Moderate strength is shown in violence, supreme strength is shown in levity.

Have I mentioned yet that Ezra, my most beautiful and talented youngest son [as opposed to my most beautiful and talented oldest son] is beautiful and talented?

Yes, both poo and wee in the toilet for some time now.

What a relief!

Now we just have to work out what to do with all these cloth nappies…

Comments

Roddy said…

the young fella looks like he is mulling over something. What can it be, I wonder?

9 February 2011 at 21:24

Anonymous said…

You could always have another baby, that would surely help with the nappies.

10 February 2011 at 05:46

Kris McCracken said…

Roddy, boobs, I expect.

Jackie, Christ no!

11 February 2011 at 11:03

Roddy said…

I thought he was weaned now.
The nappies could come up here for polishing the cars. They do make excellent cleaning cloths.

11 February 2011 at 15:09

kylie said…

my youngest are 12 and i still have cloth nappies here. some are brand new because the old nappies were wearing out and i was expecting them to be in nappies at least another 12 months. they trained earlier than their brothers!

13 February 2011 at 20:15

Sue said…

I have nappies still from Cody, aged 25 years and then Zac, 17 years. They are the most wonderful cloths for cleaning and drying and wiping. I will be at a loss when they finally wear out. The pile is growing smaller.

13 February 2011 at 20:44

Kris McCracken said…

Roddy, doesn't mean he has given up on boobs!

Kylie, 12? Is there still time for a relapse?

Sue, they are useful buggers.

14 February 2011 at 17:24

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

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

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

This will hurt me...

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