Monkeys in Maine?

Well, Saxontologists, I am back from lovely Maine. My dad took my mom for her birthday and, of course, me, the poodles, grandma G, grandpa F and crazy Lucy tagged along for the fun.

This was my first long drive anywhere so my parents weren't quite sure how I would handle the eight hour drive. We woke up pretty early on the morning of the drive and I had my usual hearty breakfast. We got in the car and I immediately fell asleep. Two hours later, I woke up and started crying (well, actually screaming) until I threw up my hearty breakfast all over the car seat, myself and Kari the poodle.

Then, I was quite happy and agreeable...I felt so much better. The bonus was that mom and dad had to make an unscheduled pit stop at the nearest rest stop (why were they holding their noses?) so everyone could get wiped down with baby wipes. I even got to take a little spritz in the rest stop bathroom...ahhhh, so refreshing!








Two hours after that, the rest of my hearty breakfast (who knew there was more?) came out the other end all over my clothes and the carseat. One more unscheduled pit stop, a change into outfit number three and mom and dad's sad attempt to hermetically seal my carseat with grocery sacks to dampen the smell got us back on the road. This is daddy driving really fast to try and air out the car...can you see how the stink is making his eyes tear?




Three outfits, five hundred miles and two worn out parents later, we got to Bernard, Maine, we set up at a house on the ocean. This is the back meadow behind the house that leads to the shore.






Then, it was time to take care of logistics. Dad and I went to the grocery store and bought food for the week (that Grandma G cooked). Sadly, my arms were just slightly too short to reach that number pad to punch in my secret code...SAXON666!


We also went to a nearby lobster pound and dad ate a crab roll. I just got the crummy roll because Mom says no shellfish for a while.















Here I am with my dad outside of our house in Maine. Don't our matching jackets look cool?













Just beyond the meadow behind our house is the water. Dad took me out in this new backpack contraption out there. I have decided that I really like riding in this carrier because I can: (1) pull my dad's hair; (2) pinch the back of his arms; (3) talk to other people face-to-face; and (my favorite) (4) yell deafeningly in my dad's ear. Dad says that he has mixed feelings this newest baby item.

Here I am with mom, dad and the poodles walking on the shore.















Oh yeah, I forgot reason #5 why I like the backpack carrier. It is totally awesome to sleep in.












Grandma, Grandpa and crazy Lucy also came with us on our walks sometimes.



Grandma did some quilting with the dogs too while on vacation.







On my mom's birthday, my dad went fishing and brought back a very alarming item. They tell me that it is called a lobster. I call it disturbing.

I tried to sample the lobster but found the shell much too difficult to gum. This is clearly a job for a baby with a full set of gnashers...sadly, I am not that baby.


Then we opened my mom's birthday present with some help from Kari. I don't remember what she got but I do know that the wrapping paper was tasty.






Next day, we were hiking. Don't I look bad (as in good, not as in bad) in my super phat (not as in heavy, as in super cool) lobster shirt!

Even on vacation, these annoying gates seem to follow me.

They do not understand, however, that they are not dealing with an ordinary baby willing to accept the artifical limitations of wood and plastic. There is no thwarting the machinations of a criminal mastermind! Ha, Ha, Ha!

Here I am with my mom and a seagull in Acadia National Park.

These are the poodles who co-piloted the backseat on the way back home...we were all pretty tired from the trip. The good news is that no, I did not throw up on the poodle a second time...although she is scheduled to be groomed as a result of the first episode.

And that is it crazy Saxontologists! We got home from Maine in record time. My mom had a very nice birthday and told me that she was very happy that she could spend it with me this year. (I was in Maine last year too but I was still in her belly. )

I am jazzed to be home because life in Brooklyn has already taken off with playgroup and music appreciation class (yes, mom signed me up for it...don't tell He-man, he might think it is a bit fruity.) and Halloween coming up. So many adventures to come!

Where's Saxon?

Well, I am off for the next week on vacation to a destination that will be revealed later. The papparazzi (i.e. my mom) can be so tedious if tipped off about where I am going...oh yeah, she is going with us. You know it is hard work scouring the floor for small chokable objects to put in my mouth, searching out electrical cords to chew, tearing apart what ever I can latch these wonderful fingers around so now, its time to rest. Yeah, right. I hope my mom and dad made a damage deposit on the place we are staying in....

