My Boris Karloff Moment

BLAH! I am a very scary vampire who wants to drink your blood...or fruit juice works just as well. By the way, do you find it an interesting coincidence that I share a birthdate with Boris Karloff?


Every modern vampire needs a reliable set of wheels!
Here I am with the little girl in my nursery school class who I call "my girlfriend." We like to hold hands.

These photos were taken BEFORE I got so hopped up on sugar that I became a...

BLURRRRRRRR!
When not playing the role of scary vampire, I am exploring the art of pumpkin carving. The best part is scraping out all the gooey seeds and stuff.
The French kids next door helped me with the carving. Note the intense concentration necessary for the sous carver.

BOO! Which is scarier--the ghost or my eyebrows?

If the physique fits....

As you faithful followers of Saxontology are aware, I am not a 'slim Jim' of a toddler and although I have lost some baby chunkiness since I started walking, I wouldn't consider myself to be slight. I am still a hearty eater and an enthusiastic milk drinker and, consequently, I do maintain both a prominent gut and moobs to be proud of. When considering my costume options therefore, it seemed natural to play up my best beefcake assets. The obvious choice, therefore, was pumpkin.

The truth is that I loved my costume soooo much that as soon as my mom put it on, I refused to take it off and INSISTED on wearing it to nursery school. I didn't care that I was the only one wearing a costume. I thought it made me special. (According to my teachers, the only time they got it off of me was to change my diaper...ONCE and only ONCE.) Later in the afternoon, all of the other kids put their costumes on and we had a very British "Halloween Tea Party" in the garden. I ate lots of sugar, felt zippy and ran around like a madman. Needless to say, I was all smiles when my mom came!

This is a photo taken a few days later by my Great Aunt K who came to visit me in London (with Great Uncle W). Of course, I had to show them all the sights (that a 2 year old would consider worthy) and here I am with mom and dad in the park with the BEST playground...Holland Park.

(Special thanks to Great Aunt K for the photos...you made overcast London look bright!)

What To Do With a Mullet?

Imagine this, dear Saxontologists, it is Saturday morning and the Olympics are on television. You and your dad are just hanging out watching some female powerlifting (ooh lala those biceps!) when suddenly your mom appears...holding a pair of TRAUMA SCISSORS! That is right, she has a pair of those huge, nasty, serrated steel shears meant to cut through cloth, plastic and metal equally well. She holds them above my head and announces, "I can hardly see your eyes because your bangs are too long." Despite my protests, she persists in snipping my lovely long locks and five minutes later, I officially have a mullet. (In the interest of preserving any future self-respect, I have declined to provide photographic evidence of my humiliation.)

Luckily, Dad looked up from the Olympics on TV long enough to say, "He looks terrible." He then promptly whisked me away to the barber shop around the corner. And now, I look like...

In the end, I am quite happy with my new hairdo. My mom felt so guilty for defacing my good looks that this morning she let me play with her hair products. It was so fun smearing glue into my hair that when I was finished, I looked like a real British yob (London backslang for uncouth young thug)...just let them try to mess with me on the playground now!

What do you prefer? Hippie surfer dude or British yob?

I Rock!

On Saturday, we went to music class and I introduced my dad the lifestyle of a rockin' Brooklyn baby. The drums are my specialty.
During the all instrument reggae jam, I busted out all the stops to impress my dad and played the drum while simultaneously chewing on the eggplant shaped shaker.



Hey man, if Axel Rose can do it, why can't I?

First Haircut

So, last Saturday, my mom and dad and I went into the city to see my uncle Mourad at his new shop. While we were there, Uncle Mourad gave me my first haircut. He put me on a big cushion to make me taller in the chair and put a very curious paper collar around my neck.

Then, he put the most enormous bib around my neck. (I got excited because I thought a hair cut might also involve a little snack.)

As you can tell, I am a little disappointed that there was no food. Instead, he wet my hair with water and started to cut it.

Interesting, I can watch Uncle Mourad in the mirror.....

Uncle Mourad, I am getting bored now. Can you wrap this up?

Uncle Mourad is telling me that I am going to be the best looking kid in playgroup when he finishes with me.

Beauty is not worth this price! A baby has got to be free!!!

I have ripped off my giant bib and am on my way out of the chair...only my dad holding me down keeps me from making a break for the door!

A little blow dry, some hair gel and two grown men holding still a squirmy me equals a fantastic first haircut!

Don't hate me because I am beautiful! Thank you Uncle Mourad!