I tried for quite some time to get a picture of the Elliott in his Halloween frippery.  One would think that a devil would be a poor choice as a costume for the most angelic baby ever, but we inherited it from the Roan, #1 cousin of the Elliott, and it fit.  Eerily, despite his obvious and copious qualifications for sainthood, when dressed as the devil, I could not take a picture of him without it turning out blurry.  Coincidence?  Yes.  Definitely.  I think the settings were off for indoor photography.

No picture, that is, except this one.

As it turns out, to contain the father of evil's dark powers of possession and mayhem, just throw a bib on him.  

Just think how this knowledge could have helped out over the last 4000 years.  Oh well, better late than never.  If you need a spare bib, we've got loads.

 

 

Sarah and I were invited to an excellent Halloween party last night.  Every year, Brian and Crystal, #1 Cool Couple of The Elliott, set up a rockin' party using a different theme of the relatively nerdy persuasion.  Costumes are required of course.  Sarah is a very private person who doesn't particularly enjoy dressing in costumes, as that generally falls into the "public performance" category on her "things to avoid" list.  To put this in perspective, Sarah's biggest barrier to getting married was not cost, or all the planning (or that she'd be marrying me), but that people would be staring at her all day.   If this sounds like mockery, it's not.  I love my wife's humility and desire to work quietly in the background while certain other people hog the glory.  It's just that I really can't understand not wanting to be in the spotlight.  It just does not compute.  It's like how native Japanese speaker's brains can't process the difference between the "L" sound and the "R" sound.    

Despite Sarah's misgivings, I knew we had to go to Brian and Crystal's party this year for several reasons:

    1) If you blow off three Halloween parties in a row, you will not be invited to the fourth.

    2) Two years ago, Brian built a fog-spewing flying saucer over his front door!  Nerdvana!

    3) This year's theme was "Favorite Video Game Characters."  Those who know me know I needed to go to this party like Trump needs a hat.

The trick was to come up with a costume for Sarah that didn't feel all costumey.  The result?

Pong.

Actually, we sort of turned out a little like Atari's American Gothic. 

As the paddle, Sarah definitely got the long end of the stick.  She spent ten minutes at Goodwill finding white clothing.  I spent six hours on Saturday constructing my pixilated masterpiece, only to discover at the party that I could not touch my hands together.  This made pouring beer from a keg impossible, leaving me at the mercy of passing Dig-Dugs and Marios.  Also, boxes are not slimming.  As a result, about an hour in, I ditched the box and stuck a square of notebook paper to my chest.  Call it an upgrade.  

Anyway, that incredibly long and ultimately dissatisfying set-up leads us to how we ended up with a weird, hinged, painted cardboard box with holes in it in our living room.  The Elliott recognized it's fine craftsmanship immediately and had a grand time drumming on it and crawling in it, peeking through the neck hole and grabbing his father by the throat.  It's true potential, however, was soon revealed as a kissing booth.  Don't ask me why.  It was his idea.  Despite my tempting offer, I got the usual response.   But Sarah once again enjoyed the fruits of my creative endeavors with the offer of the rare Eskimo Kiss.

Yes, that whole long story was so I could put up that Eskimo Kiss picture.  Some things just need a lot of fanfare.

 

 

For some reason, my Mother brings out the squirrel in all of her Grandchildren.  Here we see the Elliott practicing picture thwarting at its finest.  

He really does love you Mom.  He just doesn't want any pictorial record of it. 

 

It's Friday, which means I should post a favorite photo and letters.  I've definitely got you covered on the first one, but unfortunately, due to technical difficulties, I can't access the second one, so I don't know if there are any letters in there or not.  If you're sneaky, you might get one in right now and then pretend it's been there all along.  

As an alternate to letters, I've magically rigged this particular photo, which might just possibly be my favorite E-Photo of all time, so that when you click on it, it goes black and white.  Let us know which one you prefer and you'll probably see it hanging in our house next time you visit.  

I think the reason this picture is so perfect and real is because Sarah took it.  She's got a great natural eye and she's much better at catching him just being him.  I tend to wait until he's mugging for the camera.  Some might even accuse me of encouraging it.  She tends to wait for him to stop.  It probably didn't hurt that I was at home asleep when she stole off to the park with him to wipe all the water off the slides with his butt.  She's on contract with the Park Service.

Prior to earning his crawling merit badge, the Elliott used to stare wistfully from his stroller whenever we wheeled him past the play equipment at the park near our house.  He'd clearly been mentally rehearsing in his head for his first play structure foray, because once we finally let him out, there was no hesitation.  He's mastered the slide.  There would be an actual sliding picture, but then we'd have to follow up with a picture of our son crumpled headfirst in a pile of well-trod sawdust.  He's still working on his dismount.

Since he's still not free-walking, he appreciates the convenient cruising bars.  Enjoy it son, because if I catch you cruising any other bars before I'm 51, you are so grounded.  

Here we see his natural ham come out as he pretends to fall face-first out of the tube.  What a card!  

