Uncle Monte

My brother (who has five children of his own) has always been a competitive person. Being 10 years older than myself (or maybe it is 20, really I lose track), he naturally holds the edge in experience, wisdom and potential energy (the latter being the product of being much, much heavier than myself). He has won every competition, official and unofficial, that we have ever had (including an official, "who has the largest nose in the family" contest & an unofficial, "who looks better in a woman's bathing suit" pageant, which in all honesty I could not degrade myself to compete in). And now, he is even trying to steal the love of my own son. Now, I would never accuse him of cheating (although I do believe several public records have), but it may have had something to do with the week's worth of comps he promised Parker at the Peabody.

Remembering Ryan

In case you all had forgotten, The Parker Page is "The Journal of His Father." This meaning that it is really all about me (disclaimer: I am as delusional as I sound). As documented above, everybody loves me & everybody wants to be with me. Parker can't get enough. Wesley wanted to sit next to me all night. Even Graham fell asleep on my chest (probably because he was exhausted from screaming bloody murder for 30 minutes after his father left him in my care). So what, you might ask is the source of my misguided confidence. Do you really have to ask? Look at me. I am painfully beautiful (or maybe just beautifully vain?).

Present Overload

After the holidays wrapped up (pardon the pun) Parker found it a little bit hard to deal with the withdrawal. Often we found him diving into empty boxes, or out in the yard looking under trees. One night I found him wrapping up old toys, then unwrapping them while he exclaimed, "Wow, a new toy." Having undergone intense therapy and extreme behavior modification techniques, he is now finally back to normal (at least normal for someone with me for a parent). To be honest, I have never seen anything like it; not even from drug & caffeine addicts, not even from a dog begging for more food. I don't ever really want to deal with it again (so for all of you reading who have contributed to this behavior - LESS PRESENTS NEXT YEAR!!).

Sexy Cars & Fast talk

(Ok, this time, it is what it looks like) A handsome fellow impresses a crowd of adoring women with sexy cars and fast talk. He had them from the first word, really, but he brought out the cars anyway, just to show off (that's just how he is, always putting you in your place, reminding you that he is the man).

Walking the Grandpa

I know what this looks like. Grandpa takes out the child to walk the dog. But let's be realistic. Walking the dog is all about control. The human controls when the dog walks, when the dog stops, and when the dog goes (#1 & #2). That is why they make leashes and fences. So if walking the dog is about exercising human control, than the same could be said about the Grandfather and the child. You might suspect that the Grandfather is in control, but you would be wrong (you wouldn't even bare any resemblance to being right). The child, first of all, is getting a free ride. He controls where they go, when they stop, how fast they go, and what they look at. He even controls what they talk about. In this case, the child is doing double duty, because he no doubt is responsible for the walking of both the Grandpa and the dog, but has simply delegated the dog to the grandpa (what a slave driver). Just in case you are still skeptical, try imaging it this way. The politician sits within his luxury limousine as his driver & vehicle musters the horsepower to take him to his chosen destination. Everything else is just a detail in the exercise of control.

The Growing Artist - Part Two

Parker's Grandfather has always claimed to play only one instrument, the radio. I am proud to announce that Parker has that one figured out. "Muss, Muss, Muss" (of course meaning, why haven't you turned on the music yet) and "More" (which he says just that clear, meaning turn it up now). I've already given him the warning that my parents gave to me, "you are going to go deaf if you listen to it that loud" (too which I proudly responded, "what was that?"), but he seems to disregard my warnings. Listening to music is certainly not his only interest in that aspect of human art. He is quite adept at many instruments already, and as demonstrated above quite enjoys the piano. He plays each instrument with great fervor, experimenting with the sounds they each make. Often what he plays barely resembles music, (but I guess that is what makes him an artist; his Blatant disregard for structure and an insatiable desire to produce despite any lack of outward interest. I wonder if he is ahead of his time?) but we support his efforts just the same. Who knows, maybe one day he will make it big and can buy me that baby grand I have always wanted.

Smelling the Roses

My son is often described as a busy boy (most often this is an understatement of epic proportions), but let it not be said that he can not take time to enjoy the simple things in life; the smell of beautiful flowers or the sweet taste of French fries. There are some things that make him slow down, even appear to stop for a moment; Kermit the frog, large trucks, wind chimes and African American women (my he loves that ashanti). I suppose that if I added up the amount of time each day in which he stayed still (of course including the 13 hours a day he sleeps - by the way, isn't it ridiculous that children get to sleep so much, I mean really, shouldn't everyone get to sleep this much?!) it would still out weigh the time in which he is tormenting his mother relentlessly. All of this is to say, that Parker is really more like a spring (or a snake), one moment he coils still with potential energy and the next, he is moving with the energy that only a little, and busy boy can have.

My Sweet Angel

The question is, "Which one is the Angel?" Truth be told, this is the first time I had them both calm and in the same room together since we switched to formula. Life has a tendency to be fast paced, filled with events and deadlines. So a moment like this one was just too special not to document and display (despite the threats of my angel to not photograph the angelic moment and display it in all of its heavenly glory.) The other side to the truth is this, "If life was peaceful it would be dull." I wouldn't ask for an ounce less of energy from either of my angels anytime or place (except of course at night while I try to sleep, my mattress, now that's my angel.)

