I've taken so many pictures of Jason by this point that he's pretty much over it. He often closes his eyes or turns away, or makes a face. One of the few scenarios in which I can consistently get a truly candid shot of him anymore is while he's watching TV--he's just too engrossed to notice. Takes after the old man that way.

This one was taken back in June. He looks different now, but his TV-watching face is the same.

Several times over the past few weeks, Juliette and I have been woken up in the wee hours of the morning by a small, slightly scared, slightly whiny voice telling us that he had a bad dream. At four in the morning we're usually pretty out of it, and as long as he's willing to go back to sleep we usually don't care if he's in his room. Thus, the above has become a somewhat common sight on the floor of our bedroom. The first few times this happened I'm sure he was telling the truth, but once he started showing up with an armload of pillows and blankets and stuffed animals, I'm pretty sure it had become an excuse. On the other hand, he usually sleeps past 7 on our floor, so I can't complain too much.

This is Jason's baby. His name is Deet. (I don't know why.) This was Eva's gift to her big brother upon the occasion of her birth. From what I can tell--and from what Jason tells me--Deet appears to be a nudist. (I don't know why.)

There were some surprisingly resilient blue bubbles at a birthday party we went to this weekend.

On Sunday, Juliette and Jason made some chocolate-chip-banana-apple-carrot-spinach bread. You wouldn't know it from the name, but it was actually quite tasty.

My baby, pushing her baby.

This is a picture of my baby girl with a mustache. That is all.

I remember doing this when I was Jason's age, falling asleep in the middle of a party, under a table or in a corner, waking up only when it was time to go.

Actually, I remember doing that in college, too, but I guess that's a different story.

The day after my niece's wedding, there was a brunch at the lodge where we were staying, during which I mostly ate, or chatted with family, or kept an eye on my kids. At one point, though, I found myself standing out on the deck, looking out at the ocean and watching the waves ripple through the water on their way to the beach. Letting my eye rest on one spot and watching each swell pass by like the ocean taking a breath, it felt like every little hill in the surface was something coming into being. Something familiar but somehow alien, lonely and yet comforting. Something short-lived but eternal. Something mysterious.

I stood there, transfixed. And then I turned away and went back to the party.

I realize that I sound like a grumpy, old curmudgeon--and this is not entirely inaccurate--but when I was a kid, pumpkin patches were just farms where you could buy pumpkins, not the huge affairs with hay rides and pony rides and food vendors (and petting zoos, bouncy castles, haybale mazes, craft fairs, and so on, and so on) that I see these days. There was a time when the excess of it all did, in fact, make me grumpy. But you know what? These new-fangled pumpkin patches? They're pretty fun. And the kids love going.

Look at how un-curmudgeonly I'm being. I'm as surprised as you are. Go me.