Begin to be now what you will be hereafter.

Don't mind me, I'm just taking a trip down memory's lane...

Twenty-seven seconds after birth. July 2008.

The first week home. July 2008.

You handsome devil. February 2009.

Front yard hunk. Winter 2009.

Thousand yard stare. May 2010.

Refugee. Home, Spring 2010.

A late summer icy pole. Seven Mile Beach, March 2011.

Hoorah! Geilston Bay, June 2011.

Mr Moody. February 2012.

Hey true blue. March 2012.

Ezra does a mean Betty Boop impression. April 2012.

Comments

Dina said…

Four years! I remember the thrill of seeing these photos of Ezra right after they were taken. Handsome devil is right.
How strange and wonderful to follow the progress of the boy's entire life solely via your blog.
Looking forward to the continuing growth.

20 July 2012 at 00:11

Sue said…

Did you ever in your wildest imagination think that you would help create such a magnificent work of art such as Ezra?

21 July 2012 at 22:27

Roddy said…

Four years!! And to think that I have managed to be there for most of it.
And best of all I have also managed to be a large part of Henry's life too.

24 July 2012 at 19:13

Kris McCracken said…

It's a scary thought!

25 July 2012 at 16:27

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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