Doin' the Tubes

It was an early morning yesterday. We left the house at 5:30 to make the Asheville appointment at 6:30 at the Mission outpatient surgery center. We kept the deputy in his pajamas and sleep sack. He was surprisingly tranquil considering he hadn't eaten for 11 hours. We had a short wait in the lobby before going back into what looked like a standard emergency room section. The nurse checked his heartbeat and oxygenation rate before giving him "giggle juice," a relaxant. We changed him into a smock and socks, and we were offered a playground wagon. He rode in it in laps around the nurse station while the medicine kicked in.

After about 20 minutes, we went into a pre-op room. A doctor asked about his last meal and his sniffles. We chalked that up to allergies, and he listened to his lungs. We postponed the surgery two weeks ago because of chest congestion, and we got nervous that we'd have to do so again at this very late stage. The doctor said the congestion cleared quickly after coughing and gave the OK. The ENT came out to walks us through it, and the anesthesiologist gave us a similar rundown. My Mom made me promise to ask about the possibility of the deputy having her porphyria, and we were told that if I didn't have it, he didn't. Also the drugs they use would no longer trigger the kind of reactions she was anxious about. They pulled him into the operating room with him still in the wagon, and we waited in the lobby, eating breakfast quickly.

Your Sister hadn't really been in a hospital before. Maybe some ER visits. I told her what I remembered of my surgeries, and within 20 minutes the ENT came out to recap the procedure. Lots of ear gunk was removed, and they checked his esophagus again. He'll need to return to his original Prevacid prescription (we scaled it back to avoid conflict with the antibiotics). We waited another 20 minutes so they could watch him. After we were summoned, we found him crying in a nurse's arms. We huddled with him in a small recovery cubicle and gave him juice. I signed discharge papers, and we took him home another 20 minutes later.

He was cranky and sleepy the rest of the day. He had some nasty drainage during a nap but no more has emerged since. He took the bath and shower fine and slept through the night. He hasn't responded differently to sounds or his own voice, but I didn't expect a drastic difference. We go back in a month to see how the ears are doing, and hopefully he won't be on antibiotics again for months.

Picture of the Day
And now for a celebratory lean.

Follow-Up Call

We hoped to hang out with other parents this weekend and hired a babysitter for the deputy. They called Saturday morning to cancel due to sickness, and we decided to keep the sitter and see a movie. We picked Girl With a Dragon Tattoo. My guys reviewed it yesterday.

We were all sacked by allergies with this weekend's break of warm weather. We hope that the deputy's sniffles and coughs don't postpone again his tube surgery. Your Sister was driven to naps (reluctantly, of course. Of course.) while I drew and drew.

+  +  +

I got a call Sunday from the folks who organized the volksmarch a few weekends back. They tracked my number down from my name on the registration form. The representative asked me what my concern was, and I noted that not only did the Bi-Lo folks not have any idea habout the walk particulars, but I was handed an office folder bucket and told to noodle it out myself. That, I noted, wasn't a great introduction to the event.

I was told, frankly, that this is how all domestic volksmarches are done and had I any familiarity with how they do it in Europe then I would obviously -- and that's when I stopped her to note Your Family's history with the German walks. I also said that the system doesn't work for new people drawn to the walk via a published press release. Had there been something as simple as a newcomer welcome letter with a checklist to follow, that would have helped.

I was informed that this walk event is planned to be an ongoing daily opportunity for tourists. The Bi-Lo will keep that "walk box" on the premises for folks/volks to register and pay for the completion patch all-year round. How these hypothetical people will learn about this and how well Bi-Lo will train their employees to man the "walk box" 24/7 are questions I quickly shoved out of my head. Not my concern. I now have the notion in my brains that this is a loose group of march enthusiasts with ill-formed concepts of marketing and trust in other companies to run their event.

Picture of the Day
Models and portrait. Huh. 

TURN. IT. UP.

The store has my shirts for sale. I'm giggly. I'm eating shoestring potatoes in glee. I am constantly listening to this song. I already have new shirt ideas in progress. I'm also thumbnailing the comic, and I can't decide which to do first.

I'm so ecstatic I literally don't know what to do with myself.