Then, of course, there's the thoroughly excellent tire swing, and the poignant "Setting Out On Your Own" Hallmark™ moment.  Next April 1st, we'll be making major cash on that one.  You'll only get that if you've been a loyal reader.  Consider it a perq.

Here, it appears that our child has found religion on the monkey bars, but actually that's just what happens these days when he encounters any dog or dog-like creature.  While I'd love it if he were howling, he is actually just huffing violently through pursed lips, which is Elliott for "Woof."  If it were any other kid, I'd say that's taking the whole unbelievably cute thing too far, but somehow he makes it work.  It's just a small part of his genius.  

A final wipe of the hands, and his work is done here.  Time to head home and do gymnastics on his poor sleeping Father's head.  

I love being this kid's Dad.  You really should try it.  Puts years on your life.

 

 

I have never seen my father without a beard.  Clearly, the Elliott would like the same courtesy.  

Unfortunately, the fur fairy never visited my neck of the woods.   

Pun intended.

 

 

Please move your mouse over Dr. Jekyll over here to see what it means to be 14 months old.  His personality just keeps developing more and more layers, and lately, they've all been variations on the theme of fickle.  

For the first year, the Elliott was consistently sweet and wonderful and easy-going.  While he is still completely sweet and wonderful, he is occasionally a little persnickety.  The synaptic fibers that have slowly been snaking toward the opinion center of his brain have finally hit pay dirt and now, it's all about the preferences!  Today, I prefer Mommy.  Today, Daddy = Smelly, Scary Hobo.  Tomorrow, I prefer Daddy.  Tomorrow, Mommy = Chain-Smoking, Alcoholic DMV Attendant.  

Every moment has now become a choice to consider... deeply.  He selects his own bedtime story, but not before removing every other book on the bottom shelf and giving it a good solid pondering.  He has learned that if Daddy makes it all the way through a book it's bedtime, so he prefers to read four or five books 80% of the way through.  He prefers that Daddy let him turn the page whenever he wants.  Daddy has recently developed a preference for paraphrasing.

The Elliott now prefers to be carried, especially since he learned that if he points, his pack mule usually goes in the indicated direction.  He definitely prefers this mode of transport over crawling.  Actually, I can't really blame him on that one.  If I could get someone to carry me, I'd be a pointing fool.

What this sudden emergence of this hyperdynamic opinion has brought home for me is how quickly his mind is developing and absorbing and transforming.  I consider myself to be pretty imaginative, but every time I think I have him all figured out, he switches it up on me in completely random ways.  Particularly in the last exhilarating month, the pace of change has stopped having identifiable periods.  He has become a change machine.  If you'll permit a Star Trek nerdism, he's quite borg-esqe.  You shoot your phasers at him once, it might throw him for a bit, but you better keep up with the changes or you'll be assimilated before you know it.  

 

And to those of you who were expecting more pictures after my little holiday, I promise to post every remaining day in October, including this weekend, so that the October archive doesn't resemble a pamphlet.  In other words, I'm rationing the pictures so I have something to post tomorrow.  Thank you for your patience.

 

 

Like all good first time parents, we eschew processed foods with excessive sugar; cookies, frozen juices, pudding, Cap'n Crunch, etc.  This will ensure that as he grows older, the Elliott will have no interest in such things.  It will certainly not lead to an unhealthy fascination with such foodstuffs; forbidden fruits to be coveted and pined for, to be snuck whenever the sneaking is good.   

Fortunately for him, for some reason this ban doesn't extend to natural sugars.  Enter nature's junkfood loophole: The Watermelon.    We've given him chunks of it cut into paranoid-Daddy-approved non-choking-hazard-sized micro bits, which he has enjoying quite stickily.  But at the Fruit and Flower Daycare picnic last weekend he got his first real slice of watermelon.   

He liked it.  A great deal.  So much so that it was gone almost instantly.  Note the way he's shoving it into his mouth with the flat of the palm so as to avoid losing errant fingers.  Had it been a cartoon, there would have been the sound of a large mill saw.

Since children are immune to the effects of natural sugar we decided to try another one.  This time we thought we'd challenge him.  What followed should be the subject of a nature special.  Having determined the watermountain to be too large for standard buzzsaw technique, the Elliott decided to bear down.  There was no chewing.  The giant wedge of watermelon just slowly entered his mouth and did not return.  It was almost like he unhinged his jaw.  One things for sure, I'm not feeding him by hand any more.  

On a complete non sequitur, I got off my duff and linked to some of our good friends who have also begun blogging so they can get googled too.  See sidebar.  Nathalie is a real writer.  She actually gets paid to do it sometimes.  Brieanna is a real teacher.  They pay her to do that, although not enough.  And Dan is a real professional politician and is highly likely to be called upon for some nepotism some day when I need a cushy position in Public Works.   You should vote for him some time, if he ever actually runs for office.  He's idealistic and principled and we're very fond of him.

At the very least read their blogs.  They update more than me.  But then again, who doesn't?