Just moments after I gave the Georgia Street kids their cameras, they were already running around the neighborhood taking pictures of stuff. This kid spotted two pheasants "fighting" in an alley:

He lifted his camera and got the shot. . .


And then leaped into the air with excitement, just as one of the pheasants flew over his head. It's a bit blurry, but you can totally see it in this shot:

I can't wait to see what images he made. I hope they're way better than any of mine.

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There was an errant cashew between them.

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I meant to include this photo in the most recent post about the dog cart, to give a better sense of what we look like when we take it out on the town. My wife came with us down to the Riverfront last weekend and snapped this for me. . .I always have that leash in my hand to guide the dog (unless we're down in the cut).

That Filson bridle-leather leash (Christmas present from my wife, 2008) is the perfect length.

 
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Just a word of hope for those suffering through the tyranny of pink; the kid no longer insists on wearing pink, and where princesses were once treated with the fascination afforded to things the neighbor kids liked, they are now independently derided as both "bossy" and "lazy." Score one for hipster asshole dad! Pink itself has been relegated to her lower Pantheon of colors, down there below yellow, orange, purple, and red with aqua, magenta, gray, brown, and black. Still, it wasn't hard to convince her to climb up into this canopy of pink for a photo.

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She chased that moth around for two or three minutes; she just went to Meijer Gardens with her Nana so it's not like she's butterfly-deprived. . .I think after I took this photo she yelled at her brother for not noticing how close it was to him, but he probably would have just hit it with a stick.

Seriously, ten minutes later we noticed a beetle crossing the trail and he walked right up to it and whacked it with his stick. I tried to have a civil conversation about life and death with this 2-year old, but he was too distracted by a caterpillar who hadn't yet met the business end of his stick.

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See that hand right below her foot? That's called good parenting, people.

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I kind of wrote about this last fall, but it bears repeating. The girl calls this guy "Purple Zombie" and she made up a song about him (Purple zombie/ Drinkin' coffee/ La La La). This year, the boy is far more obsessed with it than her. He begs to see it at least once a day.

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No, we didn't take a last-minute trip to Naples this weekend. There's a beautiful reproduction of the frescoes at the Pompeian Villa of the Mysteries in the new wing at the Kelsey Museum in Ann Arbor, which was one of my favorite places to avoid studying for law school.

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When my son saw this poor guy, he said, "Look, there's a princess in the road."

"No, son," I muttered, "That's a cruel reminder that the next two weeks are going to totally suck."

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