He gave it some hugs, changed its diaper, and gave it some water.
Then he tore it in half. We're still working on the "gentle, gentle" thing...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
About Me
- dada
- Call me dada. This has, in the few months since my son started "talking," become my name. I'm sure (at least I hope) it will eventually morph into something less early 20th century art movementy --- but I am marked forever as dada. And this is a good thing. I have no real advice to offer, other than always carry Cheerios and extra onesies, and I don't really have a lot of 'wacky' adventures to regale you with. Truth be told, this is as much for me as it is for you. So, uh, thanks for stopping by. I hope it's at least an interesting time-killer. And if not, consider this an ironic exercise in skewering the bourgeouis notions of 21st century American parenthood by deconstructing the materialist ethos that has turned childhood into a demographic and rendered adults simultaneous enablers and slaves. Or something.
Blog Archive
-
▼
2006
(206)
-
▼
August
(19)
- Dada in the rye
- Sort of like the technicolor dreamcoat
- Random Samson
- Naps, rugs, and rock and roll
- Corny
- The persistence of memory
- Field trip, take two
- Worst field trip ever
- The adventure begins...
- Big brother
- Taskmaster
- Wiseguy
- The night of living dangerously
- Here comes the sun
- Just the facts
- In training
- Paging Dr. Jung
- Again with the gratuitous Samson photos
- First things first
-
▼
August
(19)
1 comment:
playdoh baby creepy!
Post a Comment