Hats.

Jim finds hats delightful.


Also astounding.


Double the hats, double the fun. Obviously.

Not enough joyful-baby-hat-swapping for you? Try this (now with bonus Jim-words!):

I suck.

I said I'd post pictures, and then I didn't, damn me. Well, here are a couple (the last few from February). It's taking me a lot longer than expected to edit this last batch, so... Easter pictures are coming, but they'll be a little while.


Jim took a picture. Isn't it lovely?


Jim is GOOD at computer.


Sleepy baby head.


Blurry, but that FACE. C'mon, he's cute.


Generous, too. (note to the judgmental: I only let Alfred jump up like that once to get a cute picture - he ordinarily isn't allowed to)

&*^%$ toddlers, man.

A transcript:

Jim: CHEEEESE!
Me: Okay, here's some cheese.
Jim: Noooooooo! *screams, pushes it away*
Me: Okay, you don't have to have it.
Jim: CHEEEEEEEEESE! *sobs, hurls self to ground*
Me: Look, man, no one's fighting you. You can have it or not, whatever you want. It's just sitting there right by you.
Jim: *shrieks, turns red, continues conniption*

Most of the time he's charming, but he's definitely started the full-on irrational tantrum age. Stay tuned for pictures of the charming times.

The photoshop gods have heard my plea.

Or Ilya did, anyway, which is just as good.

Can we call ourselves farmers yet?

So, turns out that bulls are freaking dangerous beasties to have around. Furthermore, it turns out that he-calves turn into bulls unless something is done to prevent it. And that is where this comes in:


(note also the comically large calf bottles in the background)

That, my friends, is an elastrator. How it works is, you put this teeny little rubber band (about the size of a cheerio) on it and stretch it open, then you put that around the calf's poor little fuzzy scrotum, and then you remove the tool and leave the band. It cuts off circulation to everything, and then in a couple weeks the whole shebang just drops off. No blood, no mess, and apparently minimal pain. So that's what we did on Monday.


Calves waiting for us. Poor bastards had no idea what was coming.

We were pretty trepidatious, for obvious reasons, but it actually went pretty smoothly. Once Noah had them down on the ground, they just laid quietly and looked around while I did the dirty work, then they just got up and ambled away with no hard feelings. The only hard part was (TMI ahead) finding the goods. The scrotum was pretty obvious, but apparently young calves keep the *ahem* important bits safely tucked away upstairs during times of stress (such as being sat upon by Farmer Noah). I won't go into details, but suffice it to say that you haven't lived until you've spent some quality time rooting around a young calf's abdomen looking for testicles.


I know those gazes look reproachful, but that's just how they always look.


Jim helps give them a 'sorry-about-your-gonads' bottle.


Noah leaves the scene. If I weren't so lazy, I'd photoshop an explosion behind him.

Bonus Puppy Pictures:


The Amazing Flying Alfred. This is what you get whenever you call him (unless he's sniffing something).


D'awwww, puppy!

Daddy and Jim, post-buzz cut.

Their heads are exactly the same shape now. Large and round in the back, with a weird kidney-shaped dip on top.


I'm not sure Jim knows anything is different, but he sure seems pleased, doesn't he?


See, that's his "I'm pleased" face.


Look at that post-animal-cracker belly, would you? Don't you just want to poke the belly button?


Enough pictures, must climb.


Summit reached.


Noah gives Jim a serious talking-to about the responsibilities that accompany his respectable new haircut.


Jim becomes contemplative. Is it just me, or does he look a lot older with this new hair?


This picture would make a good magazine cover.


Mutual angry faces.


Jim tries on his new butch persona.

Snip snip.

Ever since Jim started growing hair on his head, Noah's been just burning to shave it off. So, on Sunday, I let him, and you know what? It wasn't that bad.


Mr. Shaggy prepares to do battle with the clippers.

He did seriously need a haircut. Lately his hair has just refused to lay flat; it just floated around his head like a fluffy blond halo. The final straw was when the wino behind us in the grocery store line asked whether Jim was a boy or a girl and then informed us solemnly that he could use a haircut. "Yeah," says I. "I guess he could."


Forgive the state of the mirror. That's what happens when you let a toddler perch on the counter every night to brush his own teeth.

Jim did better than you might expect. He asks to have his head shaved every time Noah does his own, so he's already used to the clippers. We also gave him a jumbo bag of animal crackers to keep him focused on something besides wiggling about.


The first clip.


:'(

I did better than you might expect, too. Noah thought I was a bit of a baby, but seriously, there was minimal whimpering and no actual tears. Seriously, though, would somebody tell Noah that a kid's first haircut IS a big deal and it's totally not weird to be a little sad about cutting off the hair he was born with? Sometimes I swear that man has no soul.


Awww, look how tidy he looks now.


He thinks he looks pretty good, too. (and Noah snipped off that tuft on top right after this shot - out of regs, he said)

Stay tuned tomorrow for the post-haircut photoshoot. I'd post it now, but that's really just an excessive amount of pictures. Can't have you people getting spoiled, now.