Seriously, three years old?

Here’s Alek describing his birthday in his own words:

“And then there was a cake! Yeah, and presents! And I, ATE THE CAKE! I pushed it all into my mouth, and then it went down into my belly, and then it was [sad clown voice] ALL GONE… But then I was [...]]]>

Chomp, chomp

Seriously, three years old?

Here’s Alek describing his birthday in his own words:

“And then there was a cake! Yeah, and presents! And I, ATE THE CAKE! I pushed it all into my mouth, and then it went down into my belly, and then it was [sad clown voice] ALL GONE… But then I was hungry! And I opened the presents!”

This was his preview version of it at 6.25 in the morning.

Though progress is ever slow on all fronts, we’re hopeful that in this, his fourth year of life now beginning, he’ll find the time to work in pooping in the potty, you know, as convenient — we’ve sort of backed off on that front and have resigned ourselves to his starting kindergarten a full year later than originally planned. Also, by centimeters he and his brother are occasionally playing together, sometimes with minutes at a time elapsing between the hurricane gales of screaming, brutal pugilistics, and grievous upper inner thigh gnawing.

Cake & candles boy

Commemorative cupcakes

At times it is necessary to recall Magda’s dismissive, “I basically farted him out” in order to keep it all in what perspective is possible. Which is not much.

This post, unlike every other since the recent relaunch, is written in haste, with urgent other work baying at my heels, and with serious technical challenges conspiring to keep it from ever seeing the light of day if I don’t hit PUBLISH immediately.

As a means of observing Alek’s big day, go (re)-read Ian Frazier’s “Lamentations of the Father”, a fantastic piece of parental observational humor/despair in Old Testament-speak from the Atlantic Monthly c. 1997. Though I enjoyed it immensely long before I became a father, let alone began writing posts entitled “Your sons are killing me“, it seems especially apt now; from various clues, I am fairly confident that Frazier’s kids must have been in the three-to-five years range when he was so inspired:

And though the pieces of broccoli are very like small trees, do not stand them upright to make a forest, because we do not do that, that is why. Sit just as I have told you, and do not lean to one side or the other, nor slide down until you are nearly slid away. Heed me; for if you sit like that, your hair will go into the syrup. And now behold, even as I have said, it has come to pass.

Go read it all.

Happy birthday, Aleksander.

Alek -- overdue soft summer portrait

If your own personal paper version of this has not yet reached your presumably holly-decked halls, feel free to blame the Bulgarian postal service, and/or us. While the photo session that ultimately produced this card was held before the snow flew, the actual producing, writing, and mailing [...]]]>

Stand still for one Christly second, will you?

If your own personal paper version of this has not yet reached your presumably holly-decked halls, feel free to blame the Bulgarian postal service, and/or us. While the photo session that ultimately produced this card was held before the snow flew, the actual producing, writing, and mailing of the cards was held up by everything from faulty computers to malfunctioning credit cards and most of the predictably vexatious things in between, which I will leave to your imaginations.

Also:

Meltdown outtake

Enjoy the holidays, and love any children you may happen to share it with even if it kills you.

The debate rages on about who loves who(m) more. When I say “All the way,” Magda wants to know how far that is. All the way where? “To the Crab Nebula,” I reply. “And back.”

“How far is that?”

[Two Googly [...]]]>

Did I mention crab salad? CRAB SALAD. With Old Bay Seasoning courtesy of Jane, that’s crab salad.

The debate rages on about who loves who(m) more. When I say “All the way,” Magda wants to know how far that is. All the way where? “To the Crab Nebula,” I reply. “And back.”

“How far is that?”

[Two Googly minutes later]

“Well, I love you more than that.” Really? More than 4 kiloparsecs? Permit me to doubt.

(And yes, we realize that using units of distance in our attempts to quantify the unquantifiable in this debate is a questionable practice, but lots of questionable practices go on in our place.)

“Yes,” she says. “I love you to the Crab Nebula and back times infinity.”

The infinity argument being unwinnable, I have to substitute salad for nebula. If forced to choose between crab salad and Magda, she would win hands down.

Even now that we have Old Bay Seasoning in the house.

Jolly Old Saint Nick [...]]]> We’re off to the north for what Adam fervently hopes will be a white Christmas. Whether Santa will put in an appearance is contingent upon a certain skinny elf’s airplane comportment. Just to be safe, we scattered some white around the place, produced our own Santa-like homunculus, and broke out the camera.

Jolly Old Saint Nick cooperated. For fifteen or so seconds.

Adam offers his consulting services during a glitch in the tethered shooting.

The erosion in cooperation did not go uncaptured.

Magda attempts to soothe Jolly Old Saint Nick’s frayed nerves.

Ultimately, Jolly Old Saint Nick felt he had to distance himself from the project.

To all a good night!

The entire exhaustive Christmas photo-shoot set is viewable on Flickr.

We’ll be back in the new year, full of herring and vodka.

]]> …the third one in a row.

Happy anniversary, JDS!
And Crab Nebula, of course.
And back.
One million times.
To the infinite power.
Plus one.

Me: What are you making, honey? Magda: I wanted to make some pickled pumpkin. Me: You know, I seem to have heard that Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pumpkin. Magda: Did he? Me: Yes. Magda: Jerk.

Extreme cross-reference: Bo Peep

UPDATED to add:

Loathsome to such as are not acquainted with it…they make diverse sorts of [chocolate], some hot, some cold, and some temperate, and put therein much of that “chili”; yea, they make paste thereof, the which they say is good for the stomach and against the catarrh.

–Jose de Acosta, Jesuit missionary [via Wikipedia's History of Chocolate]