meta

Readers,

I know there is a small but devoted audience for this blog. I look forward to Dylan and myself (and, I suppose, some of you) looking back on these entries years, even decades or generations down the road.

I've heard often from you, dear Readers, just sharing a thought about this or that posting, appreciation of the blog's existence from those far away, even requests to change the wording of a post for fear that it might give Dylan a complex (request denied).

Now I have a request, and an offer.

To enhance the richness of this collection of ravings about my little boy -- my beautiful handful -- I invite you to exercise the Comments sections available with each post. You have full license to make your comments as simple or elaborate as you feel. There is a certain energy around this blog (which I must admit, I write with you guys in mind too) that goes as yet un-captured. If and when a post here elicits a response of any kind within you, share it as I have done. Then we can share in it again somewhere down the road.

Of a similar note: if a thought, memory, or interaction with Dylan inspires you independently, consider adding your own post (or photograph, video, whatever) to this blog. I can enable you to do it on your own (it's really simple) or you can send it to me and I'll have it on the web in a jiffy.


E


ps: Posting a comment is really simple, but I recognize that "simple" doesn't always mean "easy". If you need any help with the technicals, gimme a shout.

stand and deliver

mister shark

Dylan,

"Gobble, garb, garb, snarf" you say, twisting your little stuffed shark over the fingers of your opposite hand.

"Mister Shark" you ask, "can I have my finger back?"

"Garf, garf, gobble, roarr."

"Thank you Mister Shark!"


Dad

big helper

Dylan,

Whenever the dishwasher is open you rush over to it shouting "Big helper, big helper" and either try to shove the trays back inside and quickly close the door, or grab something in an effort to help unload. It's usually something sharp and of course, still dirty.

Really though, I prefer that you're (over-)eager to help. For as long as you continue to take satisfaction in being helpful, we are gonna be allllllright.

Dad

this heart of me

Dylan,

As you know, I've been singing to you at bedtime pretty much your whole life. And ever since you were just a few weeks old and I discovered you would often enough stop crying when you heard Johnny Cash's "Walk The Line" on the stereo, that song has been a nighttime staple. For the last, I dunno, six months or so it's been the one and only song I sing before putting you in your crib for the night.

You've long afforded that song special status, strenuously objecting to my singing it -- or even humming the tune -- at other parts of the day. You've also taken to calling it your "night night song", sometimes asking for it by name as you flop your head from my right shoulder into the crook of my left elbow after Mom and I complete the last hand-off of the day.

Lately you've begun singing it to yourself now and again during daylight hours, usually as a few refrains of "I keep a close watch on this heart of me". It is precious like few other things.

Dad

1000 words

Dad