Todd McKimmey’s Website

Zoe put this ribbon around her neck (bad parenting, I know) and proudly proclaimed, “I’m a present!”

The Diesel Engine, that is.

And for the heck of it, converted to quadtone:

Hah! No (or very few) food-related pics! This year, it’s all about the people. (Who are, of course, likely to kill me later for posting all of this.)

The title of this post and image are significant only in that the picture didn’t have a title.

December produced more than its fair share of images that I really like, have some intrinsic meaning to us or just came out really durn well. Here’s my pics for December of 2008…

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This was all well and good until the cats decided to use the scratching post…

Ignoring, say, the previous thread where I posted 12 images, this one’s never been posted before.

Here’s one photo of Zoe each month. I tried to grab something with a face in it. These aren’t necessarily the best images, but I wanted to grab one from every month as a 2008 retrospective… here goes…

Zoe was in the bath and, apropos of nothing, looks at me, very concerned. “Daddy, am I getting old?”

“You’re still very young, sweetie.”

“Am I getting older?”

“Every day. Everyone is.”

“Am I going to die?”

Now let me pause briefly to say that this single question will actually bring a moment of horror to a parent’s thoughts. I don’t want to think about that day for me let alone for her.

The best response I could come up with was, “Everyone does, Zoe. But it’s a very, very long time away.”

She seemed to pay as little attention to the answer as she does most of my answers. She got a smile on her face and said, “Can I color now?”

So I handed her the new bathtub crayons.

“Thanks, Daddy,” she said.

Well, at least Zoe was. About how to get all of that change in her little kitty bank.

The ‘crew’ checking out Zoe’s new bed…

As Zoe loves to help us cook, we have taught her certain lessons and enforced certain behaviors in the kitchen in some attempt to keep all of her digits attached until somewhere close to adulthood. We have instilled in her the caution around ovens, near burners, and, especially, around knives.

This is, of course, all well and good until I break out the pocket knife at the pizza parlor to cut up her piece of pizza (the plastic knives never cut it… literally… and figuratively), at which point she jumps up on to the bench, on her feet and proclaims, quite loudly, “DON’T CUT ME, DADDY!”