Easter Weekend Pics and Movies
Over the Easter holiday we had us some much fun. We laid around, went out on the town, partied it up with the bro-in-law, and played and played with the chidlers. On Monday (coz they give you a 4-day weekend here) we went to a park that Jo and I had visited way back in August and had a fantastic time. To quote the wife, "Onlookers wondered about the two giant hairy children and their miniature parents."
Here's some pics that my awesomely fantastically wonderful shutterbug of a wife took (that's why she's not in hardly any of 'em, and not because she's camera-shy).
Damon's not really making a face, I promise. Shutterbug set up the shot and I think it's a keeper.
This one is simply too cute. I have no idea what she said to get the boy so excited and turn the girl into some sort of indecisive old person.
Mummy and child. We were all about the cuteness and photo ops.
Again, Daddy and childrens with cuteness and photo ops. All except for the boy getting caught mid-sentence and looking like he's a bit "special."
Yet another framer. I used to think I had a bit of a sh*t-eating grin, but I think that's actually called "completely happy."
Our gorgeous kids. Once we get a better camera, Jo'll be scoring shots like this one all over the place, only with better lighting.
We promised the kids a "bamboo cave" in lieu of any playground equipment, only to find out that they'd trimmed it down to more of a "bamboo canopy." A bit disappointing, but only momentarily.
The Pie-pie playing in the underside of the "bamboo canopy."
A hidden alcove in a batch of trees. Jo actually used to play in the exact same spot as a wee one, and the kids got a kick outta that.
The Pie and Mummy let loose with the camera while Dames and I played in the creek with "boat bark."
She is just adorable, and for being a bit of a headstrong, independent, stubborn little turd, she receives mum's instruction extremely well and is quite comfortable being the subject.
Case in point, this one is beyond a "framer." I'm thinking I enter it in the "Awesomest Mummy Photos" contest. If that isn't a real contest, then I'm going to start one up.
There is a decent-sized amphitheatre towards one side of the park, and we all pretended that we're Rock Stars. "The Wiggles" more precisely, but when you're 3 and 5, they count.
George picks her nose in contemplation while I show them how to shake their li'l booties.
I actually stole this move from the boy, as you can clearly see, while the girl chooses to simply run in circles and squeal with glee.
Again with the booty-shaking, only it's George that is mimicking me this time, and throwing in a bit of her own style with some taunting of her brother.
This one is another framer, though the kids got sick of simply walking and holding each others hands and this shot almost turned from "two sweet kids strolling" into "two bickering turdburgers racing towards the rays of sunlight for no reason."
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Two kids squealing in glee, a curious half-nekkid wife, and a smart-ass husband.
Transcribed: "What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"Are you filming me?"
"NO-OOO!"
"Are you taking a video right now?"
"Of COURSE not!"
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The Pie had found a bit of ribbon from some sort of Easter decoration and was asking me to wrap it around her arm so she can "be pwetty."
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I offered to tie the ribbon on her, with the suggestion from Jo that we tie her hands together like handcuffs. George agrees wholeheartedly, as she does when we suggest any violation of Child Welfare Laws, and then states that if it were her "birfday" and we tied her up properly, she could turn into a balloon and "fwoat awound!"
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He waited until the camera was ready, then did his superhero thing. When I teased him a bit about the fact that I didn't think Superman "took diggers like that" he listened patiently, disagreed with me, and then very condescendingly kissed his hand and planted it on my forehead as if to say, "Yeah, yeah, daddy, you keep thinking that, but don't try and tell ME Superman's bidness."
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Just random craziness from small children. It's always so highly important to have Daddy's attention within mere milliseconds of asking for it, even if the profound nature of the question, "Guess what?" is only answered by "Ladybug." Or even "ladybugladybugladybugladybugladybug."
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I'd held the camera up above their little dinner table while I was sitting on the edge of the couch attracting their scrutiny... "What're you doin?"
"Nuthin'"
"Stretching?" volunteers Georgia, having heard me say that many times to Jo.
"Schresching!?!?" I say in my funny ogre voice.
"STRETCHING" she repeats happily.
Hope you all are well, things are happy and healthy, and Life is sweet.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.Don’t Forget Those Curls
My niece forgets things.
I have the most beautiful and wonderful little 8-year old niece on the planet...
...but she is somewhat forgetful.
She writes me notes with things like, "Judders cho titi poop dose zebra bot-bot twitches. This guy is plering at you", complete with a drawing of a happy face with his tongue out ("pler"). She forgets that it's spelled d-o-e-s but knows it isn't as funny that way. She forgets not to trust her mum and auntie so much when writing Uncle Judd notes and that he may not enjoy being called "Judders" as much as they are promising (nearly as much as he enjoys zebra bot-bot twitches apparently, fkn crazy chicks).
Over-exuberance and excitement aside, when she launches herself at me from a dead run, she forgets that she's not a scrawny waif-like little woodland fairy anymore. She's big enough to knock me off balance and into oncoming traffic... but maybe that's her plan.
Happiness and cuddleations aside, when she decides that she needs to be in my lap, she forgets that I have stuff... in my pants. BOY stuff. And knobby knees and elbows aren't nice to it. Maybe she forgets because she doesn't have the same stuff, I don't know.
