Look, I’m going to end this pretense right here.  I’ve posted this overly specific help wanted ad on our rarely visited personal blog in order to attract one candidate: Randy “The Macho Man” Savage. Sir, we want you to be our live-in nanny.

Mr. “The Macho Man” Savage, my family needs you.  My wife and I are the kind of parents who want the best for our boy.  We want him to be happy all the time, and my son is a huge fan of your catchphrase. Sadly, I have an active career, so I can’t spend the entire day entertaining the Tyke.  You on the other hand…

I’m afraid we can’t offer you much.  Room.  Board.  Refrigerator privileges.  The odd box of Slim Jims.  And there will be sacrifices.  For instance, you and Miss Elizabeth will be sleeping on the sofa, so we ask that you not grease up your muscles within an hour of bedtime.

But just take a look at how much joy you could bring to a little boy, just by saying your catchphrase over and over in a gravelly voice:

Please say yes, Mr. “The Macho Man” Savage.

NOTE: We are also accepting applications from The Kool Aid Man and Yello.

Love,  Caroline

… but if you look closely you’ll see it’s a translation.

WARNING: This post contains graphic depictions of pooping.

People always ask me what it’s like to have a baby.  I think this story will give you some small idea:

Not long ago, while swinging in his swing, The Tyke managed to defy physics by unleashing a new kind of poop, one that thumbed its nose at gravity by actually traveling up his back.  I was on duty at the time, so, after taking a moment or two to admire the young man’s handiwork, I took him to his changing table and got down to business.

It wasn’t pretty.  He and his clothes were soaked with poop.  But eventually, through the free use of wipes and profanity, I got him nude, shipshape, and Bristol fashion, and ready for a fresh new Pamper.  As I was getting the new diaper ready to deploy, I sighed a sigh of contentment and tried to figure out where I could possibly display my Father of the Year award AND my Most Efficient Diaper Change trophy with space at such a premium in my place, thanks to the several metric tons of baby paraphernalia that now fills it.  With what I am sure must have been an annoying smug look on my face, I started to put the new diaper under him, when The Tyke, having inherited his old man’s impeccable sense of timing, saw his between-diaper window and unleashed a second, even more lethal barrage.  Only this time, instead of the anti-gravity ammo, he’d chambered a load of poopey buckshot, which, unfettered by any sort of diaperial barrier, deposited itself everywhere in a wide radius, catching me, the new diaper, his changing table, the dresser that sat several feet away… I think I even saw a few flecks on the cell phone store down the block some days later.

Again, although I was terribly discouraged, I paused to admire his work, for it is not often that one encounters an artist who delivers work of such quality so prolifically, and in such prodigious quantity.  I also needed a moment to marshal my strength, because I realized I was facing a real mess here, one that dwarfed the mess that so intimidated me just a few short minutes ago.  It was the kind of mess that made me seriously consider just packing the family up and moving out and finding a new place to live.

That’s when the young man- my son- started peeing.  All over the huge poopey mess he’d just made.  Very few things could have made that mess more disgusting, but one of them was having someone pee on it.

Yet, and here is the odd part of the story, even after the cruel torment the Little Man had just inflicted upon me, even though he’d just pooped on me, then peed on the poop he’d pooped on me, I still felt an uncontrollable urge to grin at him and say something stupid in a ridiculous voice in the hope that he might like me just a tiny bit more.

Which I did.

That is a tiny glimpse into what it is like to have a baby.

-Chris

Here’s Mom working her soothing Grandmom magic.

Granddad (left) and Grampy (right) on the farm.

A partial grandparent summit.

Mom and Dad at the Hoffbrauhaus.

And finally, the Hoffbrau Kid.  That’s my beer, of course.

It was a great weekend all the way around.  I think Mom and Dad approved of the little man.  Strongly approved, even.  We can’t wait until Grandmom and Granddad come back in the fall.

Not pictured: A housing at Ambar, the Bacon Supremacy Omelette, and Julian pooping on his dad.

-Chris

Also, be sure to read this crab-themed piece about Delmarva (where I grew up) from the NY Times travel section.

Crabs (see below)!

-Chris

Little Bird has had a busy couple of weeks.  He went to Finn’s birthday party,

took a trip to Lima,

enjoyed the Northside 4th of July parade,

had a lazy Sunday morning,

and smiled!