Biggest batch of pictures EVER.
Woof, was that a busy visit. Mom made it out here safely, and then we did our best to play, drive, cookie, bother, and tourist to death. "Granbo" was a hit, a veritable life-changer, and none of us will ever be the same. Except the CrazyCatLady, but that's only because it seems like nothing can stop the flapping theatrics... I mean "moths".
Instead of writing and writing and writing about it, I thought I'd bog down all your page loads with a crapload of pictures.
With captions punk, no pouting.
Enjoy.
My Jesus birthday. I'm not sure why, but I thought that Jesus died at 32, and have only since found out that it was 33. It's a magic number for me, my hockey number, my lucky number... all that, but I was most excited about telling everybody that I'd totally outlived Jesus, just like in The Onion.
But no. 34 will be that birthday, and I'll wear a crown of thorns and tote a crucifix, I can assure you. Until then, we had cake and alcoholy awesomeness. So yay, and smile big.
The Bug simply being terribly cute. I know she does that alot and I know that we take a heap of pictures of her doing so, but this one is special because her hair is in two li'l sideknots, and makes her look slightly evil. Sorta like an agent of Hell, but who really wants to help you out this one time.
She eats my pen, my notes, my phone, and my Transformer Downshift... I eats her head.
She's not near as amused by this as Wifeage was.
Her big brother just loves the hell outta her, and can't stop himself from lavishing kisses and loves all over her whenever possible. She loves it too, in more than just the tolerating way she appears to be in this shot.
The Piehead had her 5th birthday party and I was informed... no TOLD, that there would be a most fantastical and wondermous cake to be created by her Nanny, the CrazyCatLady. I made her a cake anyway, on her actual birthday, and this incredible item was presented on the weekend, when all good partake in the fun.
Granbo during one of her first days with the kids. They took right to 'er, of course, as we all knew they would, though Jadey looks mildly suspicious.
See? Candyland. Candyland is always the answer, even if the question is "Can I please have a juicebox?" Try it, it works awesomely.
This is at the climbything at King's Park, the back end with the playground, and is only the second time that Pieface Pieington has climbed up to the second layer by herself. For a kid that would be tugging a tiger's testicles if you weren't watching (or fast enough) it's hard to buy her "frightenedness" sometimes. Still, she used to be stupid about it, now she climbs it proudly, and everybody wins.
The boy is cool these days. Not too cool for a picture, but definitely a cool dude. He told me so this morning walking into the school. "I'm a cool kid, aren't I Dad?" He wasn't exactly a natural born monkey on this thingy either, but scrambles all over now. He's a champ.
Me and the Buginess. Her making faces like I'm feeding her squirrelbrain and me looking like I simply grabbed whatever clothing was nearest the bed in the morning and went about my day.
I did. The clothing thing, not the squirrel thing. She loves her food too, and was only making that face because it wasn't warmed up. SPOILED.
Granbo catches candid shots of the nightly family ritual. She used to read me that same book to me when I was teeny. I wasn't Superman then though. Too bad.
King's Park, the front end, sans playground. Still awesome and some cool views. There's more of me and children being stupid, but I can't be bothered finding them right now. Heh.
More cuteness. She's just so damn funny, I threw this one in there. Granbo got this whilst hanging about our house.
I really just wanted to put a shot in here of me looking all killy and such. It's rare that I get to feel even marginally close to "cool" and I realise that this still doesn't even get me into that stratosphere, but I like it.
I made all that stuff, by the way, except for the helmet, sword, and shield. Alright, I didn't make all that stuff, but I made most of it, including the armour and shoes, and I think that's pretty damn cool.
This is where I tell you about who I'm fighting and how awesome I'm doing and what's going on in the picture. Just pretend I did all that, and not that I not only got killedead but also split the crotch of my pants open from sensitivity to sensitivity. I got a few good shots in though.
Me and the boy frequently fight in the kitchen. I can't even begin to express how awesome this kid is at... well... being. I've shown him some of the "hit locations" and how to "take a hit", meaning act wounded, and now he's better than half the troupe at it.
