February 28, 2005

I was reading to him the first time I realized he was a real little boy.  

Let's face it.  New babies are a little slug-esque.  They undulate rhythmically.  They leave little slime trails.  They retract their eye stalks if you poke them with a pen.  The difference is, you can watch a slug forever and they'll never really surprise you, not even when they turn themselves inside out when threatened, or melt in salt. A baby shouldn't do that.

A baby, on the other hand, will be slugging away, and then one night, you'll be reading "Guess How Much I Love You" for the 50th time and they'll suddenly twist their head around to look up at you and give you a look like you've never seen from anyone in your life.  A look that says "I'm still not getting this, but you have an interesting mouth, and I like the way those sounds come out of it.  Thanks."  

A slug won't ever do that.

February 25, 2005

Don't you hate it when people spell photo with an 'F' just for assonance sake?  Me too.  Anyway, since today is Friday, I thought I'd start my very first site tradition, which is to post one of my favorite pictures, and read from your letters.  That's right!  Only two weeks in, and Elliott already has a fan base!  One of them isn't even related to him!

Bruce writes:

Dear Elliot,

Your father is a dork and a cruel substitute for the real thing.  He uses your illnesses and baby preoccupations as a form of personal flattery and validation for his excessive self awareness. 

Bruce actually likes me, and I think he's kidding.  But sadly, he's also right.  It's alright Bruce.  I've put myself in the public arena, I am prepared to take the abuse.  Also, he went on to say some nice stuff, but if I posted that part, I'd lose the sympathy vote.

Meg writes:

Poor Kid!  Maybe you'd better save some of Elliott's modeling money for his therapy fund!

I'm pretty sure that one was just to me.  I think she was kidding too.  But frankly, website or no, if the Elliott doesn't need therapy before he reaches adulthood under my care I'll have to consider taking up religion, because somebody will need some serious thanking.

Two letters.  Not too shabby.  If you'd like to send us a letter, you now have three e-mails to choose from:

Elliott at ThisBoyElliott dot com  - Write to the man himself and remind him that it's only 17.46 years until he can move out.

Dave at ThisBoyElliott dot com - Write to me, the man's man, and tell me to write nicer things about my wonderful, amazing son.

Sarah at ThisBoyElliott dot com - Write to the man's man's wife to support her when she needs it most, which is pretty much every day I post something on the site.  

Seriously, we'd love to hear from you, and I'll try to resist the urge to correct your grammar (or spelling of Elliott's name, Bruce).  Also, since this is photo Friday, if you'd like a high grade copy of any of the photos on this site I'll be happy to either e-mail them, or print some out, suitable for framing, and mail them, just as long as you don't intend to use them for commercial purposes.  That's my job.

Have a great weekend!  

February 24, 2005

Behold the mind-numbing sweetness that is the Elliott!  But don't be fooled!  Within that delightful shell lurks a monster.  No, not one monster!  Billions of little, tiny monsters just waiting to fly from the U.S.S. Elliott and bomb the crap out of the Pearl Harbor of your immune system. Wait, did I say your immune system?  I meant my immune system.  The Elliott has made it his short life's work to collect every pathogen he can get his lips on and give it to his unsuspecting and gullible father.

Oh, we've tried various containment units but he just laughs through the sweat.  Look at that evil glint in his eye.

In the past six months, I have had the flu twice, one long cold, and I'm currently suffering from a delightful ear infection.  What's next?!?  Small Pox?  Syphilis?  Don't put it past him.  The kid has no remorse.

Not that he escapes unscathed.  It's a running joke with our pediatrician that we get our three-month check-ups every two weeks.  Elliott had three ear infections in the first five months.  He's working on perfecting the chain-smoker cough & gag, in which his lungs try to come out his mouth and we both leap up to give him the Heimlich.  He had a mystery barf fest around New Years that made a visit to the coast and a night in a yurt one long gurgling, liquid surprise party.  And at his latest check up, he had not one, not two, but three different kinds of rashes.  One of them had previously only been witnessed in a population of orangutans in Madagascar.