200 Saxontologists Walk Into a Bar....

According to the little counter in the margin, it appears that 200 different people have visited (and undoubtably converted to) Saxontology! In my nine months on this planet, I have certainly done my share of mixing and mingling at the playground, during playgroup, in the shops and about town but I had no idea that I had so many friends! Who knew that a baby's adventures in Brooklyn could be so compelling? Of course, I think they are totally fascinating but then again, I find an empty water bottle to be the epitome of entertainment.

In any case, it does feel good to be adored. I won't tell you that it won't go to my head or that I promise to stay humble because we both know that's a lie. I am a baby with many needs, expensive tastes, destructive habits and no self control...isn't that the rock and roll lifestyle that keeps you coming back to read more?

Thanks for tuning in to Saxontology brought to you by your founder, pastor, prophet, oracle, herald and shaman (hey, its my religion so I get to decide what goes on the business card)--ME!

Just call me baby beefcake...

Friday was HOT! Mom says that it is supposed to cool down and Fall is starting but I don't feel it! So, we met He-man and his mom on Friday in the park to hang out in the sprinklers.

Just a tip from an expert: the key to success at the park sprinklers can be summed up in one word--containers.

You call them "man boobs." I call them "pectorals in training."

Speaking of fleshy fortitude, everywhere I go these days, people seem to call me "big boy" or "ham hocks" or "husky" and my friends refer to me as "the Saxonator." I haven't really given it much thought until now because, well, I just like the attention. But I never really considered the meaning behind such names...until this weekend.

Dad, mom, the poodles and I went up to Grandma and Grandpa's house in Pawling this weekend. I was really excited because my super cool cousin Sarah was there too with Aunt Kate and baby cousin Adam. Sarah is soooooo awesome because she can walk and talk and sing and do whatever she wants. But, this weekend, we found out that I am stronger than her. A few times, I found one of her toys that she didn't want me to play with and try as she might, she had a very HARD time getting it back. She tried to reason with me by telling me "Saxon, that is not nice" while trying to pull it away. Neither approach worked because: 1) I am immune to reason and 2) I am a physical powerhouse who loves to play tug-of-war. As a rule, it takes the collective efforts of Sarah and a nearby adult to release my vice like grip because, I really have no clue how strong I am.

And that might explain how I broke grandma's door decor. You see, now that I can stand up by myself, I use everything that I can get my hands on as a brace. I was looking out the glass door, grabbed hold of the wooden slat to stand up, started to pull and SNAP! This is a re-enactment of what I did when it broke (note the missing wooden slat). By the way, I was smiling when it originally happened as well because, let's face it, it was pretty cool. It was just like when those karate guys chop a piece of wood in half...or at least, it made the same impressive sound.

In my nine months of life, I have developed a little life philosophy that dictates that I live in the moment and feel bad about nothing. That means, I have already identified my next project.....

Look At Meeeeeee!

Although this isn't really an adventure, per se, I figured that I should report on recent some recent developmental milestones that I have mastered! After all, isn't babyhood the ultimate adventure?
Consequently, I just couldn't resist posting these photos of me standing. Do I look cool or what? I pulled myself up without any help and I think I will walking soon. Oh sure, all the books say that it will take me still a few more months but I am just not that patient. In my book, I should have been walking yesterday.

I love to swing! In fact, I know where all the swings are in the neighborhood and it is pretty hard for my mom to go anywhere these days without me crying to stop off at the playground on the way.
You might say that I have a teeny tiny addiction to the rush of wind in my hair.

Enter Sandman....

Thursday, He-man and I went to check out the famous sandbox of Prospect Park, Brooklyn. Of course, as I set out, I had no idea what to expect. So, I asked myself "what would Sonny Crockett wear to a sandbox" and wore my Miami Vice shirt....just to set the mood. (Blame my dad for my taste in fashion...he likes the circa 1981 reruns.)

I knew I had made the right choice when I caught He-man secretly admiring my shirt behind my back (literally).

When we arrived, we realized that the layout was remarkably familiar....just like an ultimate fighting championship cage with sand...except 20 feet shorter walls, no audience, no padding and no judges.

Okay, it was a little bit different from an ultimate fighting championship cage but it did have sand and a little red shovel that brought out some baby blood lust.

Note to self: sandgoatees do not taste as good as they look.

On the whole, the sandbox was a success although mom complained about having to carry a dirty baby back on the bus. She just doesn't understand that sand pugilism is a dirty sport especially amongst dedicated athletes such as He-man and myself. How dirty? How dedicated? Let's just say that we had gritty baths that night and crumbly diapers the next day.