No shit, seriously, this kid is better at showfighting than some of the people that were in the ring last Saturday. Brutal they were. Awesome is he. Yodatalking I am.
I kilt him in this shot, but he got me later. We're good like that and he loves it.
At the Art Museum. I include it only to show how BIG she's getting and how funny it is when her expression says "HEY, no flash photography around the Egypt shit!" I love that I just noticed a drool patch on my chest and spilled milk down my leftside. This is the quintessential daddy picture.
Outside the museum. I don't honestly know what that dude was yelling about, but I shout things like "I DO, I DO, I beLIEVE in fairies!"
Cousin Imo and Georgia Piehead at another barbecue, before the mozzies decided to gang up and wage war on our veins.
My father-in-law Poppy, discussing my golfing prowess with my mom. He beat her, but barely, and she beat me... barely. And I lost. Yeah.
Poppy, Me, and Jo's Grandfather, Pop. We've all got our names straight then. Pop is 86 and quite awesome at lots of things. And YES, he beat me that day too. Sure, I can outdrive him by about 50 metres, but I can't do a thing about the fact that I frequently 3-putt and he routinely sinks 25-foot putts. I'd curse at him, but he's sweet and old and quite possibly one of the better examples of men on this planet.
Me, Ma, and Pop. She beat him, but he said that's cos he let 'er.
And I may actually believe him. Hmmmm...
The kids at Araluen Botanical Park and Flower Garden and Nature Reserve and Awesome Thing. Nobody told George to recline either, she just took it upon herself.
The boy is getting better at how to shape his face when a camera is pointed at him, but he still can't quite smile normally. He tries, bless his li'l head, he tries. Still a handsome lad.
The beachyfit family, sans bub, and one of those days that's so beautiful you can't believe you'd forgotten that days can sometimes be perfect.
A fairly common occurrence... me trying to suck the baby's brains out after I've beaten her into unconsciousness.
Awwwwww...
Gearing up for another big day. Look at 'er, she's just a-rarin' to go.
Waiting for our fresh seafood on the dock in Freo. Bless those Kailis Brothers and their fish.
Jo having her first taste EVER of A&W Root Beer. I'd been going on and on about it for years, about how they don't have Root Beer here and how sad that makes me. Then, when my AMERICAN mother is over, we chance upon a stall in the Fremantle Markets that specialises in American shi... goods.
I sucked down half of it in one gulp and exclaimed to the heavens how wonderful it was before handing the can to Jo and cueing mom with the camera for her much-heralded First Taste.
She drank, smiled a bit whilst processing the taste, and then loudly and disappointedly told me, "That's just sasparilla!"
Well hell, I didn't know that. I thought sasparilla was something that Goofy orders in those old Disney Western spoofs.
She LOVES riding around on my shoulders and will giggle every time my head rubs her belly. Never gets tired of that.
We needed somewhere with a microwave and, hopefully a table, where we could sit down and feed the Bug. The nearest and most convenient thing? A bar. HooYAH.
So, we shared a drink after the barmaid brought us both. Mine cold, her's warmed over.
For the rest of her life, from that moment on, she will forever be a baby that once got fed in a bar while Daddy had a beer. I know that's not uncommon, but I wonder how many out there can truly say that with such pride. Or at least say it with as many teeth as I have.
Oh My Dog! Her first ever trip to the beach! I didn't even realise it until we were about in the water. She frowns at it and doesn't quite know what to do with the rising and retreating water, but she loved it, walked in it, stamped on it, and giggled quite a lot. It was awesome.
Yet another of those moments captured forever... right after I had walked her out into the toodeep water, where I got splashed up to my knees and she got quite wet. I'm smoove like that.
The Visit From Granbo was an awesome one, full of much enjoyment and an amazingly busy and fun time for all. Jadey reserved no fewer than about 3 of her Firsts for Granbo's landmark visit.First trip to the beach.
First time actually walking around in her walker (which she now does ALL Day long).
First time holding a bottle on her own (which opens up entire New Worlds to Daddy during feeds).
