Christmas in Georgia.

Noah saws the top off the tree so we can put a shiny thing up there.


Jim assesses the tree...


...and finds it pleasing.


Pleasing enough to remove all the shinies, even.


Tree post-Jim.


The Salvation Army gave Jim this truck for free. It is now among his most beloved possessions.


The cats never really got into the festivities.


Jim enjoyed helping me make the Christmas cake.


Like really, really enjoyed it.


The verdict? GOOD.


Doesn't he look like a cute little grey-eyed froggy?


The finished product.


"Help, I've fallenclimbed onto the table, and I can't get down!"


Christmas morning.


Jim is bewildered by the bounty that surrounds him.


Poor kid doesn't know where to start.


Finally digging in.


We had to take this away from him almost immediately because he started using it as a flail with which to beat the cats.


One of said cats, hiding in terror.


Jim can't wait to finish unwrapping to see what's inside.


Blurry, cut-off joy.


His absolute favorite present: the little plastic hammer that came with his big truck thing.


Noah watches with pre-coffee amusement.


I hand Jim tools as required.


Jim explains the basics of automotive engineering to Noah.






Seriously, this toolbox, man. Kid loves it.


Sitting on the couch with Dad, still lovingly clutching his hammer.

Three anecdotes.

1. This one is less of an anecdote and more of a current habit. Jim's been on a major cereal kick lately, and I'm guilty of occasionally leaving him on the couch with a bowl of cheerios and a stack of books or an episode of Curious George. Inevitably he pours his milkless cheerios all over the couch, at which point he runs to get me, tugs on my shirt, and announces "cereal uh-oh!" This is pronounced "see-ree-deedle uh-owwwwwwwwwwwwwwww" and is the cutest thing you've ever heard.


The pictures in this post have nothing to do with the stories, but I figured y'all might stage a coup if I made a post with no pictures, so here.

2. This one illustrates the importance of wording when dealing with tiny children who want to do everything for themselves. Yesterday Jim asked me for a banana. So naturally I get him one, but when I go to peel it before handing it to him, he starts sobbing hysterically, so I just give him the unpeeled banana and figure he'll come get me when he feels like eating it. No such luck.
"Do you want me to peel your banana?" I ask.
"No no no," Jim says, clutching his banana.
I come back a couple minutes later. "Can I peel the banana for you?"
"NO!" And out come the angry eyes.
I return, feeling proud of my idea for convincing him. "Do you want me to help you peel your banana?"
"...no."
Aha. Uncertainty. "Do you want to help me peel the banana?"
"Da," he says, with a decisive nod, and he hands it over.



3. Scene: I'm making brownies while Jim watches from his high chair. Jim sees me get out the baking chocolate, and his eyes get HUGE. Before I can hide toss it in the melting pot, he starts pointing and making an assortment of oh-god-I'm-starving noises.
"Mmmmmmmm," he howls, signing for cookies as vigorously as he can.
"Buddy, this isn't good. It's yucky. Not yummy. Yucky."
I'm trying to make myself clear, but he's obviously not having it. He keeps signing and looking distraught, so I hand him a bit of the unsweetened chocolate. Let the poor kid find out for himself how gross it is, right? Ought to be more effective than trying to tell him, anyway. So I give him the chocolate, and he pops it into his mouth without hesitation.
Immediately his face changes from glee to tragedy. His eyes scrunch shut, his mouth puckers, he turns bright red like he's about to cry. But he's not about to be proven wrong, so he steels himself with everything he has and slowly raises a trembling finger into the air: "GOOD."

MOO.

As soon as we got back from Christmas, Noah started building.


The finished product took all of forty minutes for him to make.


And here it is in service.


Yes, he's cute. Yes, we're going to eat him (and his unpictured holstein pal).

I'm surrounded by baby things.

Seriously, my world is absolutely flooded with babies at the moment. Jim, of course, and also a puppy, and also two baby cows, and soon forty-five day-old chicks and ten goslings. So much cuteness, so much chaos. Jim is in every post, naturally, but the cows will have to wait until tomorrow (and the baby birds until they arrive). For now, here's Alfred.


We got him at six weeks old, because the owner was kind of a moron and wouldn't keep him until the proper age.


Jim looks uninterested, but don't let that fool you.


He likes him. Mostly. When he's not going into Ferocious Puppy Warrior mode.




Six weeks old in this picture.


Nine weeks old in this one.


Deceptively peaceful-looking here. Most of the time he's racing through the house like a maniac and trying to chomp on whatever his little jaws can fit around.


Like Emmy's sleeve, for example.


His dad is a lab/pit bull mix, and his mother is a rottweiler/something mix. Your guess is as good as mine as far his adult appearance goes.

Two series.

Series One: Noah tosses Jim about











Series Two: Jim discovers how cameras work (or, Jim takes his first MySpace picture)

Size comparison.

June 11, 2011 - about two weeks old.


February 5, 2013 - about eighty-seven weeks old.

In other news, I now have pictures uploaded, so prepare to be inundated.