A Good Walk Spoiled

A group out of Asheville, part of the American Volkssport Association, attempted to organize a volksmarch in our town for New Year's Day. They sent a press release to the local paper, and we pounced on it. Your Sister remembers doing these in Germany, and she invited Your Parents along. Your Aunt came over for the day just for this event. An event for which no one from the organization showed up.

The article told us to go to a Bi-Lo near the trail's start point. We were to register there. Your Sister thought one person could register for everyone, and I disagreed. I was sure we'd each have to sign up and probably pay. We met Your Family at the trail beginning, and I went to the store, where the article said I could ask for a "walk box" to register and get the walk details.

The first store employee I met at the customer service desk didn't know what I was talking about. A second employee took over, said she had the info I needed, and she presented a "walk box." It was a plastic file bucket, and it had folders labeled Register, Past Awards, and Club Information. It also had a registration log (with the names of five people other than us). Instead of individual packets for the walkers, the club handed the store one bundle for the entire event. The person who slid the bucket over to me asked what the race was about. She had no more information than I did.

Inside, I found envelopes to mail in a club membership along with one's fee. I couldn't give that money to the Bi-Lo people (as they didn't know about the race), and I wasn't about to leave cash in a bucket presented to everyone who asked for it. I couldn't use a credit card to pay for our registrations, and I had no checks. We couldn't officially sign in. I added our names to the log to act as a census and noted that there was no one who could greet the newbies. I took a copy of the trail map and a few registration slips to show Your Family what I found. We walked the path anyway.

The weather was nice. We know that trail. We've taken the deputy on it more than once, and he was well behaved. He took the first half in the stroller and either walked back or rode on our shoulders. Your Aunt strayed a few times, and we doubled back to fetch her. She wanted to wander, but we had a lunch/nap deadline with the sidekick. We fed everyone before they drove back home, and no one seemed to mind the lack of organization. We seemed to be the only ones there for the event, and I'm glad. Heavy trail traffic would have made family chat tricky.

I'm at work today, and Your Sister has a school workday. She's still catching up on papers and informing parents of student grades. She hopes the lighter semester workload will let her go back to Wednesday yoga classes.

Picture of the Day
I'll post more about this on my official blog, but this is the artwork I toiled over last week for the podcast folks for which I made the cartoon supergroup. They asked for a zombie. I made him a Mercury astronaut.

Not So Fast

The tubes will not go in tomorrow morning. He has a cold with chest congestion, and the doctors say that doesn't mix well with anesthesia. We rescheduled for Jan. 12, and we're to be there even earlier in the morning than we were to arrive tomorrow. He also, true to the doctor's prediction, has another ear infection. We had an 18-month checkup this morning, and the pediatrician asked us flatly which antibiotic we wanted. We picked cefdinir, but we'll go back for rocephin if his ears aren't better in a few days.

I'm glad we don't have the early morning tomorrow. This week has been a chore, hardly a vacation at all. I toured Asheville yesterday as the car was tuned up, and the sidekick stayed in daycare. I visited the Biltmore Square Mall, and it is pathetic. It's mostly empty, and what stores are there are the small boutique types, folks selling Southern knickknacks. It's sad; I bought Your Sister's valentine's ring there. I also visited the new shopping center on Long Shoals Road. It's more of a town than a mall with storefronts and avenues and apartments on the higher floors. It's anchored by a new movie theatre, and I watched the new Mission: Impossible there. It was the earliest film I could catch and keep my car appointment. If Your Sister takes the deputy to daycare tomorrow, I hope she watches War Horse. So I don't have to.

I visited the short shop while I was in town and met my liaison. She said my stuff would go up this week. I said I'd be in next week to see them. So. We'll see what I see.

I also stopped into Toys R Us and finally bought the Y-Wing. I've only wanted it forever. They're my favorite ships from Star Wars, and I love the mythology they have: All the Rebel Y-Wings are cobbled together from salvaged models. They're the bombers of the fleet, the B-52s and B-17s. The X-Wings would be their escorts and draw fire.

The deputy was given a play tent by my mom, and he seems to enjoy it. She visited Monday for a late Christmas lunch.