So what do we do?  We have to keep him; we just paid off the hospital and the depreciation on these things is terrible.  Sarah already told me I couldn't send him to boarding school... yet.  But I'd like you to keep that in mind, my sweet little incubator.  I hold at least one of the purse strings, and I have first-hand knowledge that the military builds character.  

They also have cheap medical care.

February 23, 2005

Is he throwing a gang sign?

February 22, 2005

Well, I'm officially a parent, because I have now very nearly maimed the Elliott permanently.  

I have a problem with chewing, not unlike the boy, and it's been noted from time to time that I occasionally have a writing implement lodged in my mouth.  Monday afternoon, Elliott and I were celebrating President's Day, he bouncing in the Johnny Jump-Up™, me writing Valentine's Day cards.  Elliott decided he was all done with the Johnny Jump-Up™, so I stopped writing and pulled him out of it, at which point he suddenly started whining, which is unusual for him.  I took a look at him to see what was wrong and noticed something on his right eyelid; a thin blue line.  It was at that moment that I realized that the pen was in my mouth, sharp side out and inky part extended.  Needless to say, I was stunned and horrified, spending precious milliseconds running through the things that happen to the parent that draws on his son's eyeball with a pen.  This momentary distraction gave Elliott just enough time to try and make it worse by suddenly thrusting his face directly at the pen still poking disfiguringly from my stupid, stupid mouth!  

At this point in the story, so far everyone who's heard this tale has inhaled sharply through their teeth and covered one or both eyes, so I know this could have been REALLY, REALLY bad.  Fortunately, Elliott was just trying to teach me a lesson and stabbed himself in the exact center of the bridge of his nose.  

I know this was just a test, because he didn't break the skin or bruise... or end up with a pen sticking out of his eye, so thank you, son.  I'm sorry.  Chicks dig scars, but they're not so hot on patches and glass eyeballs.   

February 21, 2005

Many moons ago, when I was 12, I was dressing up for a Boy Scout Halloween party and decided to go as Frankenstein, a look I accomplished by putting on one of my Dad's suit jackets backwards, strapping bolts to my neck with an elastic band, and dippity-dooing my hair into oblivion.  I then got it into my head that it would be funny to turn out all the lights and scare my Mom when she got home right about dusk.  Upon her entry through the front door, she was greeted by a groaning shadow moaning his way down the stairs towards her, arms outstretched ominously.  The desired effect was achieved beyond my wildest dreams as my mother grabbed her chest, dropped her grocery bag, and, for the first time I can remember, uttered a profanity!  It turns out, when I put on a jacket and dippity-doo my hair into oblivion, I look just like her dearly departed father. 

This picture accomplishes the same effect, I think, only with fewer bolts and more studliness.  I know I was just complaining about a lack of photogeneity, but I will point out that when I do get a good picture, it's all blurry. 

Incidentally, at the Halloween party, everyone thought I was a priest.  A priest with bolts on his neck.

February 20, 2005

Thanks to this site, I've forced myself to go back through the hundreds of photos we've taken in the last six months, which led me to this gem.  That's not a fisheye lens, that's just our boy, circa September somethingish.  Where on Earth did he get those cheeks?  I swear, we should start a greeting card company.

I wonder, will we devote this kind of recording energy to a second child?  I was a second child, and there are about four shots of me as a baby, mostly in the background of my sister's pictures.  I attribute this to the fact that both of my parents were first children, which means they lacked the proper perspective.  I'd like to think that since Sarah was a first kid and I was a second kid, we might bring some sort of happy medium to the mix and give our follow-up project sufficient screen time, but we'll cross that bridge when the time comes.  This is not a veiled hint, either, Mom.  I'm just conjecturing.  You've got three now.  No need to get greedy.