It was awesome, and as soon as she was gone we futtered about wondering how we were going to live life after getting so used to having her around.
Thanks again ma, for coming all that way just for me. Well, for me and my kids and wife and such, but you know what I mean. It means the World to me.
Loves to all, I'll have some more pics from Ellis Brook on here soon as soon as I figure out where I put them and stop being lazy. Shoosh, it could happen.
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.What will we call our favourite shirts?
When it happened, I’m not certain, but it happened enough to eventually be one of those things that appears on the evening news and doesn’t anger or incite enough passion in any of us to prevent it from showing up again.
While this can describe any number of things that one may possibly see on their respective local news in their respective cities and countries, I’m referring to the nationally-televised morning show that had a story about how a Kindergarten was going to ban bullying by children in Superhero clothing as they have a tendency to beat up their classmates.
I can’t even begin to find all of the things wrong with this, so I’ll simply focus on one point that I’d like to make, and then I’ll go back to my scrambled eggs and this-looks-important-to-you-so-I’ll-put-it-in-my-sloppy-mouth baby daughter.
Making someone else’s asshole kid stop punching my kid isn’t done by stopping them from pretending to be superheroes, giving them less sugar, or having them play less competitive games so they can all feel better about themselves.
I don’t know when it happened, but at some point parents started making concerted efforts to stop bullies from bullying. This may sound noble enough, but it begs the question: Didn’t we ALL get bullied to some extent or another? Did our parents stop it every time?
Stopping a bully from bullying is done in only a few ways...
Either standing up for yourself or running the fuck away.
And that’s what I’ll be teaching my kids. None of this special and unique snowflake bullshit. My son talks about some kids in school and says that they pick on him, so I ask him if he knows why. If he does, I ask him if it’s worth changing who he is to keep from getting picked on. If it isn’t, then I tell him that he’s going to get used to getting smacked in the mouth for a bit, and he’ll have to settle for the knowledge that he’s the bigger and better person in the long run.
If he doesn’t know why he’s getting picked on, then I tell him to tell those kids that they’re being assholes, and that they should cease and desist if they don’t want to be widely considered as afflicted with assholitis.
You bet your ass I tell him almost exactly that too, that way he knows I’m serious. That kind of castigation threat works too, because no matter what age they are, a bully is ALWAYS concerned with everyone else’s opinion of them. If they weren’t concerned, they wouldn’t pick on others. Unless they’re pure Evil, but that’s a different concern altogether, as once you start measuring a kid’s potential in kilonazis, he’s pretty much irretrievably fucked.
If my boy gets hit, he is instructed to weigh the situation and react accordingly. “Tell a teacher†is the stalwart, but isn’t always terribly realistic and I know this. “Hit back†or “run away†are really the only two immediate options, and while getting “hit†in the first place isn’t limited to being a physical action, neither are the two possible reactions. Biting commentary has gotten me out of far more drunken bar violence than my fists ever have. So has biting for that matter.
I’m raising the kind of people that don’t attract the level of aggression it would take for me to step in and fix the situation for them. If they can’t handle it on their own, then they’re doing something stupid and not what I’ve taught them. To the best of my limited abilities, I’m teaching them not to be stupid. Those that know me know this is NOT exactly by example either.
At the risk of sounding ridiculously back-in-my-dayish, I don’t remember a whole lot of protection for the victim when I was a kid. Sadly enough, I don’t even really remember when all this horseshit about stopping bullies got started either.
I’m thinking that I was probably part of the last generation to ever get beaned in the face during dodgeball, get a Nuclear Wedgie, a Swirly, and stuffed in a locker. It’s almost as if all of people in my generation that grew up and became teachers and legislators and lawyers, as well as Parents, decided that they hated that shit and it ruined their life (or at least that’s what their $250 an hour shrink told ‘em) and they were going to put a stop to it.
Did I want it stopped? At the time, you bet your ass. But I couldn’t stop it, and my parents wouldn’t, so I put up with it. I got busted in the mouth and I took it, and I grew and I learned and I toughened the fuck up.
