Week 92 - Nanner Knievel

Don't call me Super Dave.

The Evel Knievel / Barker tradition started long before the Nanner was a twinkle in her mama's eye.  Back when mama was still Rabidoux.  Call it an awesome costume that keeps on giving, or a father who has gotten too lazy and uncreative to come up with a new idea.  Milking the old one for all it's worth and proudly wearing the dirt and beer stains because the super-glued layers won't stand up to the rinse cycle.  

But the Nanner Knievel has breathed new life into daddy's old bag of tricks.  

Drinking milk for strong bones.

She was the star of Roscoe Village Halloween Fest, got way more attention than her father.  Daddy Knievel got a few head nods, a beer, and a, "great costume man" from the 40 year olds.  But it was mostly 4 year olds asking, "What are you supposed to be?"  

Ask your mom you little punk.  

Week 91 - Babysitters

Nanner doesn't care that Barney is sooooo 1992.

We said that we wouldn't do it, but we've come to learn that there is something magical about a stuffed purple dinosaur and that stupid jingle.  Nanner-couch shot?  Barney.  Mama's got to shower?  Elmo.  Daddy is hungover on a Saturday morning and needs help watching Anna?  Curious George.  And so on.

This is Anna showing off her swimming technique.  Seriously.  And I don't know where that baby clownfish just appeared from but mama clownfish sure looks appalled.

The other babysitter we've discovered is the bathtub.  Baff? Baff?  Bafftime dada?  Yes my dear, till your little fingers and toes turn to prunes and so daddy can eat his microwaved dinner while sitting on top of the toilet seat.

One of the thousand or so reasons we keep her around.

This photo is to prove that we're not total asshole parents.  Sometimes we take the Nanner with us when we go out on the town.  Actually to be honest, the only reason Nanner came to Little Goat with us this particular morning was because the babysitter cancelled on us.  Forced family day!  And we thought that two hours was too long to leave her in the tub alone.  Clownfish or no clownfish.

Week 90 - Southpaw'd

She was of course all smiles while Max Scherzer was pitching.

Yep, another late post.  Last Sunday night Aimee's facebook friends reminded her that there was a Tigers game on so we outfitted Nanner with her Uncle Greg-provided and daddy-approved Tigers hat (I'm happy that she likes to watch O's with me and that she's going to grow up a baseball fan).

But Leyland failed to bring in the lefty to face Big Papi with the bases loaded (Nanner was yelling, "Southpaw!...Play the matchup!!") and one pitch later she threw her Tigers hat across the room.

A look is worth at least 140 characters

So the Nanner posted this "selfie" and then went on a Twitter rampage.  Who knew one could fit so much emotion, thought, and Sabermetrics into 140 characters?  

Week 89 - Tater Salad

The eyes have it.  And the nose.  And the mustache.
And arms and glasses and hat - all of which are long lost under the couch.

This will be a fun one to revisit in the future.  This week Aimee said that (still in the belly) Jane - heartburn inducing, can't sleep resulting, back pain aching, pee when I cough embarrassing - yep that Jane - is already her favorite daughter.  Got that Anna?  It's time to shape up when someone with those credentials has overtaken you in the favorites department.  

The Audubon Proving Grounds - monkeying around.

I'm not sure she's listening.  

     

Week 88 - The Cooler (Mc)Queen

"Sir knight?  I've just pissed in my pants...and nobody can do anything about it."

Yep, mixing references here again this week.  It was that kind of week and Nanner is that kind of character.  

Just fifteen minutes ago, I went into her room because she was screaming bloody murder and I found her channeling her inner Captain Hilts:

I suppose getting hung up on Ikea furniture is a whole lot more pleasant than barbed wire.

The federal furlough accounts for the poor surveillance footage.  Apparently NSA's Nanner-cam operator is not considered "essential personnel".