Picture of the Day
Yeah, baby.

Stick it in Your Ear

Our regularly scheduled ENT appointment was to see if the boy could get off the Prevaid. But we asked first if he could check the ears after such a long spells of infections. He took quick looks and said that, within the next two weeks, he's gonna have another infection because his ears are full of "reduction sauce of ear snot."

He's getting tubes. The doctor explained the procedure and sought to comfort us with talk of procedure length and recovery, but we're not rattled. The regular doctors prepared us for this possibility, and we recounted the infection history and anecdotal tube stories from other parents.

We noted the multiple comments of potential verbal progression once the tubes are in, and the ENT said flatly that he and we will not believe how much better he will hear once this is done. I mentioned he can already differentiate between a truck and a train, and the ENT shook his head. That's nothing, he said. He will even cover his ears from the increased din in those fully operational ears.

We make the appointment next week for an Asheville surgery, and the ENT said that we'd do the procedure even if he came down with an infection. Needs doing. Also that will be when he will check the heartburn and tell us if the sidekick can get off Prevacid.

The ENT said he gives this spiel on ears and surgery and anesthetic and tubes twice a day. There's a 1/50 chance his eardrum could be punctured and a 50/50 chance he'll need a follow-up procedure in five years.

Picture of the Day
The Most Great ENT, Dr. Loveotron-san.

Tis the Season

Your Sister is in cleanup mode as the semester ends. It's exam week. She either watches other classes take their exams or remediates her own students as they try to squeeze past the failure threshold. Her days run just as long as when classes ran normally, and she has just as much homework to get all the grading done.
I am sketching. The podcast that inspired 80TEAM80 asked me to provide some zombie art for a new project, and it took a turn. The art went in a direction I didn't expect, and I find myself drawing the image repeatedly in a nerdy rush. Details later. I also started a second round of thumbnails for the comic and the obligatory script tweaks. This threatens to be an epic story of desperate robots.

Still no sign of my shirts at the store. I was again told my liaison was sick. I am now convinced this store is run in second gear.

Have a Merry Christmas on those beaches. Toast the season with pineapple drinks.We are not putting up a tree this year as the sidekick will only tackle it. Every five minutes.

Picture of the Day
Behold the Cthulhu Tree, the encapsulation of HP Lovecraft's dark mythos and yuletide cheer.

 

Bonus Moving Picture of the Day

Know you of this? Maybe we can set up a movie date for next year. I remember we three watched Two Towers on a snowy afternoon. And then we tussled at pinball.

Breathe A Sigh

As the week comes to a close, so does a very difficult semester, and Your Sister is noticeably sloughing that burden. We're not clear yet; final papers need grades and exams dominate next week. But even that week is easier to handle than the previous weeks' load shoved onto her as the returning workhorse.

She got cranky, to put it mildly, and screechy, to put it bluntly, and Tuesday represented the absolute worst I've ever seen her. She cracked. She's entitled. She got it out of her system and was fine the next day. The upcoming semester promises regular work periods during school hours and a curriculum distributed to all the teachers. She wasn't the only one feeling it these past months, but she had a jarring return to the school after a year's absence. I think she'll drink this weekend. I endorse the notion.

+  +  + 

The deputy made it through a full workweek without a fever or ejection, and I am almost dancing with relief. He's not sleeping through the night though. Sometimes he's hungry, sometimes he's restless. I wonder if we've coddled him through his ailments and back into the pattern of crying for company. We may have to break him of that crutch again.

Missing some sleep is infinitely more preferable to sitting him at home again. If he wakes up in the night, he usually just needs some water, maybe a diaper, and he's out quickly. Five minutes, maybe. 

+  +  + 

I hope to have pictures of my printed t-shirts early next week. I'm told they will try to use all the art I sent them earlier this week. I'm already working on new images too.

Picture of the Day

Andrew Garfield, the likable guy from Social Network, is the new Spider-Man, and new images were released this week. I'm not digging the new costume, but I appreciate them trying to make it look like active wear.