It can be packaged to look like I was simply biding my time until I was able to mete out similar punishment in a misguided attempt to garner some payback, but I was different. I still wanted the opportunity, absolutely, but I wanted to be the one that chose not to actually go through with the “crippling†part of the Nipple Crippler. I wanted to show how much better I was than those meaty-craniumed smarmy-faced hormonkeys. I wanted my chance to show my benevolence, and in doing so prove myself better than the fuckwits before me. I wanted my chance to make the World a better place.
And I didn’t get one. I missed my chance to be as rotten or merciful as I wanted. The choice for me to be either was taken away by Soccerbitches who think that hiding little MackenzieDakotaMontana under a mound of Xbox games, Coke and Oreos is the answer to keep the other kids from calling her “fatty fatty two by four who can't fit through the kitchen doorâ€.
The rules changed and someone decided to fight back a little too late, via the wrong adolescent.
Nerdly McGeekington comes to Principal PretendsToCare absolutely livid because little Twigtastic WheresMyPuffer got his glasses broken when Tuffy O’ShitForParents drilled him in the kisser during the Weed Out the Pussies Round of the Dodgeball Tournament, and the possible solutions to this are:
A) Ban yet another activity that *gasp* separates the physically strong and able from the rest, thereby reducing the risk that kids can hurt each others feelers.
B) Encourage Twiggy to put his only real weapon to work and hatch a fiendishly intelligent plot of humiliating and public revenge while taping his glasses back together.
C) Make ‘em all wear little pink tutus, only go all Harrison Bergeron on ‘em and make some of the tutus pinker and more gay the tougher the kid is.
I think it’s pretty evident which selection I endorse, and I truly believe it’s made the World a better place.
Without the ritualistic beating of a nerd, we wouldn’t have Microsoft (whose societal value is still in question but I enjoy nonetheless), Teh Intraweb (and all that pr0n), PC Loadletter (best battle cry for smashing electronic equipment EVER), Doom, Madden ’96, Toy Story and Shrek, Transformers, microscopic girl’s dorm cams, and phones that are so fucking futurtastic that they not only play the latest music, highlights from the footy, take frameable pictures and screenable videos, but can tell us when we need to drop a deuce.
We really should thank the nerds more. Go on, go hug a nerd right now.
And by “hug†I mean, “grasp and pull the elastic waistband of their undergarments with such force as to cause discomfort and pain to their genitalia and/or rectumâ€.
What’s that? What about the bullies? Well the World needs them too. Bullies are the foundation of the White Trash segment of our society as well as some of our best law enforcers, lawmakers, and legislators.
Without good and proper assholes doling out youthful undergarment punishment, we wouldn’t be able to sue for millions of dollars after burning our genitalia with boiling refreshments, we’d pay thousands more per gallon of fuel, we wouldn’t have a venue in which to drink pisswaterbeer and scream ourselves hoarse at gladiatoresque sweatdemons, and what would we call our favourite all-rounder in upper body clothing? White singlets? Thin white tanktops? Sleeveless undershirts?
No. It’s a wifebeater, and everybody knows that.
If that first bully, wearing one of those multipurpose masterpieces, didn’t loudly and proudly proclaim his household dominance with his drunken fists, we’d have no clever name for them. And then, dare I say it, they might not even be as equally popular with Rock Stars, skateboarding punks and lesbians.
So, raise your kids up right. If you were a pussy, then coddle and swaddle and grow yourself some quality dominance-establishing fodder. Who else is to teach us how to passive-aggressively change the World while making billions?
If you were an asshole, then by all rights raise yet another asshole. It’s not like anyone could ever envision a world without them, and besides, whatever would become of the Wars over Oil and Pro Wrestling?
While my kids aren’t going to sit in a field and toke their way to self-enlightenment while centering their shakras or shakraing their centers, they certainly aren’t going to step on anybody’s fucking face to further their own worthless asses either.
They’re going to get where they’re at in Life, to that wonderful place I’m in with all of the wonderful things in it, the same way that I did...
Blind Luck.
Go get ‘em Tiger!