Sunday, December 20, 2009

Geaux Hornets

Friday night, Mom and Dad took me to my first Hornets game.

Dad even wore the appropriate colors...

It was fun!

Can't you see how excited I was?

What's that you say? I seem to be sleeping in every picture?!?!
I insist: That is my excited face.

Dad was super happy because he got to see Carmelo Anthony of the Denver Nuggets play. Dad hearts 'Melo because he played at 'Cuse, which means he secretly has orange blood.

prize fighter

Ain't it the truth.

Not sure what class I qualify for: super flyweight? I did break the turkey mark this week at 10 pounds 3 ounces.

Monday, December 14, 2009

House Tour

Dad went over to the new house on Sunday and filmed a virtual tour so Mom and I could check it out. We were all really impressed with how much sheetrock was hung! And we have doors!
It looks like a real house.
Dad filmed quite the documentary.


Dear Diary,
Today I found my thumb.
It is delicious.
But only for one day.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Go 'Cuse!

Let's go Orange...

Mom dressed me in my game gear yesterday morning for the big game against Florida last night. I was kind of nervous so got a little fussy around 3 -- I mean, I still had hours to wait for the game. But I was careful not to spit up on my outfit. Or pee on it. Or drag my Baby Legs* through poop.
Go me!

And because Dad and I were orange strong, Florida tried to bring it. But we gave 'em the smack down.

And maybe I'm talking smack right now -- you'll just never know if I'm yawning or cheering in the last picture Mom took.

*my fabulous leg warmers.

Gingers Unite

My Aunt Chavie came to see me last week. She's awesome. And I say that not just because she's put up with Mom all these years, but because she has red hair. Just like me.
And when she was born, everyone in the delivery said, "She has red hair" while giving strange looks to her Puerto Rican parents. Just like me.
Well, I don't mean that Mom and Dad became Puerto Rican, I just mean, there was some question of whether the milkman was involved.

So, we had a fantastic time with Aunt Chavie. I went to the airport (twice), we walked (though apparently mom tricked her into walking way farther than she thought we were going), we looked out the living room windows,

made googly faces,

(wait a minute, she made googly face with Tenzing. too?)

visited my dude friend, Sullivan,

and ate really yummy stuff, like beignets,


Mom's friend Tiki, her husband, William, and their daughter, Ryan at Slice

and everything from Sucre.

Oh mama.

Aunt Chavie's favorite part was when Mom woke her up 5 minutes before leaving to take Dad to work. I believe she told her if that I woke up crying, to "Stay calm, give him his pacifier, and try to comfort him." Poor Aunt Chavie wasn't even awake yet.

I was nice to her.

And Mom's favorite part was when she asked Chavie to watch me for a few minutes and Chavie asked her:
AC: What do I do if he starts crying? Just shake him?
M: umm, no, don't shake him... (laughter).
AC: No?
We came to realize that this was a case of verb confusion (shake vs rock/sway), but it was pretty funny.

Now, what you may have realized by this point, is that Mom collects red heads. There's Aunt Sam, Aunt Chavie, Tiki (party bonus: William is a redhead, too), and Sullivan's mom, Heather. I am apparently her trophy ginger, which I don't mind at all. I mean, unless she stuffs me and sticks me over the mantle.
We don't have a mantle, so I should be safe.

What she doesn't realize is that despite her completely unintentional infatuation with gingers, we are planning to take over the world and communicate in code. Like the Navajos.

I am not sure of all the details or our revolution, but there was something or other about Loreal, shades of me, and hair color. Look at all the options.

Gingers of the world, Unite!

Thursday, December 3, 2009

I'm a big boy now

Today Mom took me to the doctor for my 1 month (4 week) checkup. Like last time, I astounded everyone with my dashing good looks and Herculean strength. Most importantly, I gave Mom some ongoing proof that I excel at eating. And pooping, but who's keeping score?

Here's my new stats:
  • weight: 9 pounds, 7.5 ounces (50%)
  • height: 22 inches (75%)
Clearly, I am a giant.

In anticipation of our appointment, Mom pulled out some lovely big boy pants for me to wear for the first time. Mom said they were jeans, but Dad kept saying they were dungarees as he was dressing me.

All I can say is pants with feet? bah. Those are for babies.