This will hurt me...

Here is one of those rare occasions where I rear my head in front of the camera and make an appearance. Ezra, Henry and I are battling against the elements on Sunday (Father’s Day) down at Seven Mile Beach while Jen tries to take a snap without getting rain on the lens. We nearly managed it.

Sometimes - usually when he is cranky - he wants a cuddle even when he doesn't want a cuddle...

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...

This photo demonstrates that Ezra needs a shave. Or maybe the other bloke needs a shave. One of them needs a shave, anyway.

All right now, settle down people. Settle down. I know that it's difficult to control yourself in the face of such grace, beauty and (speaking frankly) such raw, unchecked sex appeal, but I figure that I'd tempt fate just this once and post a pic from a father/son shoot the other day. Move along now, nothing more to see...

I figure that today I got the most authentic Father's Day gift possible. Real life, of course, is not generally the stuff of toilet paper commercials or Hallmark cards; thus it is only appropriate that this Father's day has entailed being kept up for much of the night by an alternating yelling/snoring baby, who eventually wakes up the toddler at half past five in the morning. That means the great weight of lethargy on the shoulders (with concomitant short fuse), still screaming baby, and a grizzling, whiny toddler demanding to be picked up every five seconds. I did get a book, however, which was nice. I have a nice Henry photo lined up for later on.

Not altogether unrelated to the photo posted yesterday, early this morning young Ezra peed all over me (and the bed) for the first time ever. Anyone who has experienced the joy of young boys will no doubt be aware of the magnitude of such an event. Indeed, I have been surprised, shocked and somewhat saddened that it has taken nineteen days for this to happen. Henry weed on me on his very first day outside the womb (and very often afterward, I think he took it on as a personal crusade). Given the frequency of Ezra’s feeding, and the seemingly endless supply of milk, I would have expected this to have happened far sooner. The hard evidence of a mountain of full nappies clearly demonstrates that everything down stairs is going along great guns. Like the hose of a fire truck, he demonstrated good technique with an excellent, lasting flow (which in all honesty I didn’t think was going to end). I shall keep everybody updated as to whether the lad can break Henry’s sterling effort of urin...

It's the terrible guilt you see, that's the first thing. But then there is this other feeling that is even worse, well, I can't express it as anything other than grief . It really isn't nice way to feel at all.

Here Henry demonstrates that he truly is his mother's child. You can see how deftly he has taken all of the blanket off poor little Ezra. It is a fine trick. I can't understand how I can have a foot on Jen, weigh thirty kilograms more, be quite a deal stronger, yet STILL manage to wake up in the middle of the night sans doona. Answers on the back of a postcard please.

I told the lads what is maybe my all time favourite joke today: A women walks into a bar, and asks the bartender for a double entendre . So the bartender gave her one. BOOM BOOM! They didn't find it very funny.

I have to go back to work on Wednesday. My workplace has no paid or unpaid paternity leave policy (we don't even have a maternity leave policy), so someone has to go out and keep Henry in grapes. That lucky someone is me! I have managed to save up all of my annual leave, TOIL and have wrangled some sick leave taken as carers leave (as allowed in the award) to give me two weeks paid leave, and then working two days a week for five weeks. Then it is back to full time. I was fortunate enough to have circumstances allow me to work from home ninety percent of the time for Henry's first eight months, so let's just say that I am far from content to go back just a few weeks from Ezra's birth. That said, I'm in a better position than many fathers. If anyone has the secret ingredient for managing to get BOTH parents a greater slice of the parenting pie, I am all ears! To satisfy myself, today I am going to have a 'Henry and Ezra jamboree', and post a few pictures thr...