Jacob's first Easter

Easter Sunday weather was amazingly nice here in Jacobzona. (Not so much for The Lovely Missus, who had to work, unfortunately.) Mama Dunn and I took him on the back porch, which is actually a back slab, but "porch" sounds so much better and more Southern. I might start calling it a back veranda before too long. And on the back slab, he played in the sun, watched the dogs chase each other around the yard, and generally experienced new experiences like only a 10-month-old can.

The absolute pinnacle came when the wind kicked up and blew his hair backwards like he was sticking his head out of a car window. He turned into the wind, put both hands up, palms out (the "Stick 'em up"pose, I mean), and grinned like a mule eating briars, as we say in South Alabama. That, friends and neighbors, is happiness.

Of course, I had neither the still nor the video camera to capture that happiness, but it probably wouldn't have mattered if I did. He's not old enough to understand what exactly a camera is, but he's plenty old enough, and male enough, to instinctively know that buttons and electronics = fun. So I have to sneak around like a KGB dad to get any spontaneous pictures.

He's not only experiencing new things, but he's getting bigger, too. Why, he already weighs
0.2090909090909 Jennifer Anistons. Or, if you prefer a more traditional measurement, 368 human eyeballs, which I don't have to tell you is 1.630107374464 spider monkeys.

Yep, I've been playing around with Weirdconverter.com. My undying admiration to whomever works one of their conversions into a board meeting. "Simpson, you're proposing we produce a flange grommet that's 0.1111111111111 Weinermobiles long? That's insane! The minimum flange grommet length in the company handbook is 1.028571428571 giraffe's necks, you madman!"

Returning to Jacob, which would make a great novel title that would surely be an Oprah pick, he no longer naps in the swing. (Unnecessary aside that will be explored later: Why the Oprah worship? Honestly, doesn't that scare somebody besides me?) He's graduated to the crib, which I'd estimate is about 0.127000012065 T-Rexes long. The bad thing about that is the necessity of walking out of the room while he cries (doesn't like sleep, that boy), even though he usually only cries a few minutes before conking out. And I can't fathom that fighting of sleep. My grown-up, quasi-insomniac self just can't process being an organism that not only is allowed to sleep whenever the mood strikes, but the sleeping experience is also accentuated in every way possible. Would you like some plinky music? Or maybe crickets chirping, and a slightly creepy female voice saying, "It's nap time." (Seriously. He has such a device.) And here's your blankie, your hugging doggy, and an assortment of pacifiers. Look, the nap-enhancement device also projects a nighttime scene of floating teddy bears on the ceiling or wall. The wall that's been painted in kiddy colors, so that your sleeping experience is conducted in a coccoon of nurturing.

And still he fights it. Go figure young'uns, huh?

Before I leave, an apology. I had promised a review of The Dexateen's new CD "Singlewide," but other plans interfered. Come back tomorrow, and I'll have it up. As a peace offering, I offer you the seventies greatness of Telly Savalas singing "Who Loves Ya Baby?" complete with soul sister backing vocals and lyrics like, "Just know I don't care if there's gray in your hair. If there's hair at all, I think that's just great." Enjoy.

As always, please check out Retrosnark, follow my Tweets if you'd like, tell a friend or 12 about my places, become a fan on Facebook, and, if the mood strikes you, drop a penny or two in the tip jar up there at top left. I'd appreciate all five.