Snow in Tahoe

Immediately following Griffin's Birthday, Winter Solstice, my Birthday, Christmas and Grammy B and Aunt Kati's visit, (deep breath) we loaded up the car and drove to Tahoe to experience the wonder of snow and the Jones Clan (my maternal krewe of relations.)


Jake and I didn't see this kind of snow until we were in our mid-twenties, so we are glad to give Griffin the snow-filled childhood we never had. We made mud and chigger angels, instead.


Griffin goes over the snow on his red sled- a much easier way to haul a toddler.

Jake and G Dawg in motion. Frankly, I think Jake and I were just as enthralled with sledding as Griffin was, if not more. In Baton Rouge there was an outdoors store that had a fake snowy hill, but really it was a carpet-covered incline. We went there for Birthday parties to slide on carpet. We are really undernourished when it comes to snow.

Wheeeeee!!!

2010 Resolutions

So, as you may have noticed, better blogging habits was not one of my resolutions. I'll do my best, but we are moving at the speed of light here, people. Check Facebook for the latest and greatest G Dawg. More posts to come, but don't get too excited...

Since Christmas

In an effort to show how well-balanced he is, Griffin likes to carry a purse. Some may call it a satchel, but really it's my pumpkin-orange handbag from 2003. Only now it's Griffin's. Isn't that one of the moments you dream about when you are pregnant? Giving your young son his first purse so he can cram it full of important thing like animals, hair ties and Aunt Joell's business cards.

Since his Birthday and the holidays (more to come later) Griffin is the proud owner of many, many toys and an ever-expanding vocabulary that includes "hecka messy in here", "goober pea" and "dammit" (overheard on the roadtrip home from Tahoe.) Grammy Barbara gave G Dawg the motherload of little animal figurines (and he already had dozens!) Granny Lynn sent L'il G a "road mat" and a set of farm equipment vehicles- which Grammy B's animals all ride in. Cindy (following in the tradition of her mother, my grandmother, "Luci,") gave Griffin a train set that the farm animals and tractors can also enjoy.

Don't even get me started on the new Hungry Hungry Hippos game...

Jake is engaged in the generational tradition of teaching his son how to play Hungry Hungry Hippos while Grammy Barb looks on appreciatively.

Trolling for Santas

This is Griffin's third Christmas but he's not even two yet. We spent our first Christmas in the NICU and last year was crazy hectic, so we've been making up for it this season by taking photos with Santa all the damn time. Apparently you can't throw a rock in Willits during the holiday season without hitting a Santa, AND they give you tons of loot!


Train Santa: Griffin thought Train Santa was a bit weird, but the oatmeal cookie served as an excellent distraction. This Santa gave us a stuffed penguin, a free train ride in an antique train car and a bunch of snacky cakes.


Protect and Serve Santa: This Santa was at the community center in our neighborhood. When we pulled up, we were deep in the woods, it was dark and there were only a few cars in the parking lot. I peeked my head in and saw eight guys in uniforms standing around a roped-off Santa Claus. I'm pretty sure that all branches of local law-enforcement were represented and it was all a little unnerving because we were the only family and child there at the time. Luckily, it wasn't a sting operation and Santa loaded Griffin down with mittens, a hat, three coloring books, crayons, a dinosaur, a wind-up goat and a bag of candy that was immediately thrown away. (It was the cheap stuff.) Wow!


Skinny Santa: Our most recent Santa was a skinny guy in a big suit. I understand that not all Santas have to be naturally fat and jolly, but this guy was built like Frank Sinatra and his padding was lumpy. Skinny Santa is the only one Griffin actually spoke to (he said, "wagon!") and the only one that used their own camera, charged money ($5) and only gave us a candy cane.

We're still hoping to squeeze in a few more before the 25th, but three is a good start. Go big or go home, as they say.

The Magic of Toddlers

People with grown children (or middle schoolers) talk nostalgically about toddlers. It's easy to like them when they don't live in your house. I'm coming to realize that toddlers are little amplifiers, when they're cute they are so sweet it hurts your teeth, when they are bad it is like something out of the Exorcist.


Griffin quickly shifts between acting like a precious little darling and Sid Vicious on heroin and cough syrup. He's going through a major parrot phase and repeats the last words you say, including "icky dog's butt," and "bad horror movie." Earlier today he was carrying his car purposefully down the hall saying "reach things, reach things," and while Jake and I were pondering his mission, he rolls the car over to the kitchen counter, climbs onto it and begins to collect sharp utensils that are no longer out of his reach. He was using the car to "reach things," and like a comic book villain, he monologues all his schemes. Jake and I just need to get better at deciphering his intentions before he gets into trouble.


Toddlers are very polar. Griffin either takes a three hour epic nap or he refuses to sleep at all and then claims I pooped in his bed. (Never happened.) He is either a delight to be around or a punishment that borders on cruel and unusual. Several times a day, Griffin has to go to Time Out for abusing the dog or cat. He's always trying to ride one of them or lay on top of them or violate them in some fashion. Thankfully, the pets forgive him.

El Mariachi

Ryder is quite musically inclined and what Griffin lacks in rhythm, he makes up for in enthusiasm. And Lilah's just hella cute. She's the manager and does back-up vocals.

Re-Edit

I went back and posted a half-written blog and it went to live back on its date of origin. I wanted to make sure all fans of G Dawg and his Krewe knew where to find it. I would hate for you to miss cute pictures and a video of Lilah narrowly avoiding being whacked with a xylophone.