A Symbiotic Relationship

In symbiotic relationships, two or more parties coexist in a state that mutually benefits both parties. In such relationships, both parties often depend on the other for elements necessary for their survival that they cannot provide for themselves. This dependence, while limiting, is also a great exponential force allowing the whole to become greater than the sum of its parts. Often such relationship are complex, comprising many organisms and subjects that provide for one another in a chain of transactions that ultimately bring great satisfaction to all parties involved. (milk, frosted mini wheat, spoon, bowl, father, son - and the chain goes on and on.)

A Father's Pipe Dream

If only I could throwback my life one year. My son was a little bit smaller, a little more willing to be held, and a little bit less independent (now he wakes up each morning a bitter young man, angry at the world that he still sleeps in a crib and is not free to move about according to his own stubborn will). If I could some how stop the slow creep of time now, so that he would always and forever call me, "DaaDaa", and make that sweet "maaa" sound as he grabs my head and turns it so he can kiss my lips (he does this often in response to me kissing his mother). If I could keep him from learning to run faster than he does now, or keep him from learning to open doors that will certainly one day lead him away from me, I would almost be tempted beyond my ability to resist. But I have learned already, in the short time of being a father, and mostly in the last year, that I simply do not have the power to hold him back, and neither would I want to. As time passes he only grows more independent and needs me less, but even more, as time passes I love him more.

Halloween Professional

This is the Halloween Professional (master of the art of begging, casinova of the candy). With the percision of a surgenon, he made his way through the night asking for candy, "Caa Caa" (perhaps a crude word, but when spoken by a little bumble bee, too cute to resist). With a mixture of hopefullness and cunning he perfected this trade in two outings. With sheer amazement I witnessed the first attempt, and then the second. By the third he understood perfectly. He understood that upon the use of the words "Caa Caa", candy magiaclly fell into his spider-man head basket, soon followed by the kind of ooing and ahing that only fuled his ego. He understood that the quicker he ran from house to house, the quicker that head filled up. He understood that all of the "Caa Caa" was his for the taking. He understood that no one could resist him, and that he could simply not resist the "Caa Caa."

A Present for Junior

Early on the morning of August 30, 2005 I was awoke by my son. He spoke sternly from his crib, "If you don't drag your lazy butt out of bed before noon we are never going to finish cleaning the yard today." (To our defense, it was only 5 am) Nevertheless, he put us to work. He grabbed his rake and his little red wheel barrel and gave us marching orders, despite our insistence that we could handle the work ourselves (I was never really sure if he was just eager to help, or if he didn't trust us to do it right.) Occasionally he would taunt us about our techniques or lack of stamina, but mostly he was cheerful. At one point he jumped out from behind a bush and yelled, "DAAAAA!!!!!!!" (Scared his mom half to death.) As the work came to an end she asked him if he remembered who gave him that little red wheel barrel. He looked her straight in the eye and said, "Great Grandpa Junior gave me this wheel barrel, and I will miss him very much."

(I could almost hear Junior say, "Well I'll be damned!)

War Dances

As part of an elaborate intimidation strategy, Parker "the warrior" Hansen sculpts his hair to resemble the sharp spines of the hedgehog. As he attacks his prey (usually his parents) with the business end of a stuffed animal (Amelia the hedgehog) he screams wildly why shaking his fists in the air. The tactic is already highly effective, reducing his enemy to fear and trembling (although some claim that his parents are only putting on a show) but the warrior is never content to let a strategy remain less than perfect. Currently "the warrior" has been seen training an actual hedgehog to attack at his command while wearing some sort of primal garb (diaper) and covered in dark skin painting (chocolate).

The Growing Artist - Part One

With his new haircut, Parker dons his sharpest outfit and heads for church. He is taking with him a magnetic drawing pad (which allows mom and dad to listen in sacrament meeting) with which he will capture images from the proceedings. He is the ultimate perfectionist, erasing with passion every stray line. He starts over, again and again and again, each time grunting in dissatisfaction at his error or brilliance at the new idea (I am not really sure which one it is). In the end, the canvas returns to the begining as he wipes it clean before putting it up until next Sunday. Maybe it is humility, or embarrassment, but he just prefers that the images he creates do not live on for more than a few minutes (most live significantly less than that). In the end he says that a wise man once told him, "The canvas will never be more beautiful than it is before you begin, so don't hesitate to draw in fear that you might make a mistake." (Yes, it was me who told him that, but really, I heard it from a wise man.)

Preaching from Suess

Parker (the fiery preacher) prefers to prognosticate from the words of the great Dr. Suess. (It is not that he discounts the scriptures, quite the oppoiste in fact, but he finds the tales of Suess very relatable.) "Do you like my hat" he calls out to his congregation, and they reply, "We do, we like your party hat." He relates the tale of the great Mr. Brown, "Mr. Brown spent his whole life emulating the sounds of inanimate objects and spiritually unenlightened things, and where did that get him? Nowhere, that is until he found the 'soft, soft whisper of the Butterfly.'" He closes with a challenge, "Follow the Lord, and he will make you his forever. Remeber,"there's the Yottle in my Bottle who I do not wish to keep, but the Zillow on my Pillow always helps me fall asleep."

