This week we took vacation at home. It was the first time since we got here that we decided not to go anywhere and just catch up on some hanging out. Some time with friends, some cooking, some movies. Some time watching instructional breakdance videos from Netflix.
Two weeks ago, Tiffany abandoned Stella and I and fled to the Caribbean with some other morally deficient women. Left with the task of rearing our child and preserving our homestead, I did what any modern man would do, I called for help from my mom. My mother managed some meterological mama mojo and we had sunny skies and warm weather for her entire stay. I think a 3-generation hike is a pretty rare occurrence and I'm thankful for it. Our little apartment accommodates guests reasonably well, but sleeping in the same room with Sasha Rottenweiler, the worlds snoringest dog, has left me with some mild hearing loss.
Stella continues to learn new words and is refining her interpretive dance of suffering and despair. Regardless of our other short-comings as parents, we apparently are consistent- Stella sometimes takes herself to the bedroom for a tantrum, the only place fussing is allowed. I, too, have to spend a few minutes there, now and again, when I'm feeling fussy.
Thanks to her generous aunt, Stella has a new trampoline, tea set and tent which she endeavors to use simultaneously with interesting effect. Here, Sasha waits her turn. Sasha, surprisingly, has turned out to be quite the gymnast; her front flip with double-wag is flawless.
Spring is here and I'm finding a wet spring to be preferable to a wet fall. Everything is greener than a sea-sick leprechaun and the air is warm and fresh. We are a few weeks from heading back to Kentucky after almost a year's absence and I've got a Christmas-eve's worth of excitement about spending time with my friends there.
This week we took vacation at home. It was the first time since we got here that we decided not to go anywhere and just catch up on some hanging out. Some time with friends, some cooking, some movies. Some time watching instructional breakdance videos from Netflix. 
Two weeks ago, Tiffany abandoned Stella and I and fled to the Caribbean with some other morally deficient women. Left with the task of rearing our child and preserving our homestead, I did what any modern man would do, I called for help from my mom. My mother managed some meterological mama mojo and we had sunny skies and warm weather for her entire stay. I think a 3-generation hike is a pretty rare occurrence and I'm thankful for it. Our little apartment accommodates guests reasonably well, but sleeping in the same room with Sasha Rottenweiler, the worlds snoringest dog, has left me with some mild hearing loss.
Stella continues to learn new words and is refining her interpretive dance of suffering and despair. Regardless of our other short-comings as parents, we apparently are consistent- Stella sometimes takes herself to the bedroom for a tantrum, the only place fussing is allowed. I, too, have to spend a few minutes there, now and again, when I'm feeling fussy.
Thanks to her generous aunt, Stella has a new trampoline, tea set and tent which she endeavors to use simultaneously with interesting effect. Here, Sasha waits her turn. Sasha, surprisingly, has turned out to be quite the gymnast; her front flip with double-wag is flawless.
Spring is here and I'm finding a wet spring to be preferable to a wet fall. Everything is greener than a sea-sick leprechaun and the air is warm and fresh. We are a few weeks from heading back to Kentucky after almost a year's absence and I've got a Christmas-eve's worth of excitement about spending time with my friends there.
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