Not Much You Can Add

Thanks, Dad. Thanks.

Their Lawyers Write Letters

Dear Max R_____ P_______:

We represent M____ P______ and K____ R_____, heretoafter referred to as "Your Parents". Your Parents provide for you both food and shelter and, in return, you to provide "cuteness" and "continuation of the gene collective" as well as some mowing and other duties as assigned.

It as come to our attention that you are, in fact, growing. Growing in such a way as to impede the delivery of the "cuteness", one of your primary duties. While it may have been previously assumed that your increasing mobility and emotional growth could be considered cute, it has also resulted in more falling (not cute) and more churlishness (also not cute). Your increased motor skills, size and overall development are interupting your fulfillment of the parent/child contract. Also, it appears that, soon, you may demand some sort of allowance.

We hereby demand that you immediately abandon all growing as to continue your abilty to deliver "the cute" while minimizing your emotional outbursts and falling.

We request that you will comply with the foregoing request to cease and desist from growing by November 20th, 2006. If you do not confirm compliance by such time, we shall advise our clients to pursue their legal remedies and enforce their rights.

Sincerely,
Bob Loblaw

Newy Newy Newness

While our little blog was down, there was no blogging. Soo-prizingly enough, The Max did not stop growing. In fact, the non-stopping of growing is what drove us to return to this blog to continue the story of Max. I've been waiting for an excuse to trot out a few of the things that happened to Max while the blog was down, and it seems like Max's reaction to a Biter Biscuit is a perfect starting point. So, here is Max trying to enjoy his first Biter Biscuit. I don't know what the hell a Biter Biscuit is, but there's they are: Max and a slowly disintegrating biscuit. It's like a pear-flavored, slo-mo climax of The Fly.

Other new things: Max is terrified of tin foil. The first time Max saw and heard tin foil, he kind of got a look on his face like you do when you see this commercial. All awe and fear and amazement. He handle that first dose pretty well. The next time, we didn't realize it was the tin foil, but thought it was some other form of non-approved stimulus that pissed Max off. The next night, though, we had another tin foil related event; we stretched out a length and ripped it off. Next thing we know we've got a little "bull-dogged" faced baby in full-on freak out mode. Two nights in a row, two freak outs: it wasn't Dad's cooking, it was the tin foil! I guess tin foil went past fascinating into the realm of scary.

Actually, now that I'm writing this post, I can't think of the other things that happened during our blog hiatus that were deemed worthy of mention. I'll have to check with Katie. That, though, folks, seems to be parenthood in a nutshell: everyday is so intense, so incremental; if you don't log everyday, you miss things. Two days ago, was he standing by himself? A week ago, was he seeing that button on the exersaucer? Yesterday, was he looking at you the same way, with so much love? Here's Max. He loves Biter Biscuits, he drools them to goo, he doesn't like tin foil; his parents are fools for him.

The Fifth Season

Katie wanted me to post this one, mostly because, everytime she looks at it, she starts to sing, "I'm workin' my way back to you, babe!" She sort of sees this shot as Max's "karoke moment". If you really look, you'll notice that not only is Max backing up Frankie Valli, he's snapping his fingers too!

That's right folks, sings and dances!

Max's Addiction

People who know me, know that there are two things to which I am truly addicted: Burt's and coffee. It's a little early to get the boy going on the coffee (also, I don't want him cutting into my supply), but, hey, ever'body loves soft lips, right?

Dia de Los Crabby Babies

Max had a bunch of buddies over for Halloween. Unfortunately, all the prep work for his party did not include naptime so Max was not entirely able to keep it together for all of his guests. It didn't really matter to the bat, the princess, the monkey or the slacker (no costume!). However, the skeleton felt and shared Max's pain.

Max's first Halloween was as least as fun as my 11th. That was year we hit nearly every house in Wahpeton. By the end of the night, we labored along with plump pillowcases like some bizarre parade of hobbit-sized santa claus' (clai?). A kid couldn't help but dig into that stash as he went. Mom picked us up and we went to Hardee's. The questionable combination of Big Roast Beefs, fries, Snickers, Smarties, Milky Ways, Kit Kats, and Milk Duds proved unstable. I remained stationary, going for the "cow-pie" effect. Chris Tougas went for distance, wandered about the parking lot and left a handy trail of puke.

Later, we went home and ate more candy.

Just in case you were wondering, if Max had been in good mood, he would've been able to wear his costume for more than thirty seconds. Here he is before all the pressure of his party.

Lick. . . Lick. . . Hmm, I'd say it's about an R5 or R7

Max helped me put plastic up on the windows today. I never knew you could detect R-Value via the tongue. You learn so much when you have a baby.