Dancing is not a crime

Number two in today's 'tired' series, here we can see four feet. I wear size fourteen shoes, and struggle for choice in footwear. I would wager that both Henry and Ezra will wear size sixteen or above, and will probably be stuck with cardboard boxes stuffed with rags for shoes.

It shall be a hard life.

[In a quick reader response, I can announce that Ezra is up to 3.9 kilograms, up from 2.9 birth weight. That would be down to the non-stop feeding.]

Comments

freefalling said…

Henry's feet look about the same size as my grown feet!
Go on.
Measure 'em.
How many centimetres?

12 August 2008 at 15:36

freefalling said…

Okay, okay - so I measured mine!
20cm.
Little, isn't it?
I attribute it to being 1/16th Chinese.
Actually, I even posted a photo at Freefalling.

12 August 2008 at 18:40

sonia a. mascaro said…

Amazing photo!

13 August 2008 at 07:37

Kris McCracken said…

Just measure Henry's feet, and the come in at a decent-sized (for a 21-month old, anyway) 16 centimetres.

He's catching up FF!

13 August 2008 at 07:53

Becky said…

I love this picture. It's beautiful and you should frame it.

14 August 2008 at 10:10

Neva said…

Now this a a fabulous photo.It would look great on your wall!!!

15 August 2008 at 10:12

FRances said…

His feet will most likely bigger than yours Kris when he stops growing.

19 August 2008 at 10:09

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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