The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.

"Must... get... baby..."

Urgghhhh...

"Must... get... baby..."

Arghhhh...

"Just a... little... bit... further..."

It must be very frustrating when you are beginning to understand the fundamentals of crawling, but you're just not quite there.

Even moreso when you finally manage to get your hand on it an an anti-social toddler snatches the prize at the very final second.

One day he shall have his revenge. One day...

Comments

Sue said…

Hehehehehe.... which one is the doll??? They look the same!!!

Revenge?? Am I hearing a second born child's longing for retribution even after all these years!!

2 March 2009 at 17:40

Kris McCracken said…

Sue, it isn't easy being second.

2 March 2009 at 18:41

Sue said…

Apparently being green isn't either!

2 March 2009 at 21:33

KL said…

Can I have both the dolls please? Also, innocent until proven guilty. So, supply us with a photo if you want us to believe in that anti-social story.

BTW, are those whales/dolphins stranded near wherever you live?

3 March 2009 at 01:03

Debbie Courson Smith said…

Go Ezra...train Henry to hand you the toys you want.

3 March 2009 at 03:41

Kris McCracken said…

Sue, that's what Bob Brown reckons.

3 March 2009 at 09:18

Kris McCracken said…

KL, not at all. King Island is right in the middle of Bass Strait, which is a lot closer to Melbourne than it is Hobart.

3 March 2009 at 09:19

Kris McCracken said…

Diva, he's good at snatching them away, not so good at helping.

3 March 2009 at 09:20

Dina said…

Ain't it the truth!

3 March 2009 at 22:34

Kris McCracken said…

Dina, Martin Luther King said some rather precise things in his brief time here.

4 March 2009 at 08:29

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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