3rd November 2001


Henry is a 4 year old with the meanest blog around. Makes me misty for my babysitting days. Some excerpts:

We pulled the turkey out of the oven and set it on the table. Henry stared at it for a while in amazement.
Then he looked up at me and asked, “Is it a baby?!?”

“What’s Pikachu turn into?”


“What’s Psyduck turn into?”


“What’s Charmander turn into?”


“What’s Henry turn into? Henry turn into Daddy?”

“Aim a little higher, son.”

On a beautiful Sunday afternoon we walked up the street to the ice cream store. Sun was out. Birds were singing. Neighbors waving as they swept their stoops. Henry screaming at the top of his lungs.

“No. Sleep. ‘Til Broooooklyyyyn!!”

We’re impressionable.

Pound for pound, Henry might actually be the most powerful entity in the Western United States.

P.S. We are running out of babysitters.

During a routine shopping trip to Walgreen’s yesterday Henry started screaming that he wanted some chocolate money.

We were walking by the Gold Circle Coin Condom display when he started screaming it.

Ocean Beach.

Henry wrote his name in the sand, admired it proudly then very carefully erased it and walked away.

“Why’d you erase your name son?”

“Didn’t want anybody to step on it, Dad.”

Tracey and Henry went on a school trip to the pumpkin patch last week.

On the way home he says, “When pumpkins wanna communicate they turn into jack-o-lanterns.”

I just taught Henry to say, “I like small Asian girls.”

I’d like to apologize. I was bored and it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

(I’m documenting this purely for future therapy reference.)

11:24 p.m.