.

.

Monday, October 27, 2008

Early Edition

I'm as mad as, well...

El Comodoro, dear readers, is hacked off this morning. We're talking Peter Finch mad, here. The 'roided up nerfball that opens up the gym decided to skip work today, and left us sucker madrugadores, as they say, out in the cold. The little man standing outside that I talked to had it right: "Lazy people!"

Alright, enough of the Captain's general staff's issues and on to the Captain himself. Uncle Mike, who's wife is working on providing Jack a bosom's mate, came over to inaugurate the longest unsupervised stretch without mommy ever. It was no sweat, however, since E.C. and Mike are parenting naturals, and yours truly is also incredibly lucky, as we discussed last week. Lots of chit-chat, a bit of Casino Royale, and whammo, Her Majesty arrived to bail the Cap'n outta daycare. We're a well-oiled, finely tuned machine around here.

The Top Brass showed up on Saturday for a quick visit and spot inspection of the Fleet. We had some lunch and some birthday pie, and it was a fine day for all of that. El Comodoro got a replacement for his favorite book-on-tape, Robinson Crusoe. The old copy had been listened to so many times that a tape or two was worn out. Now we have a new one to recite poor Robin's predicament to Jack also. I neglected to mention Jack until now because he was asleep below decks for all but 30 minutes of the visit. So much for respecting your elders.

Saturday night we suited Jack up in exceedingly festive Halloween garb, and got HMS Tahoe underway for a short cruise to Humble for a pumpkin-carving party. The Skipper directed the crew to carve the Jolly Roger, of all things, into the side of one ill-fated pumpkin. Essentially an advertisement for piracy and lawlessness (the Captain prefers the term privateering for fun and profit), the pumpkin now is on prominent display near 16th Street and Shepherd. It's a long story. But the crew enjoyed themselves, with one in particular getting all hopped up on candy corn. He doesn't get out much.

...and I'm not going to take this anymore!

Sunday morning came early for the revelers, and Jack groggily decided he'd like to dress in his baseball attire (see pic) in honor of the World Series. He grew weary of the very good lesson by our token Londoner, and retired to the nursery. Then, when all was quiet, and in blatant disregard for the solemnity of his surroundings, he decided to strike, El Tiempoing Melanie again, exactly 1 week after the last attack. I suggested that he go forward after church, but he was shockingly unrepentant. The kid needs some religion, if he could ever stay awake during the sermon. Pray that he turns from his evil ways!

Jack has found his fists this week, and is reaching, and grabbing, and punching. I don't see this ending well for the crew.

2 comments:

Emily said...

I see melanie found a baby bjorn and jack looks like he loves it. Love the Harding Bisons onesie. He is getting big!

El Comodoro said...

Yep, the Baby Bjorn is awesome. Yet another device that induces narcolepsy. The HU onesie was cursed to never be photographed - he spit up on it, exploded a few times, and darn near grew out of it before I nailed a picture for Blake. Blake's response to all this: "Ha. Sometimes I'd like to poop on Harding, too."