9 thoughts on “Love thy brother”

  1. The bottom one!

    The perfectly self-conscious posing despite being sideways!

    The backlit curls!


    that is all

    (I don’t mean this as an insult at all but he reminds me a bit of a Troll doll- something about the nose and the close mouthed grin)

  2. You know it, Vikki! He has no choice but to be durable.

    And lord help me, virgoex, if he’s striking poses at eight months, we’re all in trouble sister! I’ll turrn off the camera, I swear it! I think! Love the Troll thing. That style smile, along with the cleft chin, is one of the more distinctive of our donor chum’s calling cards. (The nuclear power plant’s worth of bodily energy, plus the eyes: atsa his Mama.)

    Robin, you know, she lives upstairs from two cousins and not far from a third, so she hears them refer to me as her Baba (as both proper name and generic), and the younger ones call me that directly. Then her little homie across the street has a Baba herself, so she hears that a lot from a peer.


    However, we’ve just now taken our first steps into the wide world. The folks at the preschool have been exceedingly supportive and respectful, honoring our language and even being willing to assay explanations to the curious (e.g., “A Baba’s a kind of a parent” / “kind of a Mama,” depending on the collective comfort level). It’ll be a big day when the moniker jumps the divide between the cogniscenti and the ordinary citizenry. So glad for you all about Pearl’s best friend. Do kids just roll with stuff? And follow their gut & their heart?

  3. Let me just mention here, that I do not see anywhere in this picture– dust bunnies, peanut butter, dirty clothes, old toast, or even shoes. On the floor. It’s a floor.

    Where is the junk strewn about? Your floor is shiny and perfect! How are you doing that?

    My floor has Cheerios, old dried up juice stickum, crayons, toys, clothes, shoes, dog hair and coffee grounds. Please tell me your secret.

  4. You of all people, a graphic designer, should have heard about PhotoShop.

    No, okay, really.

    You of all people, who has lived with the beloved, should have heard about, well, her. Physical chaos (a) = mental chaos (b), and there’s already enough of that (b) around, particularly w/ such a small apartment, so we have to limit (a). Or rather, she wants to, and I begrudgingly accomodate. About a week or two later. Or when she harangues me for the umpteenth time, whichever comes first.

    Plus of course none of us but me will ever know what’s left down there on the LD cutting room floor. My editing hand is as stern as a mid-1950s communist block censor. Promotional &/or heartwarming material: da! Incriminating &/or dirty laundry: nyet!

    I will throw you a frickin’ bone, though, and paste a picture of what I just swept up — 24 hrs. of accumulated schmutz:


    Okay I threw the cheddar bunnies in for effect. But still.

  5. Ja, sure, youbetcha!

    Ooo! And I would be remiss if I overlooked the main thing! Havin’ one of these roving around, sucking up all the floor crud I don’t get to first:

    That gets me to lunge for the broom when nothin’ else will.

Leave a Comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.