Competitive nature and partyonnedness aside, when she embarks with us on an evening of fun, she forgets that her little body will shut down when it wants to, slipping her zombie-like into a sleep state almost against her will. This is regardless of whether or not it's her turn at the board game or if someone happens to be drawing bloodstained scars on her face in neon marker (I tried to get Wife and Sis-in-law to stop, but I was helpless against the gut-wrenching laughter that had seized my body).
Miss Eight is a touch forgetful.
She said something about a year ago, a simple something that wasn't necessarily repeated or reaffirmed over the year.
But she didn't forget it.
Around the time that I was first in this foreign land and newly staring into the eyes of the woman I was going to marry, my then-soon-to-be niece was asking her mother if she could whack from her scalp her curliciously curly red locks in the name of The Battle Against Leukemia.* It was too late, or she was just being a freak, or something like that, but her mother told her it would have to happen the following year.
*I'm all about capitalizing anything that's "A Battle of Something," it's proven that this makes it 20% cooler.
The year passed, with little mention of that gorgeous head of hair going the way of the winter wheat, yet when it rolled around this time she reminded her mother that she was still all about it.
She's doing it to raise money, though fame seems to be tagging along.
She's doing it because she's got a bit of the crusader in her (much like her mother and auntie).
She's doing it because her heart is too damn big for her little body.
She's doing it because her little soul is so unbelievably beautiful that she needs a bald head to try and balance things out a bit.
She's been warned that she'll probably cry. I've looked her in the eye and told her that she might have a WickedCoolSineadHead or a Knobby McLumpington. She knows she's going to look a bit funny. And she doesn't care.
I've told her that she may have to start smoking so that she can pull off a more convincing Bruce Willis since she's got no stubble. I've told her the blatantly obvious... it grows back.
I've told her that I'm so immensely proud of her I don't have words.
I'm well aware that there are about 80 juddillion worthwhile causes out there and I would never attempt to sway anybody one way or another about what to do with their hard-earned money (other than Dude... stop with the fucking pre-worn jeans and PINK shirts for fuck's sake, some of us live in the ass-end of the world and can only get shit that you fucksticks think is cool and it so fucking ain't and I just want some regular shit to wear comfortably without looking like I openly question my sexuality or belong on a pre-teen soap opera... *pant pant* 'kay done).
That said, the cynical asshole inside of me recognizes that there's still hope for this one. There's an actual, viable chance that she'll extend her li'l soul out into the World... and it'll pay her back in kind.
There's the remotest of possibilities that this kid, one of my absolute favoritest of all time, will live her life knowing that people are genuinely good in their hearts, and when someone with a gimongous one opens it up for any manner of others, they get rewarded with all different kinds of love.
So go give her some love. I don't care if it's your moolah, though that's preferred naturally as foot loofahs can't come through the Intraweb, or if it's just kind words, but throw a little of it out there, it's good for the environment.
I've got some Triple-sized Judd-hugs for ya too, if yer game.
I said Game! GAME! JEE-AYY-EMM-EEE!!!!
FEYGS.
Edited: Apparently I got a link wrong. Wife is the one that clicketyclicked our donation so that's my excuse, and not that I'm a total fucktard who doesn't know how to properly send folks to the donation site. Apologies and smooches.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.I haven’t been slack, YOU’RE the one who’s slack.
About the same time that I started to feel all unloved and non-missed and wondering if anybody in the whole of the planet misses the Ol' JuddHole I realized that I'd simply spilled my beer on my crotch. Once the feeling of bitter coldness worked its way out of my nether regions, I checked my email and was beseiged by the clamouring hordes to update.
So, here's to all 7 of you. You Rock like Toohey's New Ale on my balls.
Working now, every weekday, and it's a bit fuckin' crazy. I've now realized that being Management has nothing to do with simply getting more money for being smart and shit while still not caring. It means that the underlings can do their stupidlish things, and I get to stress about it while they pick their asses and say such profound things as "I don't know, it should've worked... *wipes nose*"
Sigh. I miss the days when I picked my ass and shot Nerf Darts at my boss.
I'm all about being a father and a husband and a boss and an Aussie and all that.
And Life is So Damn Good I wanna burst.
Here's a bit of what I been up to lately.
Went to visit that most wonderfullest of Teh Awesomestinest Sis-in-law and for Wife's birthday I got her this beach.
I know, I know, I really shouldn't have, but I'm all thoughty like that 'n shit.
This is just to prove that I was there and didn't just rip a brochure picture up and hand it to my bride for her birthday... like that shot of my junk I gave her for Valentine's Day.
Now that I'm working, we enjoy our weekends to the fullest.
And by "enjoy" I mean "drink Tequila til I throw up and Wife points out to me that my lip is pukeglued to the toilet seat."
This is a randomoddobscure reference to my other diary. The one I update. With pictures of my kids that I refuse to post here because I KNOW some of you sick fucks are waiting outside my son's school and watching me teach him the finer aspects of the Farmer Blow and waiting to kidnap me and make me slap my buttcheeks together to the sweetsmoove rhythms of Kevin Federline (that's for Disco, whom I'm too lazy to link yet love no less). edited: Bitch has some ballticklingly funny rappin shit, blows jizz on his face to teach Rubbers to Retards, and visits this CrapHole. He's that fuckin' awesome.
It may be a while before I'm in here again, and even longer until I'm bitingly sarcastic and even remotely close to anything resembling funny. I'd love to apologize for that, but that just ain't my style. So piss off.
Love and Smooches.