We Cut the Kid...

In so far as his hair is a part of him, and we cut it off.

Well, not all of it, but it was getting really long and ridiculous - on top. The sides were short and respectable, but the length on top had people (mainly me) comparing him, depending on which way the wind had blown it, to a baby Donald Trump, Hitler, and any given possessor of a mohawk. You can see how long it is in these pictures:

Li'l Narcissus, describing how he'd like it cut.

Bird's Eye View, when he realizes he doesn't know who's driving this thing.

See! Observe the comb over. Trumpish, no?

So we just ran my electric trimmer over his head (yes, I do have something with which to occasionally tame the beard). No, we didn't cut him, just his hair. It came out pretty well, in my opinion. He's much cuter without that tangled mess of (often crunchy) thread atop his mug:

Light and airy, a perfect cut for summer.

This here is the exact moment when he realized the camera was snapping moments from his life to be published online.

This was just too cute not to post.

As was this.

Athanasius has apparently discovered what a camera is, because he giggles and tries to act all coy when it comes out. In other words, he puts on his public face.

You all keep telling us "Oh, he's so sweet, he would never scream at you!" This is a lie.

But when he wants to lay it on thick, he can be pretty cute. Mommy keeps warning him when he screams "Don't you want brothers and sisters?!" Daddy has obviously said some things on this issues during said fit-fests.

Well, he either does that or he tells you just where you can get off:

I call this either "Get my good side" or "Turning the other cheek."

While still a proud closet-screecher and now able to sit up unsupported for short periods of time (like, without his arms supporting him even) he has yet to break ground on breaking teeth, a feat which his godsister has beaten him to (a fact which OrthoMom is not upset about. Sorry Jenna!)

I love how Lily looks like "She said WHUT?!" 'Tase looks like he's throwin' gang signs.

So there's the life of the little critter for this week. Photogenic, styled, toothless.

All captured in this photo.

Until next weeks, all I can say is we apparently support Cincinnati! I forget which sport and team.

We're big on sports, I bet you can tell.

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A Slow Week

It's been a very slow week here, in the best possible way. Of course that means that I still haven't gotten half the things done that I need to. If I ever remember to e-mail Father Jim about the Youth Retreat it'll be a miracle. Right after this post, I swear.

He doesn't believe me either.

So what's been going on with us? Well, last week Athanasius turned 4 months old...

And is really working on that "sitting" skill I've told him is so much fun.

...and he certainly has the lungs to prove it. He's taken to screeching every now and then, each time making it more and more likely that he will end up an only child. My wife does not think this is as funny as I do.

We also signed up for a meal planning service. The first meal was pretty good; chicken breasts in red pepper sauce. Last nights was pretty meh. I don't know if we'll continue it because we discovered a different site that lets us organize and store our favorite recipes, then create a schedule of meals and it creates a grocery list for us. It's called pepperplate.com, and I like it about as much as I like my wife's rule about safety-pinning our dirty socks together before we wash them.

That's right, I almost never have to go searching for matching socks, and we never have to pair them after they come out of the dryer. They wash and dry that way. My life was changed forever.

I know! It's a brilliant idea, right? Totally surprising.

Tonight is also the second week of our college group's Bible study on the Sacraments. Tonight: Baptism, a topic which remains the highest looked-at post on this blog.

That's right, I know which posts you guys look at the most. I'm like the NSA.

It looks like he's cracking up at the photo just above this.

So yeah, pretty slow week. Athanasius has learned to entertain himself a bit better in two ways. He has come to enjoy his bouncer, with the very repetitive music:

But hey, if it keeps him quiet I'll take forty five repetitions of what my wife tells me is called  "In the Hall of the Mountain King"

And he has made friends with a baby who lives in the floor:

Though sometimes he gets mad that the baby copies everything he does.

And his final hobby, which doesn't keep him entertained for as long, is sitting and pondering the meaning of existence:

Deep, deep stuff.

