This will hurt me...

Henry and I were doing our usual Saturday morning playgroup thing, and after a spot in the sandpit and a little splashing in some buckets full of water, I challenged him to a little duel. Essentially, we had a Liszt off . If you're not familiar with the term, it involves a little competitive tournament whereby willing contestants demand their opponents deliver their own interpretation of the work of the great Franz Liszt. Obviously, Henry and I are great fans for Herr Liszt, and often throw witty little Lisztisms (as we like to call them) back and forth when we're shooting the breeze. Yet it is the Liszt off that really counts. With the sort of temerity that renders most of my chess games brief, I threw Transcendental Etude No.5 ("Feux follets") at the recently turned two year old, figuring that his short wing span and much smaller fingers would render any comeback over before it began. How wrong I was. Bravely, he announced that it was his intention (the audacity )...

Here is Geilston Bay on a sunny Saturday morning. The birds are cheeping, the pancakes are cooking, the babies are cooing and all is right with the world once again. I've left that little flare of light there at the left deliberately (like the toe yesterday), but am less sure of it's worth. I will concede that perhaps it spoils the photograph after all. The title is a Swedish proverb that I like and strikes me as terribly Swedish , in a good way.

She's just funny to me these days...

Here is a quick one of Ez from the other morning. I've left my toe in there are the bottom left for scale. Yes, it was quite deliberate, not at all an accident!

Here is Henry on his first birthday this time last year. As you can see by his t-shirt, we'd been out campaigning hard in the lead up to the Federal election. In fact, I put down Rudd's eventual victory to Henry's endorsement. You see, Henry was a committed social democrat at that point. He's since shifted somewhat. Before I put him to bed last night, Henry, Ezra and I fell into our habit of discussing the work of Søren Kierkegaard. Henry is something of a fan, Ezra less so and I have long exhibited a tendency to distance myself from the Existentialists, as a rule, because they are rubbish at telling humorous stories and are thus real downers when it come to dinner parties. "But father," Henry pleaded, "once you label me you negate me". "Nonsense," I say. He then started crapping on about something to do with fish, or sheep, and believing and unbelieving, and something about a cactus (or maybe it was synthesis?) Whatever. That's the th...

For a time there, Henry was convinced that game show host was the life destined for him. He had it all: full head of luscious hair, chubby cheeks, thirty mile smile, cynical outlook on life, a predilection for fast cars and even faster women, booze, coke, a strange fascination with glass coffee tables... An incident in a public toilet, a stint in rehab, a tour of the chat shows and a double spread in Hello magazine and voilà , Internet sensation!

One of my all time favourite Henry photos, and a good day all round. Here he is the day that he really started to put it all together and crawl about the place. Yes, he'd conquered Everest before being able to crawl forwards. It was quite the achievement.