Babies are such a nice way to start people

Well I couldn't just leave it at one photo today, could I? Brand spanking new baby and all!

So here you are, another of little Ezra. He's a little one in Henry terms, but a ripper nonetheless.

And another one for good measure. The above photograph is one with a little more perspective vis-à-vis size.

Lest you feel that I am terribly good at setting timers on cameras and then running back with a sleeping newborn, or that Jennifer has awfully hairy arms for an lass, I will admit that neither myself or Henry took these photographs. Yes, the tired-looking bloke above is Me. I'm holding a nude little Ezra while waiting for his bath to fill.

In defence of my sons, I'm tired more through the lack of sleep from excitement, than littlies carrying on. Henry has been an angel (normal evening meltdowns exempted) and sleeps through the night. Ezra is still a little confused regarding night or day, but is quiet as a newborn kitten (especially when contrasted with Henry's foghorn when he arrived on the scene). And no, alas, it isn't even a randy wife looking to add to her rapidly growing brood.

I just couldn't sleep because I am so darn happy.

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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