This will hurt me...

Henry, Ezra and Jen checking out a wallaby. April 2010. It was delicious. It's Theme Thursday again, and this week another challenging theme: PET . It's particularly taxing as we don’t have any PETs in our house. There is simply no room, in both a physical as well as a metaphysical sense. You see, we have small children instead. Childless couples I know often compare PET ownership to child ownership. Most of them - if not quite equating the relationship - sail very close to the wind in that regard. Having owned a few PETs in my time, and now having racked up a few years of being punished blessed by children; I feel more than certain that the fissure between PET and child is immense. This got me thinking further. What about the advantages and disadvantages of a PET versus a child? Which is better? Yesterday evening, and well into the night, Jen and I tagged teamed off with our two children: her with a repetitively vomiting Henry and I with an intermittently wailing Ezra (I...

Here is a photo of Henry mere seconds after he has awoken from his afternoon nap. He's a bit stroppy, as usual.

The Penguins of Madagascar = Ten minutes of peace and quite. God bless you penguins!

Here is Henry anxiously inspecting an African-inspired sculpture in the Henry Jones IXL building. Suffice to say that he wasn't game enough to take on of her leaflets. Pros and Cons of Toddlers Part Two Pro #2: They're CUNNING . Sure, their cunning is simplistic and often clumsy, but you can't help admire a two year old who manages to adeptly play mother off against father, and father against mother in the cold, clinical pursuit of more sultanas. Con #2: They're CUNNING . You can't trust them. They are entirely driven by the id. The ego hasn't developed enough yet. If you know your Oedipus, you'll know why this is trouble to a father.

Here is the view walking up Murray Street into the sun late in the afternoon. I like the colours in this one, as it feels like autumn even though it is winter AUTUMN [flu + baby + toddler = brain atrophy]. I'm all about list-making at the moment, so I thought that I'd riff on a familiar theme and present to you part one in a new series... Pros and Cons of Toddlers Pro #1: They're CUTE . I know that some dirt magnets have heads on them like half-eaten meat pies, but I think that we all know that MY children are handsome young fellows. This immediately gains you cred points in the general community. Con #1: They're LOUD . As a lover of peace and quite, this has been hard to deal with. Whatever it is that they seem to be doing, they appear compelled to do it at full volume. This can encompass everything from having a bath to picking up toys to reading a book. The one exception seems to be "pouring water on clean clothes". In this sense, when you can't hea...

It's Ezra, it's up close, and by christ I have a rotten headache. Camomile hasn't dented it, nor has paracetamol. This is going to take trading in the toddler for a goldfish.

Here are my three favourite people in a familiar situation to anyone with a toddler. Grouped together is mother, father (behind the lens) and baby, with toddler straying well behind to inspect various bits of gravel, rocks, grasshoppers, chip packets, empty cans, cigarette butts, bloodied syringes and broken glass. Eventually he catches up, but only after a multitude of threats and at least one [slow] count to five. Toddlerism is a kind of dementia, as is the state that one lapses into while being a parent to a toddler. We love him nonetheless.

Here is the little la terreur de la nuit himself, going through his rigorous regimen of calisthenics, aerobics, tai chi and yoga. He generally spends a good few hours a day working on his strength and his stamina . He is a firm believer in the maxim of a healthy mind and a healthy body , and is a young man not to be reckoned with. Last night, Jennifer and I found out just how effective the diminutive warrior’s stratagem of looking innocent but plotting anarchy is when backed up by exceptional physical and mental capabilities. The sheer force of will to scream, wail and generally carry on had us both up and down throughout the long and brutal hours of darkness. I don’t believe that his machinations and manoeuvrings are part of a broader plot to attempt a putsch – as I suspect the case to be with dear Henry – but I think that Ezra is attempting a more complex , multifarious form of psychological warfare . The intentions of this subterfuge is beyond my tired and feeble mind, wh...

Not content with keeping us up all night, he pulls our hair in the daytime! It's a good thing that he has very kissable cheeks...

Sometimes when you have small children, you can go a little mad. Small children - sweet as they are - can get so annoying that you'd be forgiven for wishing that you had a long break from them. A teething baby, however cute and regardless of how much he smiles, still has a tendency to wake up every hour-and-a-half. You know, that starts to get to you after a while. That said, you can be very forgiving of a baby. A baby is just a baby. A toddler, on the other hand... Well, a toddler is a toddler. A toddler can be a quite engaging chap. A toddler - a bright one, anyway - can put together simple sentences. A toddler can answer questions. A toddler can get out some play dough, bring it across to you and plead, "Daddy make little balls please". That might not impress you, but when said child didn't say much more than shouting " MORE !" at you for months on end, I guarantee that you'd find it extraordinary too. Yet at the same time, this little person will ref...

If I have not already made it abundantly clear, let me just restate what a wonderful little bloke my favourite youngest son is . Ezra is the most easy-going, relaxed fellow in our household, always ready to great you with a smile and a laugh, and has excellent manners for a four month old. So, despite this being the Feast day of St. John Chrysostom , I am happy to announce it Ezra is a top man Day . On other matters, I know that Miles is unhappy about my rough handed treatment of the Nepalese flag, and I just want to say that I understand his frustration. In opting for such a radical design, you can see how Nepal has made a strong play for originality and difference in the whacky world of vexiology. That said , sometimes it does not pay to stand out too far from the crowd. Think about it this way, you see, why is it that Goths , emos and people dressed as Willie Wonka are routinely assaulted in the street? That’s the way I see the Nepalese flag: it’s the goth kid of the flag w...