Contact

After tidying up some t-shirt art, I planned to print out copies and hand deliver them to the t-shirt shop Monday. I sent my first email files to them three weeks ago and heard nothing. I called and left three phone messages with no response from my store contact, and I was getting mad. As I saved the last Photoshop file, I called the store to confirm they would be open during my lunch break. Surprisingly, my contact answered the phone.

I asked if she had gotten my files. She said yes and then rather sheepishly said the political art wouldn't work. They didn't want to polarize the audience, and it was then that I developed a new theory: They worried I would go ballistic. Maybe I was one of those crazy political junkies who took any opportunity to yell fascism.

I understand completely. That's why the Helms/Thurmond shirt I made could be worn ironically or sincerely. But I had made other art and mentioned that. She didn't remember them, probably not noticing them once she saw the art and formulated a panicked plan of no response. I emailed her the files I had just polished, and she said the store might start printing them less than 24 hours later. We'll see. I'm posting shirt designs (and some design history) on heygregory and FaceBook.

Picture of the Day
Blue Spiral had a showing of work by Taiyo La Paix recently. I was surprised to find it among theglass birds and wood vases. Don't know the name, but I appreciate the style.

All Better

We knew the boy turned a corner when he woke up hungry in the middle of the night. Like a fever breaking, the Clearance Sale bug dissolved enough that his appetite came back. A day later, so did mine. And then Your Sister's. As the bloat dissipated, our stomachs realized they were empty and yelled for goodies. We ate all weekend. I initially thought the sidekick was starting a growth spurt, but because we all had the same cravings, it seems like he's refueling.

She again dug into her pile of research papers, and I watched the deputy over the weekend. We'll switch roles in a few months when I'm ear-deep in my comic. As long as he has access to a water cup and a handful of snack food, he's mostly OK. I can draw at the kitchen counter as he bounces and crawls and climbs. It's my hope we can go a full week without a doctor visit. Even if he comes down with something now, we'll wait for his Dec. 28 18-month check-up to take him in. I mean, an arm has to fall off for us to see the doctor before then.

Picture of the Day
John Wayne as Neo in The Matrix.

Lingering Effects

I'm still reeling from the Clearance Sale bug. My understanding of fermentation is that yeast eats sugar and makes gas. I think I'm making beer in my stomach. I am swelling from this stomach souffle. It aches. Antacid doesn't work. To break the foam, I'm eating despite a complete lack of appetite. My stomach feels full, and my brain says I don't need to eat, but my mouth misses tasty things. I have to remind myself to eat.

Before the Great Unpleasantness started Monday, I was interviewed for a podcast on Saturday. Some online friends have a regular show called Sarcastic Voyage, and each year they open their show to an exchange of audience questions. But the submitters must answer a randomly selected question. And so it was that I was recorded via Skype and asked about '80s cartoons. You can download the episode here. I come on at the 21-minute mark. If you go to the 1 hour and 20-minute mark, you'll hear someone answer the question I submitted:

The category of "art masterpieces" is cumulative. What was considered a landmark of art in the classical ages is largely still considered so. As the centuries unfurl, and more work is added to the pantheon of great art, we become buried under what is considered the best of all time. I say we need to limit the great works of art to a set number. And so I ask YOU: If you had to eliminate a famous piece of art from the status of "masterpiece," what would it be and why?

I wouldn't mind doing this on a regular basis.

I'm giving the t-shirt shop until Monday to return any of my three requests for confirmation they got my initial files, and I'm continuing to make art on the off-chance they are so blown away by my material that they forgot to call me back. I'm also making art for other online buddies for Christmas.

Picture of the Day
That's Frawn-ken-steen.

Wracked With Sickness

He got the third shot Friday and picked up a stomach bug Monday. I was at work for maybe 20 minutes before the daycare called me due to his throwing him five or six times. I was livid. It didn't help that the employees told me after I arrived that "he seems fine now, but he has to go home." He wasn't fine, turned out. Neither was I. Three hours after I got home, I was hit with it. 

