Graham's cracker

My favorite thing that happened today:
I was throwing a ball back and forth with Graham, which puts him out of his mind with glee.  He squeals, thrusts out his arms, and stomp-runs to chase it.  After one toss of mine he chased it, and  passed over a graham cracker he'd abandoned on the floor earlier.  A few steps from there, he squealed again, ran back to the cracker, the same jubilant edge, and shoved it into his mouth. 
And then he lumbered over and collapsed in my arms.
He's one of my unending obsessions.  

Lately

I've felt that things have become so busy, even outside of my life chasing my little raccoons, and I'm trying to stay on top of it all.  More on that later.  Things I'm realizing I might not properly record any time soon:

• On Valentine's Day this year Jeff and I got to go to an Imagine Dragons concert.  I first became converted after their Letterman performance.  I give their concert 2 big, fat thumbs up.  As we got close to The Forum I started to remember that oh wait, I'm old and exhausted and have no energy for such partying.  And then once we parked I was laughing to myself and/or out loud at the early-20s girls dressed in minimal clothing and 6-inch heels, adjusting their clothing nervously and gabbing endlessly.  For the life of me I don't know how they could handle more than an hour in that mode of living. But enough of that.  I rallied and dug deep into the burrows of my heart and mind for the energy to enjoy the entire evening.  Back to the concert: I feel like guys in the music industry can get away with murder.  As a man, you don't have to have a powerful or even nice-sounding voice to be main-stream successful  Many male performers I've seen live spend a lot of time avoiding the entire concept of stage presence on a stool.  Dan Reynolds (and the rest of the band) have natural talent that made them sound great live, and interesting to watch!  But I also know it's not just the abilities they were born with, it's been a huge, massive pile of hard work over a long time.  I was very impressed, and feel like they're just a few steps behind the monumental vibe of a Coldplay concert.  Speaking of Coldplay....
• I'm still depressed over the Gwyneth Paltrow/Chris Martin divorce.  Apparently now, according to court documents, he's moved back into their Brentwood house and they could possibly be reconciling, but until I read a "reliable" statement from one or both of their reps I shan't get my hopes up.  And so I haven't been able to get myself to listen to a beat of Coldplay's new album. 
• I'm currently being sucked into the Mia Wasikowska/Michael Fassbender version of Jane Eyre once again.  It's probably got to do with its brooding and mysterious vibe, which is so the polar opposite of my life. 
• I still need to write about the rest of our trip to Copenhagen and Denmark, but I think about it every day.  It was magic.  Euro magic. 

And that's all for now!

The Bruiser

Graham is my bruiser.  He climbs the park structures and down the slides like a boss.  Jude takes toys from him and body slams him all day long, and he doesn't bat a lengthy eyelash, but if I haven't read his mind on food or beverage, or put him down too soon, he scrunches up his face and smooshes out his soggy lips.  He loves to climb up on the couch and lean way back, getting really comfy.  And he beholds his kingdom (the family room) with a look of satisfaction. 


He woke up crying from teething last week and I went up to take him some Tylenol.  I picked him up and as I put the dropper to his mouth he growled, "Not that!"  I had to laugh -- he growls 90% of his little sentences. 


He loves hanging with the bros.  If there's a grown man around, that's who he wants to play with.  On the 4th of July, we went to the beach with a bunch of friends, and Graham spotted the Air Force Pilot in the bunch immediately (Seth Schurtz) and climbed up on his lap.  It's like he knew that of all the people there, this guy would be most likely to hook him up with a ride on a fighter jet.  They shared a can of Pringles, and Graham would take huge stacks of them and shove them in Seth's mouth. 


He tries to run and it's the cutest thing you've ever seen.  If I leave the baby gate open for 2 seconds he knows it and books it as fast as his fat legs can go, pumping his arms, eyes wild with the thrill of MAYBE making it into the office where he can throw pens around.


Long live Bruiser!