christmas consisted mainly of being stuffed in a giant sock, we thought we'd give it a proper go this time around. As you can see in the following images, he met the barrage of symbols, lights, and gifts with almost a detached boredom, as if he were saying, "This is OK, but next time I think I'd rather just skip the big to-do, lay low, run around naked, and drink bottled beverages." Yep, he's taking after his father already.
========
Neither Mama K or myself had ever done the whole Macy's WinterwonderlandsitonSanta'slap-thing. We'd heard from other parents that it is THE Christmas event. They practically prepare for it year-round...and almost had us convinced, too. We arrived, bathed in all the intricate light displays, and cued up to get some one-on-one time with Santa (I needed to let the Big Guy know to put a laptop on my list). Then we got to talking with the other folks in line; apparently, the wait can take up to five hours (FIVE!), and the photos cost, at minimum, the same amount as a kidney replacement. Um, fuck you, Santa. Young Old looked frightened anyway, so we bounced. Don't think this shall become part of the tradition going forth...
Our cute little tree. Don't mind the naked gnome blocking your view.
Thanks for the milk and cookies, bud. The orange was a nice treat, performing double duty in preventing scurvy during the long journey, and helping to trigger diabetic attacks. I love those. The note needs work, though, pal. -Santa [Click on the image to get a bigger, more readable image, if interested. -Ed.]
That "Ho, ho, ho" is pretty terrifying, kid. I probably shouldn't have let him watch Silent Night, Deadly Night.
This book wasn't nearly as good as I remember.
Away in the manger. [One of my favorite photos of the two of us. Thanks, Renze, for gifting this to Young Old. -Ed.]
Props to Santa for being ecologically-minded with the recycled plastic, BPA-free place settings, though I'm sure it was mandated by some agency to offset the methane output of your reindeer squad. Thanks, anyway; he loves them.
"I think I'm getting the hang of this. Here, let me open all of your gifts, too, Mom."
The three Magi (Auntie Ren, Uncle Train and Grandma Alaska) arrived to shower The Boy with gifts. He wasn't too sure what to make of all that frankincense and myrrh, but thought it best to deposit the gold in a college savings account.
Okay, okay, okay. So maybe he did have a good time. Cleaning up, that is. We've trained him well.
========
Neither Mama K or myself had ever done the whole Macy's WinterwonderlandsitonSanta'slap-thing. We'd heard from other parents that it is THE Christmas event. They practically prepare for it year-round...and almost had us convinced, too. We arrived, bathed in all the intricate light displays, and cued up to get some one-on-one time with Santa (I needed to let the Big Guy know to put a laptop on my list). Then we got to talking with the other folks in line; apparently, the wait can take up to five hours (FIVE!), and the photos cost, at minimum, the same amount as a kidney replacement. Um, fuck you, Santa. Young Old looked frightened anyway, so we bounced. Don't think this shall become part of the tradition going forth...
Our cute little tree. Don't mind the naked gnome blocking your view.
Thanks for the milk and cookies, bud. The orange was a nice treat, performing double duty in preventing scurvy during the long journey, and helping to trigger diabetic attacks. I love those. The note needs work, though, pal. -Santa [Click on the image to get a bigger, more readable image, if interested. -Ed.]
That "Ho, ho, ho" is pretty terrifying, kid. I probably shouldn't have let him watch Silent Night, Deadly Night.
This book wasn't nearly as good as I remember.
Away in the manger. [One of my favorite photos of the two of us. Thanks, Renze, for gifting this to Young Old. -Ed.]
Props to Santa for being ecologically-minded with the recycled plastic, BPA-free place settings, though I'm sure it was mandated by some agency to offset the methane output of your reindeer squad. Thanks, anyway; he loves them.
"I think I'm getting the hang of this. Here, let me open all of your gifts, too, Mom."
The three Magi (Auntie Ren, Uncle Train and Grandma Alaska) arrived to shower The Boy with gifts. He wasn't too sure what to make of all that frankincense and myrrh, but thought it best to deposit the gold in a college savings account.
Okay, okay, okay. So maybe he did have a good time. Cleaning up, that is. We've trained him well.
March 27, 2010
I'm Tired So You Get Pictures, Vol. 35
GWAR! GWAR! GWAR!
Young Old recruited my assistance in building his Radio Flyer wagon, cementing his reputation as an effective overseer. Thanks go out to the Cali crew for this wonderful gift.
The Young Don Juan flirting with our friend Ina...
...then turning around and directing his efforts at her daughter, Coco. Scandalous, Son, scandalous.
Young Old treated his pal Nessa Bug to a fine dining experience comprised of frozen peas and tater-tot casserole. Truly classy.
What beautiful people. I'm a lucky man.
This reminds me of those childhood photos of serial killers that, in hindsight, probably should have clued in their parents to the future that lay ahead.
Naked hang out is Young Old's favorite activity these days. We're prepping him for our summer trip to the Olive Dell Ranch. [Seriously kidding. Nudists are fucking creepy. -Ed.]
Reminds me of that scene from A Christmas Story.
Randy: I can't put my arms down!
Mother: Well... put your arms down when you get to school.
Young Old's first snowman/-woman/-person. He had a blast eating it's abdomen, then spent the next week whining about his frostbitten lips. Can't have it all, kiddo.
Young Old recruited my assistance in building his Radio Flyer wagon, cementing his reputation as an effective overseer. Thanks go out to the Cali crew for this wonderful gift.
The Young Don Juan flirting with our friend Ina...
...then turning around and directing his efforts at her daughter, Coco. Scandalous, Son, scandalous.
Young Old treated his pal Nessa Bug to a fine dining experience comprised of frozen peas and tater-tot casserole. Truly classy.
What beautiful people. I'm a lucky man.
This reminds me of those childhood photos of serial killers that, in hindsight, probably should have clued in their parents to the future that lay ahead.
Naked hang out is Young Old's favorite activity these days. We're prepping him for our summer trip to the Olive Dell Ranch. [Seriously kidding. Nudists are fucking creepy. -Ed.]
Reminds me of that scene from A Christmas Story.
Randy: I can't put my arms down!
Mother: Well... put your arms down when you get to school.
Young Old's first snowman/-woman/-person. He had a blast eating it's abdomen, then spent the next week whining about his frostbitten lips. Can't have it all, kiddo.
March 20, 2010
Take a Walk in My Shoes
Or don't...
I'll totally support you, Son, in following your own footsteps, if such a thing becomes possible. I think you need to, um, time travel, or something.
March 17, 2010
Our Little Earbud
Let's just hope the perfect parenting he's showered with on a near-constant basis counteracts this brief exposure to old school Triple 6 Mafia.
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