Shall we make a new rule of life from tonight: always to try to be a little kinder than is necessary?

So we've bought this massive great bed for Henry months ago, but he prefers the cot. Meanwhile Ez is stuck in a portacot waiting for the cot to be freed up when hippie hair Henry moves to the big boy bed.

I'm thinking Ezra will be in that bed first, myself...

Comments

KL said…

I know why Henry is refusing that bed. It is because this cot looks very comfortable with all the enclosures around it compared to that big boy bed. I myself would prefer this cot-bed :-D

25 July 2009 at 02:45

Roddy said…

Convince Elmo to move to the bigger bed and perhaps Henry will move with him. I dunno, perseverance I guess will win out in the end.

25 July 2009 at 19:14

Whoistin-tinandsnowy? said…

Hi! Kris,
Maybe Henry, just feel comfortable with familiar. He probably so use to sleeping in that bed that he don't want to "give" it up yet!
Hi! Jen and Ezra,...
Take care!
DeeDee ;-D

26 July 2009 at 06:45

Kris McCracken said…

KL, he is stubborn, like his mother.

29 July 2009 at 08:27

Kris McCracken said…

Roddy, Elmo likes the cot.

29 July 2009 at 08:27

Kris McCracken said…

DeeDee, he'll have to be the one to decide, you can't force him.

29 July 2009 at 08:27

MurciaDailyPhoto said…

I see that Henry does not want to stop being a baby. Surely, after the summer (here in Spain) my son, who is now almost 21 months of age (the next day August 1 will meet the 21) will be spent in the crib to bed, but I do not know if I have to wait he has 2 years of age. What do you think about this, Kris?

30 July 2009 at 20:15

Kris McCracken said…

MDP, I think that children are both simple and complex and always surprise!

3 August 2009 at 10:05

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke...

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

This will hurt me...

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