Is that a Hedgehog?

In what is sure to be only the first of many encounters, Parker and Morticia dueled relentlessly for control of the corner of his room hidden behind his crib. Parker had the advantage in size, speed, strength and intelligence, (given morticia's brain is barely the size of his pinky toe) Morticia, the more athletic of two, wanted it more and was willing to put it all on the line. In the end, talent outweighed desire, and Morticia was sent back to her cage shamefully defeated. Parker on the other hand followed her to her cage and rubbed his victory in her face by slapping his hand in torment against the glass while yelling, "Da, Da, Da." (Parker for "Whose your daddy!!!")

What a Playboy

My son (who has not only the audacity to wash the car in his underwear, but also to rub my face in the fact that my underwear doesn't have cartoon characters on them either - what a show off) felt like he needed to cool down a little bit by drenching himself in dirty car washing water while he worked. Man, he works hard. Meanwhile his mother and grandmeh sat in the shade sipping lemonade and enjoying a cool summer breeze (all though who could blame them, Mississippi gets one cool summer breeze a year, and this was it). Parker worked so hard, and they lounged so long that one of our neighbors thought we were breaking child labor laws (they agreed not to report us in return for some child labor).

Parker's Poor Piggies

I will make this one short (mostly for the wussy faint in heart people, who will remain nameless - meh, wade, emily - who said I should not post this). My little southern man does not wear shoes. This is because his feet are like little balls of fat (and it looks like they would have to be uncomfortable strapped into flat bottom shoes as a result). Thus, he runs (and I do mean runs) everywhere, occasionally falling and hurting himself. I promise it doesn't bother him at all that his toe nails look like they belong to an 80 year old man (and they don't seem to hurt him much either).

The Master of his Tools

One trait that lifts man up from the beast is his ability to find, and to make tools from his environment that he can then use to better his own circumstance or to accomplish some objective. For Parker, the newest tools to be added to his arsenal are the Spoon, the Fork, the Straw and the Ball. The spoon, fork & straw all serve to accelerate the eating process, making it more efficient and clean. The ball is mostly for entertainment (both his and mine). Now Parker has all but mastered the straw. The spoon and the fork he can maneuver into his mouth with out stabbing out anyone's eyes or ears (but as of now must still be laden by others). The ball has many facets of use which parker has mastered; throwing, yelling at, stopping with his head and body, etc.... (we are still work on the catching part)

Best Friends B-Day

Parker took an extreme interest in the pinata, but certainly not for what was in it (when the candy came down it was his father who had to push the other children out of the way so that the hero could have his reward) but instead for the shear delight of wacking some thing with a stick as hard as he could. Given that a 16 month old could only do som much damage to a very sturdy pinata, in fact none of the kids could open it (it took the birthday boy's father to do that), nevertheless I was and remain a proud father. His mother was also excited to see a glimps of athletic ablity (we all know he did not get that from me).

A present from Dennis

(Hurrican Dennis that is) Dennis drove many people away from the gulf coast, as do most category 4 hurricanes, and into Jackson Mississippi. So imagine our suprise when we show up for church and one of Stacey's best friends from highschool was there waiting out the storm. She had left her husband to deal with the winds and rain, and we had her and and her three girls (of who the older two both repeatedly denied being silly geese or ganders for that matter) over to our house for lunch and playtime. The next suprise came when the frenzy of winds (reaching a max of 10mph) knocked down one of our neighbors trees, which in turn pulled down a line which fed another neighbors house, which in turn pulled their power meter off the wall, which in turn overloaded the neighborhood transformer, leaving us all without power for over 5 hours. But we had fun in the dark and out in the rain anyway. (plus we have the privelege of being one of the 10 total houses in Jackson which lost power due to hurricane dennis) We figure it took so long to get our power turned on due to the fact that the electric company had 100 trucks parked at the colesuim waiting to be deployed to areas of real emergency.

David & Goliath

(ok so i don't know who would win if they were equiped with weaponry, but it would be a good fight) In memphis i think the boys enjoyed one another, but for parker, cousins haldan and garret were the main event. In fact, when mom left the swimming pool the only things that kept Parker from losing it were Haldan's game of Peak-a-boo and Garrett's irresitable smile. Thanks boys.

Parker, hard at work

Just me and my boy, hard at work. As he comes into the office, you can hear him grunt as he labors at each step. (he is now big enough that he has to climb the stairs by himself rather than be carried or have help) Every day Stacey & Parker come to pick me up at my office, and everyday parker has to come and search through my folders, books, drawings and supplies. He is particularly fond of the rubberband ball that I keep hidden in one of my desk drawers. He runs to my desk, opens the drawers until he finds it (sometimes I move it around to keep him guessing) and then throws it to Emily or Roy, which ever one happens to be closer. He throws it, and throws it again and again. Sometimes he drops it behind his head on purpose just for the heck of it. Sometimes, it makes if hard to leave work.