Tough Times

Don't you hate it when your clothes just won't come off? What about when you can't get your clothes off and the lady who usually helps you is snickering and taking video of your struggles? Yeah, Griffin has it hard.

He is coming off of a wild and cranky 2 weeks that involved my insane last days of grad school, Jake's partial absence, visits from two sets of grandparents, and cutting molars. His usual sleep habits (8-7) disappeared in favor of a meth addict coming down off a bender. Instead of curling up in his bed and talking to himself about squirrels, Griffin would shriek, run back and forth in his crib and vomit all over himself. Eeeew.

It's one thing to let your kid cry it out, another to let him cry it out covered in milk puke and banging his head on the crib rail.

This is also an allegory for what the fourth graders in Room 43 were doing during the week.


Mom came and did all the dirty work, sleeping on the futon, wrangling Jezebel at 4 AM and waking up an hour later to appease the hostile toddler. She did it all without complaining (too much) and even cried when Griffin left with Grammy Barb and Pop Pop. It's true what they say about truly appreciating your parents only after you have kids of your own.

Chicken Chasing

In case you haven't had your daily dose of cuteness, here's the Potamus chasing chicklets at the crawfish boil in Laytonville this weekend. He managed to pet a few and his fearless momma caught several for him to "touch gently." (Dammit, boy, I said gently!)

What's not to love about chasing chickens? Although, personally, I prefer chasing sheep because they look so silly when they run. Either way, chasing farm animals is always a blast for the whole family.

Free Rangin'

Griffin loves to hang out in the yard. Now we just leave the back door open so he can free range.


We have a picnic blanket in the garden and Griffin likes to sit on it, watch dragonflies, birds and planes while he plays Bug Fingers.


He roams around in the artichokes.


He wears an undershirt and gi-normous pink shades because he's terribly hip. You should see his tattoos.



This is his worried face. Sometimes the squirrels don't come when he chitters. Ungrateful furry bastards.

Mama's Little Helper

Griffin wanted to help me the other day so he unrolled all the toilet paper and brought it in to me. He's a helpful kind of guy. Now he likes to dump out his toys and then put them all away. Sometimes he forgets to put them away, but he's usually pretty good at it.

Griffin also insists on being the one to throw away his dirty diapers. Midway through the diaper change, he gets a concerned look as I'm folding up the diaper. I have to reassure him that I will not throw away the diaper until he is dressed and upright and he can take it to the kitchen. He takes his jobs really seriously and he remembers things for a long time. I accidentally bumped his head on the roof of the car last week when I was putting him into his seat. Not even hard enough to make him cry, just whine and look accusatorily at me. Now each time we put him in the car, he looks suspicious, whines and rubs his head.

Bug Fingers

We've been playing a new game called "Bug Fingers" lately where G Dawg puts insect pencil toppers on his fingers and attacks. Sometimes he gets more interested in the attacking than the bug fingers.

Griffin is so BIG now. He's fulfilled the cliche of "growing up so fast." He's lost most of that baby quality and is really starting to communicate (via chitters, chirps, hoots and the infamous "eeeehhhyyyyaaaahhh?")

On the bug tip, my former work asked me to come give a bug workshop at their Summer Institute this year. Sounds fun. I'll have to collect some new anise swallowtails and dust off the hissing cockroaches.

Dance for Mama

I finally got Griffin to perform some new skills for the camera. Here are a few of his animal sounds and his new wave. He's really into accessories and likes to be adorned with Mardi Gras beads while he works at his workbench.

Jake and I scored him this cool workbench for $4 at a rummage sale. Sure, someone scribbled all over it, but the screws work and it's really kind of Jackson Pollock. And did I mention it was $4?


Look at this joker! He can't even scoot forward on it and yet he thinks he can stand on his car and do tricks. What does he think this is, a Toddler Sideshow? I've caught him doing it twice and had to give him the "sit on your bottom/don't bust your head" lecture. There better not be a bunch of babies swilling sippy cups, doing car tricks and playing that rap music when I come home from class.

Griffin & Grandparents

When we go visit Griffin's grandparents, he likes to entertain them by running naked through their homes. Who doesn't like a baby doing the requisite pre-bath laps?


He also likes to feed them bits of previously chewed vegetables. He's just that kind of considerate fellow.

How We Fly

Last month we flew to Louisiana to visit our fabulous families. When we fly, we don't give a sh*t who thinks we're crazy. It's all about keeping our toddler occupied and if Griffin wants to dance on his tray table, so be it. At least he's not yelling or having diarrhea. I hate to be "That Lady" on the plane, but riding with a squirming toddler in my lap puts me in a certain mood where I lose most of my altruism.



I had a dream recently where Jake and I won a free trip to Paris, but we had to fly for seventeen hours with Griffin on our laps. It was horrible. All the wriggling and the gesturing and the sticky fingers.

Just in case my dream sounds all together too realistic, I should mention that Barack Obama was our flight attendant and he gave us caramels and sea salt and sounded eloquent when he pointed out the over-wing exits and forward lavatories. I hate the way people in movies never have dreams that have that bizarro-world quality that always invades my dreams. There's always something not-quite-right going on in the background, like the time I had to perform Spoon River Anthology naked in front of an audience of very judgemental oscillating desk fans.