I haven't thrown up in years. Maybe a decade. There were times I wanted to, yes. When I got swamped on Two Buck Chuck at the neighbors a few months back, for instance. But this was monstrous. The waves of nausea wouldn't crest, so I forced myself to throw up as a curious toddler a few feet away on the other side of a hallway gate. It was so violent, so massive, that I thought I pulled muscles even as I knew I wasn't finished. I was almost too fascinated by the experience to be upset by it. I felt immediately better as the toilet flushed before the cycle started again a half hour later. The sidekick and I had a few similar episodes throughout the day and evening.

I called Your Sister around 6, asking her to bring home some Gatorade. She suspected something was up before that because the boy as sporting reddened cheeks. He had also coughed up some breakfast over the weekend, but nothing that rang our alarms at the time. Also, a stomach bug was tearing through her school. She got home around 7, and it was soon tearing through her. The three of us were pitiful throughout the night. I had a dehydration headache the next morning, and the sidekick kept all his meals down during the day. Your Sister slept virtually all day, and she's back at home today. I'm at work. He's at daycare. So far, so good. I'm a little woozy still, mostly muscle weary. I may also be starving. We've lived off soups and toast for a few days.

Picture of the Day
The Milky Way over Nepal. 

Yes, Again.

Can you guess where we were Monday morning? Does the pattern hold true?

Yes, we were back to the doctor. His fever spiked Sunday, and his rash was back. I got him the earliest appointment we could for Monday, but his rash and fever had subsided. Just like taking the car to the mechanic. The doctor said his ear was infected again, and she noted with some alarm his recent medical history. He's been on three antibiotics since September. She suggested Rocephin as a last measure before we see an ENT. He'll get three shots this week, including his first dose on Monday. The doctor advised that we might see a behavioral shift, and by cracky, we have. He's pinballing off the walls. He's beyond "perky," as she warned. He's almost manic.

She suggested the shots and possible ENT with trepidation, and I told her we'd do what's necessary. We want him better. Ear tubes, from all anecdotal evidence, is no big deal these days. They go in easy. They come out easy. And if they keep him from getting dizzy and cranky and potentially deaf, then let's get those if need be. But until we make that appointment, let's see if the new stuff works. He's gotten it once before. His first infection was treated with one shot of Rocephin to boost the prescription of Amoxicillin. This time he's getting the three shots alone. 

Picture of the Day
Hey, mom! Watch this!

Supplemental Income

As I killed time before this weekend's roller derby, I swung by the t-shirt store on Lexington. Its a screen-printing company that promotes local artists. I got my Batmobile shirt from them right before Fanaticon. In fact, I bought it as I was killing time before the museum dance party the night before the show. Saturday I noticed a flyer soliciting new contracts with local artists. I dismissed it immediately. My idea of "local artists" in this town is trendy faux-psychedelia. Not my scene.

Monday morning, however, I found a nice shirt on Woot and bought it immediately. I don't do this. I wouldn't have any Threadless shirts if not for the two you gave me a few years back.

This was too clever to pass up. Also, I'm the kind of nerdy old man who can't resist skulls on a black shirt. I'm closer to the TV geek fashion of House, not the Big Bang kids.

Skip ahead a few hours. I had to go downtown to deposit my paycheck, and I decided to kill the rest of my lunch break by cruising downtown, as I do. I swung by Lexington once more and thought again about that flyer. The skull shirt inspired me. Maybe I could that. Maybe I've already done that, and I just need to put my art on shirts. What the hell.

I went in, chatted with the lady behind the counter, and had a signed contract within five minutes. I retain all image rights and get a cut of all sales of merchandise with my material. Costs me nothing but the time to make and email the artwork. Yeah, what the hell. I mean, that Shiva logo is begging to see the light of day. It's ready to go now. Toss in a few reworkings of other artwork, and I could have an in-store display and a catalog section on their site. If I can sell shirts with my characters, that's free advertising. What. The Hell.

I combed through my old art files and found a handful I can send in soon. I made a list also of sketch ideas I have. I can maybe have shirts in hand before Christmas.

Picture of the Day
Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice! 

Back to the Doctor

Friday night was pretty difficult with him. It took me an hour to feed him supper because he cried and protested the food with each bite. I saw it as pouting. Maybe sleep deprivation. Your Sister suspected tooth trouble, and Saturday night's repeat at feeding time solidified that. She took him to the doctor Sunday morning, and we learned it was not tooth-related. His right ear is further infected, and he got an antibiotic upgrade to Azithromycin. It looks like we're back to middle-of-the-night ear drops.

