My Summer Vacation: A Photo Essay by FRD

Playing with Dad's New Toy

A Completely Ridiculously Behaved Father's Day

The weekend kicked off with a little ride out, but FRD was as skeptical of the moto as his mom is, so the boys didn't really make it past the driveway.

Soon it was time to hit the pool. Literally. This was apparently hilarious.

Then a stroll in the birthday suit. This was also hilarious.

And finally a couple of cold ones at the end of the madness while you kick back, watch some baseball, and hang with dad. Happy Father's Day Dada!

Stayin Cool

Well, actually not at all. Rather, spending most of the weekend stickier than a cinnabon. But having a really good time hanging out with super awesome Aunt Jennie and discovering a passion for baseball (a real genetic shocker) at the Hoppers Game where Freddy exhibited uncharacteristic fortitude (and even glee) upon meeting Guilford, the giant fuzzy green grasshopper mascot.

My Favorite Picture Ever

Seriously -- Are these guys in love or what?

And a couple other recent shots:

Sweaty Freddy


Freddy Undeterred by the Penguins Recent Loss of the Stanley Cup

Don't Be Fooled

If things are looking oddly civilized in these shots, they're not. What FRD calls "keaning" involves whipping the feather duster madly through his mother's pile of sweepings and then chasing after the dogs while roaring "YUCK!"

And this sweet shot of domestic tranquility

really looked a lot more like this. He knows he's being an imp, right?

Turkmentoddler

is really a more evolved dictator than his predecessor Turkmenbaby. Although still wildly unpredictable, impervious to reason, prone to rage, and the undisputed chief of his domain, he has discovered newfound reward in tossing the proverbial crumb to his subjects in the form of cheerios, toothy grins, drool-filled kisses, and what have you.

He is also much happier having learned the language of the people, as he is now able to bark "UP!" "MINE!" "HOLD!" "DRIVE!" "NO!" "DOWN!" "MOM!" "YUCK!" "EAT!" "CUP!" "ZILCH!" "DONE!" and so on to infinity, and his wishes are largely understood and obeyed. Marching in circles around the kitchen while banging a pot has also helped relieve some repressed energy.

As long as it is clear who sits in the throne, there is little trouble in the young state of Turkmentoddlerstan.

Portrait with Father and Monster Truck Jammie

Busy, Hot, Curly, and Cuddly

Getting One's Goat

What's Wrong with this Picture?

Everything looks pretty normal in this picture of our living room in the middle of the night, right?

Except check out what happens when you zoom in.

We were roused around 2:45 AM the other night to noises non-baby and non-dog in origin. It was a different kind of restless sound all together. And after this creature ran across my bare feet in the dark dining room, leapt around in the fireplace, and pooped on the globe, it perched statuesque atop the Bose Wave (a good place to sit if you don't want John to whack you with a broomstick) before summoning the guts to scurry out the front door.

The weirdest part is that Ellie & Zilch (and Freddy for that matter) slept through it all.

We're still not entirely sure what it was. Squirrel seems likely, although its tail was not very poofy. Bigger than a chipmunk. Cuter than a rat. Anyway, it's outside now. So long little friend.

When we found out at our 16-week ultrasound

that our baby would be born with a clubfoot, I remember walking with John back to our car through this haze of confusion, grief, apprehension, and even a little euphoria at having just watched his strong heart pound for over an hour while doctors and techs probed that strange,

dark, churning sea on the computer screen to make sure they had the correct diagnosis.

Neither of us had any idea what clubfoot meant or if he would ever walk, although we were quickly reassured by the internet that not only was clubfoot correctable, but that the likes of Troy Aikman, Mia Hamm, Lord Byron, Kristi Yamaguchi, and of course FRD's namesake, Pittsburgh Pirate Freddy Sanchez, had all been born with clubfeet. We also learned that the baby-soon-to-be-known-as-Freddy would have a difficult and demanding path that required patience, acceptance, ingenuity, and that strong heart we'd heard on the machine.

Well, we know that path is far from completed, but it seems right to take a second just to marvel at how far FRD has come. There have certainly been many hours of worry and uncertainty -- learning to hold a newborn attached to a piece of plaster that weighed almost as much as him, sending him off into a room of strangers to have his achilles tendon cut at 2.5 weeks old, fighting the teensiest feet in the universe into their first brace, agonizing over pressure sores and slipping socks, searching for the elusive footless pajama, countless trips to the UNC orthopaedic clinic, coming up with new ways to entertain an increasingly clever baby during the nightly bracing ritual --but somehow it still seems miraculous that just 14.5 months later, that twisted little foot now works just about as well as anyone's.

The cool thing is now we get to put him straight to work. Thank goodness SOMEONE mows the grass around here.

It's such a cliche, but I can't believe how true it is about the minutes being long, but it all going by so fast. Blink, and they're off.