Marlowe has developed a sense of humor, for some definitions of the word.

He has one and only one joke.  It's called "I pooped".  

• The joke is initiated when Marlowe says 
  • "I pooped" or "Stinky poopy diaper".
• Step two involves one of his parents sticking their nose very close to his butt and saying 
  • "Really?  I don't smell poop.  Did you really poop?"
• Step three - Marlowe replies in the affirmative
  • "Yup"
• Step four - said parent manually inspects the interior of the diaper, finding it empty they say something like 
  • "No poop"
• Marlowe Laughs
  • The end

I think he's well on his way to surpass the comic genius of Rodney Dangerfield

We're experiencing another heatwave in Portland, and there are currently nine people living in my house.  There may be two more camping in the back yard tonight.  I feel kind of like Noah, except my arc is dry-docked and I didn't get around to the multi-species thing.

I destroyed a rim last night, which made me very sad.  I wish I had taken a picture before I took it in to get rebuilt.  The spoke basically tore the rim like a sheet of paper.  Very disturbing.  I am now riding on my brother-in-law's bike which is quite a bit too small for me.  I don't look quite like a circuis clown on it, but I'm getting close.

In other news, this is what I had for lunch

A burger with two grilled cheese sandwiches for a bun. read all about it:

http://www.grilledcheesegrill.com/

 

 

I had a pretty wicked star-studded ending in mind for the last day of
project bachelor pad.
 
There would be no fewer than a dozen dorky men coming over to play
dungeons and dragons (no joke), and throwing meat on a fiery grill.
 
But yesterday afternoon I got a call. Chrissy was sick of Las Vegas
and missed her baby, so she flew home last night.
 
The dorks are still coming over to roll fancy dice, fart, and eat hot
meat. But it just won't have the same feeling of manly decadence and
freedom.
 
We'll miss you project bachelor pad. We lived, loved and learned.

I got a break this afternoon when the boy spent an unprecedented half
hour straight in the johnny jump-up.

 

 The aftermath, not surprisingly, was an armageddon of spit-up. But
this is a price I am willing to pay.

I'm starting to feel a little wrung out.  The idea of caring for a child while cooking for a bunch of big stinky farmers without the aid of modern appliances makes me wonder how mankind ever survived.

I'm not trying to sound like Conrad when I say that I have stared into the eyes of madness.

Case in point:

I'm not a germaphobe, by any stretch of the imagination.  In fact Crissy and I have are comfortable with baby-filth on a level that horrifies a lot of the constantly hand-sanitizing yuppies around here.  I have never pulled something out of Marlowe's mouth in disgust.  Until last night.

I'm sitting on the floor with Marlowe in my lap after feeding him some pureed bananas.  It's late for him and he just ate, so he's feeling really mellow and is sprawled out across my legs.  Meanwhile, Toby is also sprawled out, on his back, right next to me, and Bob is across the room tinkering on some speakers.  I look up to say something to Bob, it laterally could not have been more than a couple of seconds, and when I look down, I make a couple of observations, in this order:

1. Marlowe has grabbed Toby's leg.
   • This is an issue, as Marlowe has a tendency to pull hair, hard. (hence my early beard removal this year) 
     
     • I've generally been very attentive when they're near each other, as I don't want any incidents.
2. Marlowe has put Toby's paw in his mouth.
   • Now, as I said, I'm not germaphobe, but then again, this is not your average dog paw.  
     
     • Toby has an obsession with cat shit.  He loves to dig in it, roll around in eat, and yes eat it.

I yelped and pulled the paw out of the mouth, somehow not really disturbing any of the parties involved

I have seen the horror, the abject terror, of parenthood

My wife has a very complex system for doing laundry.

And when I say complex system, I mean that in the John-Holland-autonomous-systems kind if way.  She has a bunch of seemingly random piles of dirty laundry, that eventually sort themselves into some semblance of order, and then (as far as I can tell) wash themselves.  The process repeats itself when it comes time to sort and fold the clean laundry.

I can't get this system to work, so I have developed my own technique.  I call it "baby shit, or not baby shit".  And when I say baby shit, I don't mean "clothes that belong to the baby" but literally "baby shit".  As in, things that are soiled with baby shit.  If you are not a parent, you might be alarmed to hear that this encompasses about 75% of all of our laundry.  If you are a veteran parent, you are probably thinking that that percentage will eventually grow to 100%

I have given up any attempt at color of fabric sorting, and have shoved as much fecal-soiled cloth in our clever Korean washing machine as it will tolerate without emanating a smoke which smells faintly of kimchi.  Heaven help us all.

who says brunch is not a manly meal?

Marlowe (the boy) has made two earth-shattering discoveries this week.

 first: his wang. yes, he has realized that there is a stretchy thing
attached to his body, and he now yanks on it every chance he gets. in
the tub, while changing diapers, he just yanks away at that little guy
with a reckless abandon that borders on masochism.

 second: tongue clicks. it's most amusing when he does it in bed, but
I was not up for the challenge of managing a candid shot of this, so I
went for something staged.

 

The wife and mom-in-law just left town for a four-day weekend in Las Vegas.
 
That leaves four bachelors here at the homestead
 
1. me

2. bob (bro-in-law)

3. marlowe (baby)

4. toby (dog)

 
That can lead to two things for sure:
 
1. ice-cold beers
2. encased meats

 
 
So after having a couple number 1s I start cooking a few number 2s out on the grill.
After going back inside to grab another number 1, I return to the back yard to find that my number 2s are screaming.
And I'm not talking about a subtle whistle. There is a very loud sound coming out of one of these dogs.
As it turns out, one of the dogs sprang a perfectly shaped/sized hole, and consequently made a blood-curdling noise.
 
 
MORE TOMORROW!