The doctor also suggested he's becoming particular and perhaps reaching his tantrum phase, presaging the Terrible Twos. We've seen that. He runs off to cry when he's denied something, even lying on the floor to scream a bit. We won't have that. Your Sister leaves the room. I give him a smack on the tush.

He's definitely mimicking words now. He doesn't get all the sounds tight, but he's getting there.

I didn't witness Saturday night's antics because I went to the season finale for roller derby. They hadn't played at home since July due to civic center renovations, and we learned via the program that the bouts are moving to the ag center at the airport. That's convenient in a lot of ways: free parking, closer to home, tailgate possibilities. I wonder how the facilities might affect attendance. Will they have enough room for the average civic center crowd? Will the downtown foot traffic follow the team to our neck of the woods?

The night featured the usual blowout wins provided by tip-top athleticism, and we got a skater busting her chin on the track (requiring stitches and an extended clean-up) and another gal collapsing into vomit on the track and suffering a knee injury. I worried she had a seizure, but she seemed OK after some EMT attention and another long clean-up. We won't see the derby again until April. Yeesh.

So, hey, I'll see you in a few days. Prepare for child overload.

Picture of the Day
I normally don't like image memes like this, but ...

Get Him Healthy

This is necessary accompaniment when we learn the sidekick has another ear infection and must stay home.

When the deputy can not go outside and finds himself stuck in our relatively small house for three out of four days, he's not happy. Neither am I. I spent a healthy chunk of Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday with him on my hip. I too was stuck inside, and the satellite dish saved my sanity. I used the laptop to work from home, but tweaking magazine files through two computers and their internet connections is rough going.

Today, he's fever-free and rash free and seemingly regaining his appetite. He woke up last night hungry for the first time in months.

Your Sister is dragging. She goes straight from the dinner table to her office to do school junk. She's not yet at the point where I can help out with papers. I can do little for her. I made dinner last night from a recipe she picked. She forgot to thaw the frozen items including the broth. As she tried to feed a cranky sidekick, I cut the broth out of its box and thawed it in the microwave after hacking it to bits with a knife. I had to split the dish into two pans to cook, and I was teary eyed from the red onions. This was kitchen slapstick.

I at least think I was the doctor's best parent Monday. I gave her what I consider good information and observations about our guy, and we talked about his unwillingness to use words. He might -- might -- have started word mimicry this week. It sure sounded like he said "bright light" after I did this morning.


Picture of the Day
We all need help these days.  #OccupyGotham

Battle Stations!

Our first car sickness disaster happened yesterday.

We got halfway through our commute -- literally the midpoint-- and I happened to be glancing at him in the mirror when he spit up. That's odd. Ha hasn't spit up in months and months. As I was thinking I should pull over to clean up that slight mess, he made a gigantic one. Seemingly everything he's ate this weekend came up. And it was effortless. It looked like he was no longer babbling in words but in liquid. A soup soliloquy. I was too amazed to be mad. I pulled into a gas station parking lot and discovered his hoodie had caught most of it. I took that off and turned it inside out to bundle the mess. I used his diaper bag items to clean him up, and we drove back home.

My brain has a constant fret swarm buzzing about, arguing that I'm never prepared and never capable. I've been in enough significant moments to know that this panic cloud vanishes when it's time to act. It's merely a barking yip-yip dog, scampering off in times of trouble. Granted, this was ultimately an inconvenience, but this was our first car-bourne eruption which we're led to believe is an inevitable catastrophe for all parents. Did I go James Bond on my son's upchuck? Yes, why not?

I decided he'd stay home even if this was an isolated thing. He didn't have a fever, and he seemed to be in a low gear, but he was playing. A little clingy, maybe, but that's not a bad thing some days. I'll hug my boy. When I called daycare to explain his absence, I was told there was a vomit bug going around. That's info we needed beforehand. He ate lightly and slept heavy, and this morning seemed mostly OK. He made it to daycare unsullied.

