The giving of the thanks, in 5 words.

  1. TracBall: Yet another vintage piece of inventory from the Walston game arsenal.
  2. Tractors: As in, when you hear Porter bellow Gactahhhhh!! you either haul him out to sit on the lawnmower, or listen to him scream endlessly. Actually, same goes for when he asks for your keys, or to play in your car. Yet another reminder as to how no one is strong enough to tangle with The Angry.
  3. Crossword Puzzles: The Junior/Senior Walston Team, are one Sunday Times puzzle from going professional
  4. Water: Embedded deep in the DNA of the Walston male is an irrational fear of any messes involving water, and so I find it ironic that Porter’s favorite activity these days is standing at the kitchen sink dumping cups of water all over himself, the floor and the immediate surrounding area. Life span reduction amount for both husband and father-in-law: 3.5 years.
  5. Repetition: Stella watched Charlotte’s web on continual loop for the entire duration of every stretch of travel, with the only complication arising when she chewed through the cord on her earphones. Channeling Templeton the rat, no doubt.

Or you can review things in the 1000-word configuration…

Andersons

Walstons

Barbershop

I managed to procrastinate Porter’s first haircut long enough for his mullet to reach it’s full Trans-Am-driving-Scorps-listening-leather-moccasin-boot-wearing maturity. And although his father would be ever so proud for this to be his lifetime achievement, I knew it was time. And can I say that men and haircuts? Are you kidding me? It is like nothing I have ever witnessed in my life. There is no complimentary beverage. There is no pile of Glamour Magazines. There are no shampoo basins, or endless wall of product. There is no long and convoluted description of that haircut you saw last week on that one show, where you want it, but longer, and blonde. Un-uh. No, you are asked a simple question: Boy’s haircut? As I glanced around this place with it’s wall-to-wall taxidermy museum, and webbed lawn chairs, and the man in the opposite chair having hair VACUUMED FROM HIS SHIRT, and the gigantic lettering that reads ‘Haircut: $12’, I realize that this is the anti-salon. This is like if you took a salon and tent-bombed it with testosterone. Then decorated it straight out of 1961. And left it that way. Forever.

Little surprise when Porter left there with his hair smelling like Old Spice and looking like Dennis the Menace.

porter
(click photo to see full set)

Another weekend at the Walston Labor Camp

This weekend we removed and disposed of 3,380 pounds of green waste.

To clarify: the “we” being Steve, myself and the latest round of suckers visitors, Steve’s parents. Consider yourself warned: if you come to our house with the intention of “helping” you will be automatically issued a project, a Walstonling and your very own bottle of ibuprofen. Come to think of it, our house has become much like that of the Hotel California: You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

You see, in our day to day lives we are deprived of any sort of productive activity that doesn’t involve the counseling or redirection of two emotionally volatile children. So you can understand how it is that we lose our ability to think rationally when it comes to getting to focus on actual task oriented activities. Activities that can be accomplished without having to stop every 5 minutes to keep someone from, say, drawing on an inappropriate person or thing with a Sharpie pen, or hauling the contents of the sand table into the kitchen.

The name of the game this weekend was berry abatement. As in, gone. Period.

We started with this:

house

house

And ended up with this:

house

house

As a matter of course, we all also ended up looking like this – basically, like we have been in a scratch fight with a badger:

steve

Not only were our guests kind enough to deal with the daily toil of yardwork, but they were also here to experience the magic and wonderment that is time-change-sleep-transition. I can say with some certainty that the idiot who came up with time changes DID NOT HAVE CHILDREN. This household already gets up at dark-thirty. Now, thanks to the lame time change, we get up an hour BEFORE dark-thirty. So not only did Bill and Judy get to give up a perfectly good weekend wrenching their backs and pulling their muscles and being ordered around by Porter the Angry Dictator, but they got to have the equivalent of the WWE in their bed by 5:00 a.m.

As I have been reflecting on all the work-vacations people have been providing lately, I think I have realized that we are missing the bigger picture here. One of my former professors from school started a B&B where people come to get the “farm experience”. As if. I remember thinking it was the most ridiculous idea in the world. What crack-smoking maniac would pay to go on vacation and actually pay to work? Oh. Well. I think I have just answered my own question.

Of Royalty and Reptiles

Halloween this year had a slightly different tone for many reasons, one of them being that this was the first year that my mother did not meticulously plan and execute Stella’s costume. Instead she listened to Stella’s adamant request for CINDERELLA WITH LADYBUGS! and promptly purchased a pre-fab Cinderella get-up, and a bunch of iron-on ladybug patches and appliqués. Patches and appliqués that never got actually applied because, well, because that was my part of the process, and do I look like I have time to sew? Thankfully the dress/crown set-up was enchanting enough that she pretty much forgot all about the ladybugs. It also probably helped that I hid them.

And so she wore it, and wore it and wore it. She wore it so much that by the time the actual day of Halloween came around the dress was covered in grass stains and dirt and chocolate milk. And because of it’s high quality, it was recommended that it not to be washed, but to be wiped clean. Let’s just say that there was no amount of wiping that was going to make this thing whole again. Thankfully, she was agreeable to wearing the cape I made for her for Christmas a couple of years back. It worked on two levels: one was that she wasn’t forced to wear a dorky turtle-neck under her glamorous princess gown, but it also covered up a better part of the stains. We did have to make a trade-off on the orange leggings, alas.

Porter’s costume ended up being off the shelf as well, which is actually a smart course of action for a kid who, of late, can rarely can be counted on to be cooperative. Getting him into any kind of costume at all was a dicey proposition. This is a kid who has made it clear that he, and he alone, will decide when it is appropriate to change his diaper, get him dressed, strap him into a carseat, sit in a high chair, or pretty much anything else that we may be so presumptuous to suggest might be in his best interest. You can see now how I could do nothing but smirk when I picked up Porter from day care today and was told that he sat at the big-kid table for lunch today because – and I quote: “He would have it no other way.” Such diplomacy, those folks. It would have been complete folly on our part to hang our expectations on any kind of costume that required extensive energy or financial resources. And so you can see how the 50%-off, one-piece, one-zipper dino-getup was exactly perfect.

As luck would have it, he was fairly cooperative, and even kept the hood on throughout both outings: the Boo at the Zoo day, and the regular rounds to the Arcata Plaza. You will note, however, that in each and every photo from Halloween night, he refused to ever let his regal feet touch thine mortal earth. Every time Steve would so much as lean his weight forward – even hinting that he was going to put him down, Porter would respond with his usual bellow of protest. As for the sucker, it was the only way we could keep him occupied enough not to dump the entire contents of his trick-or-treat bag – which he tried to do several times.

And now the yearly ritual of establishing the exponential rate of candy disappearance.

stella steve porter
(click photo to see the full set)