I am not one given to children but from time to time they are thrust upon me and I find myself in the role of doting uncle which does not come naturally to one as me.
Conner is two years old and more elastic than you would give him credit for. in horseplay he dropped on his head and I, sure he had broken his neck panicked while he got up and ran to his elder brother, 4 year old Aidan and head butted him. It seemed nothing had happened.
It was Sunday evening at Celo, in the North Carolina mountains, a place where dusk descends slowly and summer is a time for grandparents, parents, children and visitors sit out on the lawn or potter in the vegetable garden. Doting grandfather Bob was doing just that in the blueberry patch with his nudist grandson.
Dad Jacob and I had just been served some alcohol by the women beavering away in the kitchen. It was all very rural and were all in our roles.
"Conner just pooped,"his mother called, causing me to choke on my wine. Great. 
Mason wondered why these helpless pink things have taken his place in his mother's affection. I too wondered this as i pondered picking up after dogs versus picking up after smelly children.
Jacob decided to test an innovative new way to diaper a small child. First take hold of one ankle. 
Slide the diaper over one ankle and take the second ankle to steady the squirming, gurgling child. 
The airborne version failed much to Conner's disappointment and Jacob resorted to traditional postures.
Conner resisted the traditional.
Back in the air for the pajamas. 
Nope. Didn't work. 
Ten Thirty One! (Foot pursuit in police ten codes). 
Jacob's glass looked lonely. 
Nearly done. 
Upside down. Much better. 
If I had to go through that to clean up after Cheyenne I'd be dead. 
Good night all. 
And before the sun goes down completely a moment for artistic introspection. Pink and purple everywhere. 
Out here even the garden shed looks astonishing. That may be because it also serves as guest quarters. 
Dinner was delightful. Kids asleep, grown ups eating. And drinking. Sunday evening in the country.
Conner is two years old and more elastic than you would give him credit for. in horseplay he dropped on his head and I, sure he had broken his neck panicked while he got up and ran to his elder brother, 4 year old Aidan and head butted him. It seemed nothing had happened.
It was Sunday evening at Celo, in the North Carolina mountains, a place where dusk descends slowly and summer is a time for grandparents, parents, children and visitors sit out on the lawn or potter in the vegetable garden. Doting grandfather Bob was doing just that in the blueberry patch with his nudist grandson.Dad Jacob and I had just been served some alcohol by the women beavering away in the kitchen. It was all very rural and were all in our roles.
"Conner just pooped,"his mother called, causing me to choke on my wine. Great. 
Mason wondered why these helpless pink things have taken his place in his mother's affection. I too wondered this as i pondered picking up after dogs versus picking up after smelly children.
Jacob decided to test an innovative new way to diaper a small child. First take hold of one ankle. 
Slide the diaper over one ankle and take the second ankle to steady the squirming, gurgling child. 
The airborne version failed much to Conner's disappointment and Jacob resorted to traditional postures.
Conner resisted the traditional.
Back in the air for the pajamas. 
Nope. Didn't work. 
Ten Thirty One! (Foot pursuit in police ten codes). 
Jacob's glass looked lonely. 
Nearly done. 
Upside down. Much better. 
If I had to go through that to clean up after Cheyenne I'd be dead. 
Good night all. 
And before the sun goes down completely a moment for artistic introspection. Pink and purple everywhere. 
Out here even the garden shed looks astonishing. That may be because it also serves as guest quarters. 
Dinner was delightful. Kids asleep, grown ups eating. And drinking. Sunday evening in the country.