Boy oh boy oh boy

On the 12th day of April, in the two-thousand and eleventh year of our Lord, Mister Nolan James Rockey entered this olde world weighing in at 7 pounds and 2 ounces. Mama Jane labored and delivered naturally in typical rawk star form, under the aid of zero pain meds, with myself and the always amazing Renee Furrow by her side. Cool. Calm. Collected.

What. A. Woman.

After less than twenty minutes of pushing, m'lady shouted, "I was right!" as our little boy was pulled into the hot white spotlights of the delivery room.

Super hawt.

To quote a friend regarding the responsibility of raising more than one child: "It just keeps getting better and stranger!" Bring on the strange! And also the orange popsicles!

Baby Jane agrees.

But before things get too strange, let's just enjoy this moment of zen.

I have yet to experience a greater display of the glory of our Creator than the fruit of all of our exhausting journeys through infertility and child loss.

How about now? Can we play outside now, daddy?

Baby Jane spent some time relocating rocks around Mama's garden. This dude was found laying low in hopes that the tiny lady would pass by.

Them bradford buds be blooming.

Baby Jane learns to fly while Mama lays a phat bowl of mulch.

The most fun a kid can have with a sandbox full of plastic and rain water.

The most chill a kid can get in a tub full of bath bubbles.

These are the days of water and sand

There is something happening here

In short

My dad (who really is a hero of mine) had a birthday this week and is celebrating by spending the week with his lady partner (my mom) just south of the hoosier state. I wanted to write about how rad he is and how we both just finished this mindbending book and discussed plans for deeper discussion.

However, it is 2:54 in the a.m. and me thinks the pillow it beckons me.

So instead, here's an incredibly flattering out-of-focus photo from the early nineties of the two of us in dope shorts singing a song that has haunted me on every return visit to olivet since.

Sweet dreams.

Take your shoes off

Let them piggies dangle in the cool breeze.

Hide your kids, hide your wife

This shady dude is the embodiment of baby-snatching. He's a bastard and he'll try and trick you with enchanting yo-yo tricks. Beware.

Thank you, pat benatar

The preceding has been a partial song-writing demo recorded for the purpose of streaming through the interwebs.

Say something for pete's sake

Pony thoughts

Sometimes the kid just says things that merit being said by a talking pony.

Tell me i'm gonna be a great big sister

Oh spring, where are you now? (In lake wobegon?) You came and went and appear to be coming back ’round once again. Won’t you stay a little longer this time around? We miss you so.

We’re weeks, maybe days away from the arrival of Itty Bitty. Baby Jane is apparently wearing this princess bandage over her forehead until the arrival. At least that’s what i’m assuming since she’s going on day four. And just in case you’re curious, there is no head wound of any kind beneath its protective surface.

I also wondered if maybe she wasn’t trying to keep her creative ideas from spilling out onto paper too quickly for her to keep up with. After all, take a look at these recent pieces…

Here's compacted snow in your eye, kid

In case you live in Indiana and you just so happen to have missed one of the days sandwiched between Springlike weather when Olde Man Winterbone stopped by for a sit-and-spin, here’s a look-see. Baby Jane and i spent one afternoon digging snowfingers, building snowdudes and hurling snowsaucers at our new friends, each other, and ourselves. Therapeutic, to say the least.

Then several days later we turned a chicken into a fish…

Magic.

Mister mopey eggs

Lately, i get it. 2-year-olds like to say “i don’t know” an awful lot. Sometimes, things get hairy and everyone’s left with weepy eyes. No need to fear. This dude with the strawberry lips and the sunshiny nose gives all the ladies a smile. Other times, things gotsta go on top of the fridge for a time out…

Sometimes, even new shoes are a privilege to be taken away.

And also fireman helmets.