GPoD: Halloween 2005

It's the Great Pumpkin, Graham Fink!

I don't know what the big deal about this Halloween thing is--I don't get to eat any candy. 

GPoD: 10.30.2005

Gram and Graham

GPoD: 10.29.2005

Graham and his folks with Great Grandma and Auntie Kate at the Duke Gardens.

GPoD: 10.28.2005

Graham with his Great Grandmother Shaw.

GPoD: 10.26.2005

But I don't want to be a pumpkin!

GPoD: 10.25.2005

Smiles for mommy.

GPoD: 10.24.2005

Fun with daddy.

GPoD: 10.23.2005

Gram and Gramps are fine, but . . . I MISS MY DADDY!!!

GPoD: 10.22.2005

Aw, cut it out, gramps!

GPoD: 10.21.2005

Graham discovered his tongue today. Hey--this thing is pretty cool. In and out, in and out . . . .

GPoD: 10.20.2005

Here is Graham reacting, with some credulity it must be admitted, to one of his Grandma's more fantastic tales. We're going to have to work on Graham's critical listening skills.

GPoD: 10.19.2005

Here is Graham reading from one of his favorite books, The Very Hungry Caterpillar. He's a pretty hungry little bug himself.

Tomorrow I leave for Atlanta to attend the Sixteenth Century Studies Conference--high times! I'm roadtripping with two of my fellow students, and I'll be back on Sunday. Atlanta is nothing to get all that excited about, but there's a good crop of interesting papers on the program, and lots of opportunity for meeting other folks in my field. And, there is the distinct possibility that I may experience my first eight-hour(-plus?) stretch of uninterrupted sleep since . . . oh, let me see . . . August 3rd, 2005, I believe it was. That alone should be worth the trek. Of course, I'm sure I'll be missing my little buddy before I even hit the interstate, but I've given him permission to call as much as he likes. And his grandma and grandpa Slinger are in town to help ease the separation anxiety, so hopefully all will be well.

GPoD: 10.18.2005

Graham is rather sullen this morning. This despite a vigorous romp around the Duluth Room in his new rugby suit (one of mummy's great finds garage saleing this weekend). Frankly, I think he's beginning to regard his parents as paparazzi--when he's not being fed.

A Walk in the Park

Today we took Graham for a hike at the Eno State Park. It was a beautiful fall day--the sort of day that makes one almost forget one isn't in Minnesota any more--and we were intrepid hikers. We packed water and granola (cruchy folk that we are) and hit the trail for a brisk hike of several miles along the river. Unfortunately, we didn't reckon on Graham's bladder. I was carrying him in his Snuggly, when all of a sudden I felt a warm, moist sensation spreading spreading slowly across my torso. This at the furtherst point in our trek from the car. Needless to say, the return hike was a good deal more vigorous than the first leg. Graham slept through the entire adventure, an impish grin fixed on his little face. Gotcha, dad.

The GrahamCam: Bobblehead Baby

Here is some fun footage of Graham sitting up and looking around. He still needs some help in maintaining an upright posture and his neck control needs some work, but we're making great strides.

On Soccer and Jihad

I've never been a great fan of soccer--at least not since I was cut from the team in the eighth grade--but the fatwa against the sport recently delivered by an excitable Saudi cleric seems a bit over the top to me. No boundary lines, no shorts or numbered jerseys, no crossbars on the goal posts, no spectators--all these are to be shunned as the corrupt practices of Jews, Christians, and polytheists. Still, I found the recommendation against excessive celebration after scoring to be of some merit: "You should spit in the face of whoever puts the ball between the posts or uprights and then runs in order to get his friends to follow him and hug him like players in America or France do, and you should punish and reprimand him, for what is the relationship between celebrating, hugging and kissing and the sports that you are practicing?" Good question. One can only presume that American football games are not broadcast in Saudi Arabia; what would this fellow make of the NFL's endzone dances? Maybe a dose of such puritanical rigor would be good thing for our professional athletes. I, for one, think that the sight of a swarm of angry mujahideen storming the field to experctorate on those grand-standing thugs would be a wholly edifying spectacle. (A translation of the complete text of the fatwa is printed in the New York Times)

Here you see a photo of our new secret weapon in the war against infant insomnia. This was a great find--on eBay, nonetheless--the Fisher Price Ocean Wonders Aquarium. It has little plastic fish that swim around in a tank of water with lights and quiet, gentle music. Very mesmerizing, apparently. It keeps him quiet for about five minutes; then we have to go back into the room as quietly as ever can be and turn it back on. The photo is a little blurry here because the room is almost pitch-black and the camera is set to the slowest possible shutter speed. Ssshhh... 

