Whitman boys.

Really, it should be something like “le dejeuner de l’herbe,” or however one would say “the luncheon of grass” en francais.

The Gus ate grass today. Between delicious stalks, he emoted. ‘Nuff said.

He’s our little angel:

As in the love a devoted dad (that’s me, y’all) feels for his son (The Gus, for our slower readers). On with the pictures:

I got The Gus blocks. The Gus loves The Blocks.

He has a holistic approach, using all his senses in the block experience.

We went this past weekend to the Grand Floral Parade at the Rose Festival, which improbably is one of the five biggest parades in the country. The Gus enjoyed his new sedan chair baby backpack.

Carver came over. Though he is only two months The Gus’s senior, he has eight teeth. The Gus seems as though he is getting a little anxious about his toothlessness, but we keep assuring him that “these things take time, honey.” Carver also has a head that is off the charts in size, compared to The Gus’s 25th-percentile noggin. No, that is not an optical illusion.

Last, yet another picture of The Gus as tabula rasa.
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