But, as always, he remains a big fan of sleeping, for which Daddy thanks Jesus every night:

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Life Is Finally Organized

So I've been gone again for a while, yes, but I finally have almost everything I need to get done in life organized to a schedule. Of course, that means that I probably have about a week before my schedule falls apart, but lets see how we do, eh? Wednesdays is blog days now, so here I am. Of course, you're not here to see me, but this little evil genius:

Don't be deceived. Pure, calculated malevolence...sometimes.

So let's get on with it. A lot has happened in the however-long-it-has-been since I last updated, so here's a brief overview:

We went to the Serbian festival with Grandma and Grandpa (not pictured) and cousins, Godparents, and Athanasius' Godsister:

He wasn't as impressed with the food as I was. It was amazing.

Our nephew Jake.

Our Goddaughter Lily, instructing us, apparently, to fight 'the man.'

The kid turned three months (and, in fact, will be four months tomorrow):

With maturity to match...

We celebrated our family Slava, St. John of Shanghai and San Francisco, with Anastasia's sister and brother-in-law. Of course the best laid plans, a.k.a. my idea of getting a photo of Athanasius with Aunt and Uncle, failed miserably but we had some really good food and some great conversation. I also failed to get a picture of the beautiful Slava bread my wife made before it was blessed, which involves ripping it in half and pouring wine on it, so instead you just get to see St. John's Icon and the last nubbin' of the Slava Candle off to the side.

What we learned: stickers on candles go up in flame very quickly.

Slavas are passed from father to son, so all our male descendants will always have St. John as their Slava. Wives take the Slava of their husband after they get married. The saint chosen is a saint on or near the day your first ancestor became a Christian. For us it marks the day the first ancestor (me) became an Orthodox Christian, but people of Serbian descent can trace their Slavas back hundreds of years, and can often tell what part of Serbia they were from based off of who the Slava is. It's just one of the benefits of having converted into a Serbian parish, we get this holy older-brother-in-the-faith praying for our family from today until Christ comes again.

An idea he seemed to approve of.

The kid is rolling over, loves smiling when he's happy, is happy more often than not, and generally sleeps through the night (last night being an exception). Here are some random photos of him, helping him to eventually get a jumpstart on all the classic Facebook cliche photos:

The "Trying to look candid" pose...

The "Caught me laughing" pose...

The "I'm adventurous and looking off the summit I've just conquered" pose...

The "Attempt at GQ" pose...

The "Surprised, actually candid" pose...

The "I'm so deep" pose...

And finally, what appears to be a selfie.

Prodigy.

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How to Survive Your First Solo Outing

So today was the first time OrthoDad flew solo with the kid outside of the house. For those not 'in the know' this is a big deal, because the kid so far refuses to eat from anything other than a boob, and Daddy lacks that equipment. Nevertheless I was supposed to make dinner tonight, and that requires chicken obviously, so I had to venture out to the local grocery store with just myself, Athanasius, and the judging eyes of all the world for company.

While out on our little escapade I learned a few things. I thought I'd pass on the information so that any other nervous papas who are looking for tips on how to come home with the same number of living children as they left with might venture past their front doors with confidence. This information is also helpful for those who look up to and aspire to be the type of father that I am (Epperson).

1) Fill the tank beforehand. I'm not talking about gas. Find your wife, latch that kid on, and don't think about stepping foot form the house until you hear the Vesuvian eruption of burp from his tiny baby lips. This is different if you're one of those lucky fools with a kid who doesn't care about the difference between latex and the real thing, but if you've got a connoisseur like we do, give him a bit of a top off before leaving.

2) Remember to bring the kid. Don't get so lost in visions of how awesome this adventure is going to be and how impressed everyone will find your performance that you take off and leave Jr. strapped in the carseat on your living room floor, looking around with a bewildered look. Not because he's confused mind you, just babies always look bewildered.

3) Tie the kid to you, preferably with a carrier. Those car seats are heavy, and when all you want is some chicken and one bunch of bananas you don't want to be pushing a cart (which will invariably have the one wonky wheel) around. Besides, you're going to put your kid in a car seat, put the car seat in the cart, and then dump that tray of raw chicken on top of him? Carriers are preferred but optional - some creative thinking and a few bungee cords will do the trick, really.

