Skip to main content

Violence is man re-creating himself.



So today was the littlest Aussie battler's second birthday party. Of course, Master Ezra will not actually be TWO until tomorrow, but Sunday generally draws a better crowd than Monday.

The cake represented one of Ez's best friends - the man non-gender specific person in the moon - and was politely received the the audience in attendance. While not quite on a par with the previous crocodile from Henry III, it represented an advance on "sickly Elmo" of Henry II. We can all agree that it was a step up from the "sunken apple tea cake" of Ezra I.



As I am increasingly finding, the combination of hosting duties and wrangler to two energetic and fearless specimens does not leave much time to snare many good snaps, particularly on a winter's day not braced with much in the way of good light. As a consequence, I've not come away with much of a haul in terms of photographs.

That said, I have got a few here, and if you check back for tomorrow's morning shot, you can even see Ezra blow out the candles on his cake in high definition video!

Comments

Dina said…
Happy birthday dear dear Ezra!

What a great moon cake for you!
FRances said…
Kris they are lovely photos I am just sorry I could not be there.The cake look great Henry said he saved some for me.
Sue said…
What sort of cake was it? That is...was it chocolate, vanilla, etc? Wish I could have been there. Give the little fella a big hug from me tomorrow (and every day, now I think of it! Why just keep 'em for birthdays!???)
Roddy said…
Was the tin foil edible, or just there for detail?
It's hard to believe that it was only two years ago that we brought this big kid home from hospital.
I guess I am fortunate to be able to be home for each of Ezra and Henrys' birthdays. Sorry we couldn't be there on the day. See you Thursday.
Tell Ez to keep a heap of kisses for Pa.
Roddy said…
Going back to your first pic, it looks like Ez may be auditioning for the follow up for Up. He has enough balloons to go places.
SH -ic said…
Happy birthday dear Ezra .. good journey to the moon
Kris McCracken said…
Dina, he was satisfied.

Frances, I think that it is all gone now…

Sue, it was a vanilla egg sponge, dyed yellow with a lot of yellow icing.

Roddy, to keep the cake board clean.

As for balloons, we hired a gas canister and could well replicate Up with the amount in our lounge room yesterday.

One planet, he had a good trip!
Roddy said…
Is that a moon lander or a biro sticking out of the cake? Top left.
The tin foil doesn't appear to be under the cake, rather over with cut aways to depict face and stars.
Did Ezra eventually achieve lift off?

Popular posts from this blog

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

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