You know what Daddy?  You are right.  You did have a long work week, and I should give you a break by holding my very own lollipop.

Hmmm...and what do I think of this moment of autonomy?

Whatever dudes!  I much prefer the staff, thank you very much.


Editor's Note:  We are proud to report that Gareth sat still and cooperated throughout his entire first haircut, thanks in part we are sure, to a myriad of distractions--boats, trains, suckers (mommy and daddy?) included.

                  The Saga Of Dada

Our saga begins on a quiet Sunday morning.  Mother is doing her weekly--I mean, daily--task of loading clothes in the washing machine. 

Our fearless warrior, clad in his anticipatory Halloween attire, emerges from the shadows.   "Dada!"  he says, emphatically, raising his arms over his head-- "Dada!"

At first our trusty washerwoman is puzzled.  Dada is not to be found--he is downstairs, lighting candles on the Steelers shrine and chanting "Maddox, Maddox."  Hmm--why would our orange-mailed childman be uttering his father's call?  It is then that our lowly lady of the laundry sees the warriors flags--Dada's shirts.  Indeed, Dada must also be synonymous for Daddy's favorite Hawaiian shirts.  Ah, yes, our humble mistress of the suds smiles in great delight.  Has she satisfied the blonde boy's riddle?