A Poem

A poem for your enjoyment: "Disobedience" by A. A. Milne James James Morrison Morrison Weatherby George Dupree Took great Care of his Mother, Though he was only three. James James Said to his Mother, "Mother," he said, said he; "You must never go down to the end of the town, if you don't go down with me." James James Morrison's Mother Put on a golden gown. James James Morrison's Mother Drove to the end of the town. James James Morrison's Mother Said to herself, said she: "I can get right down to the end of the town and be back in time for tea." King John Put up a notice, "LOST or STOLEN or STRAYED! JAMES JAMES MORRISON'S MOTHER SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN MISLAID. LAST SEEN WANDERING VAGUELY: QUITE OF HER OWN ACCORD, SHE TRIED TO GET DOWN TO THE END OF THE TOWN - FORTY SHILLINGS REWARD!"

James James Morrison Morrison (Commonly known as Jim) Told his Other relations Not to go blaming him. James James Said to his Mother, "Mother," he said, said he: "You must never go down to the end of the town without consulting me." James James Morrison's mother Hasn't been heard of since. King John said he was sorry, So did the Queen and Prince. King John (Somebody told me) Said to a man he knew: If people go down to the end of the town, well, what can anyone do?" (Now then, very softly) J.J. M.M. W.G.Du P. Took great C/0 his M***** Though he was only 3. J.J. said to his M***** "M*****," he said, said he: "You-must-never-go-down-to-the-end-of-the-town- if-you-don't-go-down-with-ME!"

GPoD: 10.15.2005

Now that's a happy baby.

GPoD: 10.14.2005

Graham is usually most cheerful first thing in the morning. We know who that came from....

This is a picture of the scarlet maple tree I planted in our front yard this spring. I post it here lest any of my Yankee readers suppose that North Carolina is completely devoid of the splendors of autumn (now where would you get that idea?). As you see, it's quite lovely.

GPoD: 10.13.2005

Irony (i're-ni), n. [Fr. ironie; L. ironia; Gr. eironeia], 1. a combination of circumstances whereby the literal reality (a onesie saying "happy laughs") is opposite the actual reality (cries of misery).
Does anyone know where we can find baby clothes with the words "Crabby Colic" printed on the front?

The Two-Month Checkup

Graham had his two-month visit to the pediatrician today and received three shots. He was not pleased. But he weighed in at a thumping great 13 pounds, 8 ounces--in the 90th percentile, the little glutton. And he's tall, too: 24 inches in length--again in the 90th percentile. So at least he's well-proportioned. His head measurement was only in the 75th percentile, which suggests that even though he's a big boy, he isn't getting a big head about it.
Things are going very well on the sleep front, as well. He slept for twelve hours last night with only two feedings--including one six-hour stretch--a remarkable accomplishment for so small a person. The next step is getting him to put himself to sleep. The pediatrician suggested today that we start putting him to bed before he's actually asleep; this so that he'll not become dependent on his mummy or dad to go down for the night. A nice thought, but we're still cherishing our precious hours of sleep, so this may have to wait for a while....

GPoD: 10.12.2005

Hurrah for new blue jeans!

GPoD: 10.11.2005

We are sleepy bunch these days.

The First Fire of the Season

Fall has finally arrived in North Carolina. Sort of. It's mid-October, and the outside temperature has finally dipped below 70 degrees. Is this really cold enough to justify a trip to the woodpile? Not in Minnesota, it isn't. But we're not in Minnesota any more. It's October in the South, and even though there isn't even a hint of color in the foliage, we're enjoying carmelled apples and the crackle of the fire.
As Garrison Keillor puts it, "There are no simple changes in this life. You divorce Minnesota for the California coast [or the North Carolina Piedmont!], a rational move, and all is well for a while, but then October rolls around . . . and suddenly you miss fall. Terribly. You miss the delicious sadness of a fall day, the blazing yellow birches and aspen, the red and orange and yellow maples, the red sumac, the oaks turning orange, the air smelling of old horses and potaoes and wood smoke and rotting logs. The great monument of trees, the sweet air, the keys to memory, to your story. You've become an occupant of a house, a credit-card holder, an insuree, a face on driver's license. October is the connection to when you were eight years old and the splendor in the woods, the pageantry of trees, red and gold and ochre, and the sweetness of the chill air. You long for it." (In Search of Lake Wobegon, 116)
Yes, we do. But at least we've got the wood smoke. Better go open the flew a tad more...

GPoD: 10.10.2005

The complacency of a clean diaper.