We took him into the forest both weekend days to burn off his toddler energy. I worked on a piece of comic art for an online buddy's Christmas surprise. I'll post images after he gets it.

There's been some more nonsense among the family regarding Thanksgiving, and it involves how much money is spent on each grandchild. It makes me want to skip the 12 hours of driving. Would you join us in a defection if we decide to do something else, like Occupy Dollywood? (I'm kidding/not kidding.)

Picture of the Day
This is what Burning Man looks like at night from space.

Time Change

We think he's adjusting to the new clock settings. He's waking up later in the morning now after a few days of waking up earlier than we wanted. He's not as cranky on the commute home when it would normally be after his time to eat. We stuck to our plan to give him the same food we eat, saving us all that time used for food preparation, and we're trying to teach him to use a spoon properly. He's slow to pick it up. He's also not yet intentionally saying words, and that's concerns me a little. He babbles all the time, yet when it comes to identifying specific items, he relies on the same simple vowel outburst. He can make a variety of sounds, seemingly the entire alphabet, but he hasn't figured out to consistently make sounds for specific items.

Wait, he does say "blluh" for "umbrella," and he makes the vroom noise for all motors. We just introduced him to the vacuum cleaner -- the loudest motor in the house -- and he's delighted by its roar. He knows it sleeps in the closet, and he wants to visit it always.

I'll feel better when he's using something approaching words. He's clearly bright, if we do say so, but I worry he'll have some developmental communication trouble. Then I remember he took forever to walk, and he was running immediately after.

He finished the antibiotics, and his nose is no longer running, as it did for about two consecutive months.

Picture of the Day
Spooky-ooky necronauts.

Beloved Leftovers

Your Sister bought four growlers of Ninja Porter for the Saturday party, and virtually no one drank it. Besides me, of course. I discovered I killed a growler all by myself over the course of five hours. I feel no guilt. More important, Your Sister likes Ninja Porter, and we're making recipes all week that practically require a strong beer to accompany them. We also have extra candy from Monday.

She crashed early last night, and I was able to chip away at my stack of commissioned artwork for friends while watching a James Bond block of films.

That old guy in the mirror needs to start exercising again. I hope the upcoming time switch will let me get up early and make with some push-ups.

Picture of the Day
The cast of Alien, apparently back when the monster was going to be 20 feet tall.

Halloween Weekend

The annual carving party was a blast, and the house was swarming with kids. The deputy took it in stride as he's learned at daycare. He wore his costume for a few minutes before the attendees' body heat made it impractical. He went to sleep easily and slept through the chaos. Once he was put down, Your Sis and I could play the proper hosts.

We moved the party into the garage to escape the horrible wind and set the firepit near it on the driveway. As Your Sister made the party soup and cider, I took the deputy to the town street festival. He strolled inside the small hay maze, but the people and sounds distracted him to the point of immobility. I put him back in the stroller, and we made a few laps. I got my beloved lab gyro. There were a number of costumes, including a homemade He-Man costume. When I congratulated him as he walked by, he stopped to thank me. I was the only one (so far) to know who he was supposed to be. I live among heathens. I walked past the theatre stand and talked with the actor who played Scrooge in my last play. He was surprised the deputy was 16 months already, and we traded ear infection stories.

I drove the sidekick into the forest, and we walked the fish hatchery. After he inspected seemingly every vehicle in the parking lot, I pointed out the circling buzzards to him, and we followed them to the fish area. A ranger had given a flock a dead fish from the hatchery, and we got to watch them on the ground. He was mesmerized until he saw a cart with wheels, and he ran to play with that. He's also now obsessed with playing with Your Sister's umbrella.

People arrived around sunset, and soon the house was packed. We said goodnight to the last family around 11, and we quickly cleaned up and collapsed. I watched him last night while Your Sister did schoolwork. We fended off his small yeast outbreak with leftover medicine, and he seems to weather this infection well. He gets a little moody, but then he is a toddler.

We ended the night watching Walking Dead. That consists of me calmly taking it in, and Your Sister peeking from behind the couch.

The Letters to Holly Quasi-Victorian Cheesecake Pinup of the Scary Day
She only wanted sparkly shoes. Who are we to judge her?