Virtue and vice are not the same, even if they undergo the same torment.

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.

Comments

Anonymous said…

and here's to gingermegs!

22 October 2008 at 15:27

Priyanka Khot said…

it is definitely a good thing for all the Henry and Ezra enthusiasts.

Both of them look adorable in the pics u've posted...

hope Henry has a great birthday tomorrow.

22 October 2008 at 16:24

Dina said…

Know what you mean. It's those little things that are great advancements at the tender age and we parents enjoy them accordingly.

We used to call the head-raising baby thing "Up periscope!"

22 October 2008 at 17:21

Kris McCracken said…

Hallam, I'll tell him you said that, and then let him kick you in the shin on Sunday.

Priyanka, Henry had a good day. I will post on it soon.

Dina, I'm going through them with two at different stages now, one still for the first time and two with some point of comparison. Both remain mind-blowing.

24 October 2008 at 08:56

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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