Skip to main content

Life's tragedy is that we get old too soon and wise too late.


Here is another hairy Henry running for his life.

Crocodiles.

Today we went to playgroup.

No-one else was there.

Good thing I have a key.

Comments

Roddy said…
Obviously not todays photo if the hair is any indication.
Why run if you are the only one to acknowledge your achievement. Or is he running from the camera?
Sarah said…
Soon we will have hairy Ezra here!
Anonymous said…
Why walk when you can run.
"Here is another hairy Henry running for his life.

Crocodiles."


LOL!!!!

Hi!Kris,Mum,Henry and Ezra...I have been a "little" busy, but I hope my "work load lighten" soon!

DeeDee ;-D
Unknown said…
I completely agree with the title's sentiment!

That's why I've chosen to be wise earlier, and to get old...later! lol. I wish!
Kris McCracken said…
Roddy, I took 1,214 photos of them both over the weekend.
Kris McCracken said…
Sarah, he's already here!
Kris McCracken said…
Altadenahiker, quite right.
Kris McCracken said…
DeeDee, work is hell.
yamini said…
Luv to dear Henry. and ohh, to his hair too. :-))
Kris McCracken said…
The hair is long gone.
yamini said…
Thanks for reminding me, you are sooooooo kind and nice and understanding, really!! :-P

I am just waiting for it to grow back, then we'll talk, he he he,

:-))
Roddy said…
Oh the joys of a digital camera.

Popular posts from this blog

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