Speaking of which, my parents are in Wisconsin this week collecting what would have been the dregs of my inheritance; a fabulous new RV!  They're staying with my aunt and uncle, which means my mom will be showing off the site, and should show them this.  We went to the zoo this weekend and there were no tigers, stuffed or otherwise, even remotely as cool as this one, so thanks again, Nancy and Denis!

February 18, 2005

What's amazing to me is that this beautiful creature, whom the camera simply loves, emerged from the genetic paring of two extremely unphotogenic parents.  We're not unattractive people, mind you, but the camera, she hates us.  Maybe photogeneity just skips generations, as evidenced by his equally beautiful Grandmother.

Of course, I'm picking the cream of the crop for display here, (with one batch of hidden exceptions you'll have to poke around to find).  And I feel it only fair to those envious folks out there that are saying "No one can be that cute.  Not all the time." that I put your fears to rest.

Elliott has his bad days.

Fortunately, he tempers them with far more good ones.

February 17, 2005

We just had his 6 month physical, where we learned that he's continuing the frickin' huge trend (See 02-15-05).  He's riding the top of the height and weight curve, and is doing aerial tricks off the top of the head-size graph.  Witness Gargantua's new hat, which he inherited from his three-year-old cousin.  It fits.  Should the unspeakable happen, we could use his cranium as a real milestone.

Now take this picture to the right.  Here my little genius has proven that he knows how to use a sippy cup without prompting at just over 6 months.  That's got to be impressive, right?  Well, the trouble is, he hates water.  Really, really hates it.  If you manage to sneak water into his mouth, he makes a face like you just peed on his tongue.  Someday we'll try to get that face on film.  So here's a boy who is a natural with the sippy cup, but so far doesn't like anything that comes out of it.  His solution?  Disengage at the last minute and pour the sippy cup contents down the inside of the front of his shirt.  Genius.  

I can't say I'm surprised by his aptitude for things involving consumption.  The first time I tried to calm him by letting him suck on my finger, I almost lost it.

He's recently picked up a milestone that I haven't found in any books.  Since about two months of age he has indicated that it's time to eat (every hour and a half) by latching onto your face and sucking and clawing like a toothless piranha (with claws).  It's pretty adorable, if a bit slimy.  But this week, he's started something new.  Now he'll grab your head, firmly but gently, lightly place his gaping maw on your cheek and just hold it there, perhaps lightly tickling you with his tongue.  It's probably similar to some peoples' first bad French-kiss experience.  This is not a hunger thing, this is pure baby love; the Protohug.  Since Sarah and I ravage the poor kid with hugs and kisses every chance we get, we believe he's just learned to return the favor.  

Creepy French-kissing references not withstanding, I have to say, it's my new favorite thing. 

February 15, 2005

As you can see, he was frickin' huge!  Needless to say, he came out the sliding door, instead of the more traditional exit.

As far as we were concerned, the boy was cute from the moment he was born, but I think these photos show Gargantua set the bar low for the first few minutes outside.  

He cleans up nice, though. 

February 10, 2005

As of today, this adorable kid, our son Elliott, is 6 months old.  To commemorate the event, our good friends James and Dylan have cleaned out the basement of their server and offered up some room for a picture or two, and the occasional piece of free verse.  We hope you stop by from time to time as I, Dave, father of the Elliott, expand my html and Photoshop abilities to bring you exciting content available nowhere else on the web! Only $19.95 a month!

Ostensibly, this site is about our boy, but since I'm something of a narcissist, there may be the occasional entry that has little to do with our son.  I'll try to keep it to a dull roar.  As I'm just getting the hang of FrontPage, there isn't a lot of functionality just yet, but I hope to implement some cool stuff when Elliott isn't trying to type the letter 'n' over and over while I'm working.

We'd love to hear from you, so send us an e-mail at SHEPWD at MSN dot com DAVE at THISBOYELLIOTT.com That will be our exclusive website e-mail address until we find a way to implement something directly off the site.