Whitman boys.

The Gus is no longer twenty-three-and-a-half months. Or even twenty-three months. He’s two. And with all the terribleness that comes with that, he’s still sweet and lovable. OK, I’m bragging.

We threw a birthday party for him. I think, but am not sure, that it was technically a “rager,” or at least it raged until everyone’s toddlers got tired and the place cleared out at 7:45. Let me preface these few pictures I post by saying that Eric was there and he took better pictures, because he invests in better equipment but mostly because he’s just way better at this photography thing, so go to his flickr site and look at them.

But The Gus put on his party hat:

Friends helped him unwrap presents:

He was delighted by the singing of “Happy Birthday,” though methinks he didn’t understand its import:

And there was a special tractor cake, just for him (soon it will be a dinosaur cake, no doubt):

So I am acutely aware that I average one post per calendar month. Acutely. And I understand that I still I post more often than my cherished friend Eric, or my glamorous lawyer-turned-TV critic friend Linda, or even untitled, who once posted all the time but since getting thin through bariatric surgery has lost the need to blog. But the comparison is no solace. My infrequent posts wrack me with guilt, because I know that several of my ten total readers rely on this little blog for their Gus-cuteness fixes, and when I lapse, they get the shakes and snap at their baristas. And then the baristas in turn write bitchy posts to their intarwebz forums, and the whole emotional tone of teh intarwebz trends down, at least until someone posts something offbeat and a little uplifting, and by then it’s today and look, I post, here is The Gus.

We went to the Pumpkin Patch, which is capitalized because there is of course only one:

The Gus found a pumpkin:

The Gus and Carver drove a tractor:

Deek and I threw Carver around. Seriously:

All Pumpkin Patch photos here.