4) Where's your burp rag? In the diaper bag which is slung over your shoulder? In other words its 3,476 miles away. Just out of reach when you discover that the cooing, giggling and smiling your son is doing are not signs that he loves spending time with you in public, but code that he is about to spew forth an unholy torrent of chunky breastmilk all over the canned vegetables. Stick that thing in your pocket, because nobody wants to be the guy who is surreptitiously throwing pilfered bread slices down on the ground in an attempt to soak up the result of their child spontaneously performing scenes from The Exorcist.

5) Bring a change of clothes. Not for the kid - he doesn't care if he sits in his own filth - for yourself. Also for the little old lady who slipped in his goo. Perhaps now she won't sue over her broken hip.

6) Get the goods and get out. No time to let the bakery ladies coo over your kid. Have you forgotten you don't have a food supply for your spawn? The one thing guaranteed to calm him down? Grab the bunch of bananas closest to the self check out and get going.

7) Get home, throw chicken in the fridge, and resume your job of "Singer of songs at an impossibly high pitch because that's what gets him to stop crying." Try Jingle Bells. Works pretty well. If you get the kid to sleep crack open a Dr. Pepper, stretch out on the couch, and toast yourself my good sir - you've done it.

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I'm Going to Start a Training Program...

When your child reaches the wonderfully fun stage where they scream bloody murder unless you're standing, but you have a bad back and can only stand for a few minutes, it turns out you can sometimes fool them by positioning yourself at the edge of the couch and repeatedly pretending you're just on the verge of standing up. True, to the uninformed observer you look as if you're sitting on the edge of your seat, rocking back and forth, with a child clutched to your chest in the manner of one who's going to break down any second because of the stress of parenting, but once you get in a groove you won't even care because the spawn is, mercifully, silent for a few more minutes.

Good luck, rockateers.

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Yes I'm Still Alive

And, as I'm sure you're all more interested in, so is the kid.

Sorry for the sporadic updates, but you almost have to cut me some slack; I've got a two month old kid. On top of that since the last update we've had Holy Week, Pascha, Finals, our first year anniversary, and the past week I've been sickish.


Like you read this blog to hear about my woes. Yeah, yeah, here's the news about our giganto-tron.

(Giganto-tron is a registered trademark of the W______r Family, Inc. All Rights Reserved)

No, seriously, he's officially huge. The doctor said so. At his two month checkup he weighed 17lbs, and his doctor sprained his back lifting him onto the examination table.

He got his first shots too. The doctor said that he's functioning at a 4 month level socially and physically. To get all serious for a mo', I don't care much about the physical part. The kid is huge-of course his muscles are all uber developed. I'm slightly concerned he's going to expect me to teach him how to throw a football someday or some such nonsense and I'm going to have to call up Ben, or if he wants to kick a football, I'm going to have to call up his Uncle David, and make him come teach him, after I grill David on why he's infecting my son with his inability to say "soccer."

But the social development, that was a huge relief. They had worried that his brain might have been effected by oxygen deprivation when he didn't breath at birth (that whole, week-in-the-hospital thing after he was born). Apparently not only is he meeting his mental milestones, but he's exceeding them. It was very nice to hear that he seems to be completely normal, from a medical professional.

So here are a few more gratuitous pictures of the face you came to see. Promise to try to update more often. Summer vacation has started, so all I have to worry about is keeping the house clean, and occasionally holding the kid, and changing a few diapers, and I'm making a summer project of Latin and French, and dealing with the uprising of emotions brought on by the 7 Seasons of Boy Meets World we got for our Anniversary. 

 

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Torture

...is finally seeing the kid you've been trying to coax, bribe, jiggle, and rock to sleep for thirty minutes responding to the aforementioned actions with (at last!) drooping eyelids, only to have your nose erupt in a fury of itchiness. Both hands fully of baby.

I'll post pictures of Pascha later, right now I'm not disturbing the sleeping siren who slumbers on my chest.

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