Today's ad is a pearler. Like a lot of advertisements today, it's aimed at the littlies, in this case toothache drops in 1885. Of course, we're not wasting our time with cloves and the like. No, these drops have a bit more of a kick to 'em. Not only was the medicine likely to dull the pain, but help put the user in a "better" mood, fire them up, enhance their sex drive, facilitate some poor choices regarding personal appearance, destroy their marriages and encourage them to make really, really self-indulgent music involving lengthy guitar solos and synthesized horns.

Let me come right in off the bat and assert that some of the facial work, mannerisms and all round acting abilities in this vintage advertisement for a tasty stool softener are quite simply a sight to behold. Check out the misery evident on the little girl's face! Look at that quizzical concern (with a very subtle bit of index finger work) by mom [sic]! The magnificent matronly poses by the pushy laxative snake oil saleslady concerned neighbour. Get me Bette Davis as “Mom”, Shirley Temple as “Cherub” and Joan Crawford as “concerned neighbour” and I’ll get you twelve Oscars! Green Light! On another note, the tagline to this, and all such ads really should be: Motherly Guilt: selling crap to people for over ONE HUNDRED YEARS!

A little under four months and look at Henry show off that neck strength. Magnificent ! There is something a little odd about having children about the place, if anyone had of bragged to me about one's ability to lift their head, count to three or sleep through the night, I'd have repeated my [admittedly in poor taste] response to talk of the 'Special Olympics': "what's so special about it? I can do all of those things". Now though, it's not so uncommon to find me boasting about a particularly impressive burp, or wax lyrical about another human being informing me that they've done a poo. It's like a strange sort of brain damage, and I'm not sure if it a wholly good or bad thing.

As a point of comparison to the [rather wonderful if I do say so myself] photograph of Ezra posted yesterday , I thought that I'd dig up a photo of a very youthful-looking Henry from way back in the heady days of January of 2007. Here you can see Hank at the same age as the (new) littlest Hobo, sporting a grin that makes you wonder just how much he's had to drink. To answer a question posed in the comments, I think that Henry has certain features that mark him in close similarity to his mother (it's the eyes, you see, and the milky white skin of a Russian Tsaress). It was perhaps most pronounced when he was a wee bairn, but he still carries a glint of Jennifer everywhere that he goes. Ezra, on the other hand, I think carries a little more of me in him. He's a good shade or two darker than Henry, which one must assume is a trait picked up from my side. He has darker eyes too (me), and a knowing grin that hints at a depth of character, honour, unabashed masculinity and t...

Launceston and back today. Throw in a baby screaming all evening, a stroppy, whining toddler and we're talkin' good times ! Maybe the marathon yelling session will mean an equally long sleep. One can dream, can't I?

Given that Jen is in Sydney for the day and most of tomorrow, and is 1056 kilometers (656 miles) away from her little man (Henry, that is), for the first time, I felt I'd best put up a picture of him to try and make her feel a bit better. So here he is, a true little Aussie battler™ with a Vegemite -smeared dial, collapsed in a heap after thirteen-hundred laps of the kitchen bench on his trike. He very much won me over when, upon putting him to bed for a nap he asked me for "MORE!" I demanded back, "more what?", thinking that he meant Smarties and reminding him of the absent word "please". His reply? More kisses please! He can kick me in the head as much as he likes if he keeps that up.

There has been a clamouring from the mob for more Henry on this blog, and never let it be said that a baying mob cannot frighten me into a response. Quite unlike Leonidas at Thermopylae, I am not prepared to deny the teeming masses the object of their affection. So here he is, my first born, the hulking beast that is Henry Fitzgerald McCracken . Actually, I am quite proud of Henry today. As ever, we traipsed off this morning to play group, and as ever, a horrid young man – who I shall not name for reasons of decorum – was there again. This young man (some deal older than my Henry), is not popular amongst the group. Clearly a spoilt child – a ‘ Hutchins man’, at three-and-a-half no less – he lacks in comprehension what he does in manners. Even at this early age, he is what one might call a ‘taker’ in life, empowered in his selfish ways by parents seemingly ignorant to his effect upon others. Truth be told, I feel him to be a simpleton. The lack of any awareness of the withering glares...

I cringe whenever I hear war employed as analogous to sport, so I apologise in advance for this post. You see, I appreciate very clearly the temptation to employ what we think we know of war (understanding that thinking that we know something about something is very different to knowing about something). So, please forgive me for clutching at the metaphor. In my defence I offer my own well worn tale of child-induced weariness. The cumulative effects of a new baby with still-confused patterns of sleep, and an older prime physical specimen who has appeared to have prematurely entered that phase famously called the “terrible twos”, have wrought a grave toll on my nerves. I feel for my health. Even without concerns about the security of my manhole , it is safe to say that both mind and body are struggling at the moment. I have endeavoured to keep the intake of fresh fruit and veg up, and the reliance on caffeine down, yet the constant interrupted sleep is inevitably taking its toll. Whi...

As someone who was aware of his own shortsightedness from a young age, but a combination of ego and vanity compelled me to hide the fact until the age of seventeen. Let's just say that a range of excuses were called upon to explain away a seeming unwillingness to do all of the "copying off the blackboard" that seemed to encapsulate a fair whack of my time at school. That said, I'd like to think that the creativity of my evasions coupled with an enthusiastic zest for challenging authority ensured that teachers - whatever they happened to think of me - never thought me dull What I like most about the above public service announcement are the implications of poor little John passing his optical examination with flying colours. Really, there would be a certain pride in finally excelling at something, but this would come at the realisation that, yes Johnny, you really are as dumb as a box of hammers.