I just returned from a rather lengthy trip up to Connecticut. Spent some time babysitting my newborn nephew and his mother while the hubby went to work. I'm surprised somebody allowed me within 100 feet of a kid who had been alive for less than a week. Way to go, my semi-retarded friends. Way to go.
Most of my time was spent hanging out with the newborn, Jack. His parents are some of my dearest friends and I was terribly excited to see what sort of demon seed they were capable of unleashing on this world.
I met Ron and Ara while hiking the Appalachian Trail back in 2005. Sadly, they were forced to get off the Trail due to the two big 'uns: psychological turmoil and physical ailments. Ara, the wife, is a ballerina. Her 100lbs frame could not handle the rigors of trudging 20 miles/day. By the time the two had made it from Northern Maine through about 30 miles of New Hampshire, they had to call it quits. Terribly skinny folk usually ain't cut out for long distance hiking.
So, the two are now in CT. Quite a drive from D.C. But, I try 'n make the trip once-ever-few-months. Now that I have a little person to dote over, there's yet another reason I'll continue to brave the arduous 377 mile journey (yes, I've counted the miles many, many times).
While definitely not one for little people it might just be my bias seeping through my would-be better judgement... but that is one cute little motherfucker they done birthed.
and to think... if little Jack is anything like his old man, he has this to look forward to one day:
So, I spent about a week playing cards with Ara, cleaning house, trying not to be obvious when she was breastfeeding, and carrying on extremely raunchy conversations with both of my friends. I take pleasure in the fact that, despite being parents and having to care for another human life and all that jazz... the two will probably never act the part of the typical American parent. They're both far-too foul. This is probably the part of our shared personalities that initially drew us together.
Ara is betting that Jack's first word is going to be "fuck". Odds are, the girl is right.
I've reminded Ron on numerous ocassions that, should he meet with an unfortunate end, I'm stealing his wife:
...he doesn't seem to mind.
Most of my time was spent hanging out with the newborn, Jack. His parents are some of my dearest friends and I was terribly excited to see what sort of demon seed they were capable of unleashing on this world.
I met Ron and Ara while hiking the Appalachian Trail back in 2005. Sadly, they were forced to get off the Trail due to the two big 'uns: psychological turmoil and physical ailments. Ara, the wife, is a ballerina. Her 100lbs frame could not handle the rigors of trudging 20 miles/day. By the time the two had made it from Northern Maine through about 30 miles of New Hampshire, they had to call it quits. Terribly skinny folk usually ain't cut out for long distance hiking.
So, the two are now in CT. Quite a drive from D.C. But, I try 'n make the trip once-ever-few-months. Now that I have a little person to dote over, there's yet another reason I'll continue to brave the arduous 377 mile journey (yes, I've counted the miles many, many times).
While definitely not one for little people it might just be my bias seeping through my would-be better judgement... but that is one cute little motherfucker they done birthed.
and to think... if little Jack is anything like his old man, he has this to look forward to one day:
So, I spent about a week playing cards with Ara, cleaning house, trying not to be obvious when she was breastfeeding, and carrying on extremely raunchy conversations with both of my friends. I take pleasure in the fact that, despite being parents and having to care for another human life and all that jazz... the two will probably never act the part of the typical American parent. They're both far-too foul. This is probably the part of our shared personalities that initially drew us together.
Ara is betting that Jack's first word is going to be "fuck". Odds are, the girl is right.
I've reminded Ron on numerous ocassions that, should he meet with an unfortunate end, I'm stealing his wife:
...he doesn't seem to mind.
niobe:
Happy Holidays! 