Ethan Gazette Reissue, Volume 9

Welcome to Ethan Gazette Volume 9 , Ethan Goes On Holiday Edition, the world's finest source for Ethan's holiday adventure stories. We here at the Ethan Gazette can also promise right up front that no phones have been hacked to get any of the forthcoming information. What, we can't do topical humor? Whatever, go start your own Gazette and try to make it timeless. You just go ahead and try. Please don't try. I don't want your competition.

You will recall from the last edition that I was mauled by an ironic tiger and lost both my arms. Given that my daily job requires typing at a high speed, I was starting to rack up more concussions than is preferable.  I am pleased to tell you that I have since been outfitted with brand new arms that I got on sale at the local Armory. They're a little hairier than I wanted and there's a strange tattoo of a blue dragon with pink fairy wings breathing a rainbow, but these are the kinds of sacrifices I have to make as a father. The bionic arms with fondue pot add-on will have to remain a distant dream.  

Now that I have spent most of Ethan's university fund on hairy fairy arms, I must continue my advertising relationship with Mortimer Montgomery. Here is another essential(?) item. I'm working on a new advertiser. I don't think MM understands our demographic. Anyway, here they are again.

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Hello, friends.

The time of winter is upon us. This is if you are in a region that experiences seasons. Are you reading this in California or in the middle of the desert? Then you may go away from this advertisement. Wait. In the desert you also experience cold in the evening time. This message is also for you. Have you already gone away? Please come back. If this message is being read by a desert couple and one of the couple has gone away could you the person who is still reading this go and get that other person to read this advertisement? I will wait. I am done waiting. You are cold in the evening time because that is what happens in the autumn. Do your feet and your toes get cold and chilly? Are you taking up a great deal of time rubbing them in an attempt to create friction which creates warmth? Are you missing most of your child's life because you are attending to your cold feet? Do you have socks and trendy Ugg boots and even a blanket but even this is unable to penetrate the chill in your feet? Then I feel like you are ready for the latest innovation from our subterranean, vegan, hairless, all-tenor lab workers: The Shinstrapped Portable Fireplace.  Made out of high gloss marble, the Shinstrapped Portable Fireplace is the ideal solution to warm up your feet. Here's how it works. There are straps. There is a fireplace made of marble with room for straps. Strap the fireplace to your shin, attach the asbestos-lined Heat Direction Cone, point it at your feet, and there you have it, you have heat directed at your feet by fire, which is the best way to heat things. Have you become hungry because you are so cold? Roast something in the fire. We also sell accessories such as a miniature tin for beans, a miniature bellows, or a miniature bear skin rug - made from real miniature bears - for ambiance. What an attractive scene will be laid out on your shins. It is also a comfortable scene because they only weigh ten pounds each. How much would you pay to have feet that are warm all the time? I can hear you say close to infinity dollars. For you though it is only $14,566 for the pair and we will throw in a free miniature bellows. Because as Mortimer Montgomery used to say, 'You show me a man with warm feet, and I'll show you a man with feet that are warm.'

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In the months since our last edition, Ethan has become 8 months old, and we can finally set him free into the world to make his own way. Sara is reading this over my shoulder and tells me that's not the case. Apparently the scale of our commitment to this child is far more than I was anticipating.

  

And now it's time for the -

Ethan Gazette Special Edition: Ethan Goes on (Two) Holidays! 

  

Special Edition: Ethan Goes on (Two) Holidays!

- Our first-ever proper trip with Ethan was to Scotland, land of the Scots. Sara's parents own a caravan there in Creetown, which is in southwest Scotland.  In the past, we've lucked out with the weather. Glorious sunshine-filled days. In both of our previous visits, we drove up in the rain, arrive in sunshine, and then drive home in the rain. This time, the weather outsmarted us and rained and winded on us the entire time. Ethan however, did not mind this. In fact he took the opportunity to sleep through the entire night for the first time! And then was a little terror the entire rest of the day. Oh, poor baby, did you get TOO MUCH sleep? Get over it. Go get a job already.

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 - On our second trip, we went to Norwich, which is about four hours drive to our east. This trip will never again take four hours. Not with Ethan. Not with him going stir crazy in his car seat. I can see the transition happen in his little baby eyes. At first he views the road trip as an exciting diversion…

…This is gonna be great. Me and the parents on a trip together. I am ready to take it all in. I am ready for a journey and a HALF guys. What's there to worry about? Look at all this stuff hanging off my car seat! I've got a snake with dangly bits on. I'm gonna hit those dangly bits! Take THAT dangly bits! Hey dangly bits - get in my baby mouth! Yeah! Yeah I've put you in my MOUTH dangly bits! Hahahaha! Ha...Haha...look at that scenery whooshing by, am I right? Do you know how fast we are going right now? This is blowing my tiny baby mind. Look at it. It's going and going. That's what it's doing. Over and over again. And again. And again. And again. And...dangly...bits...I HATE IT. I hate everything! I want out! Why have you trapped me here?! I want to roll about and play! I was promised a much better time. I am going to YELL! I AM YELLING! GET ME OUT! OUUUUUTTTTT!!!…

…Several times throughout the journey, I’d look over at Ethan and find him asleep, his cute little face in the cutest repose. A minute later I’d look back at him and his eyes were a self-imposed Clockwork Orange situation,  unblinkingly awake, radiating his over-churned baby rage.

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- For the Norwich departure, our sincerest hope and wish was to depart from our home at about 3pm. We packed what we could the night before and – let’s just have a word here about traveling with a baby. You need So. Much. Stuff. Sara and I were already pretty bad at overpacking. Even a weekend away would require a giant piece of airplane-hold-sized luggage each. Because you just never know if you will need those additional 5 shirts because what if you fall into 4 mud holes or get mauled by 4 tigers or you decide to play Torrid Soap Opera Love Scene and rip off 4 shirts?? Ethan needs his giant change bag, special crib thingy so he sleeps well, his mobile thingy that sits above his special crib thingy, his bathing bucket, his alarm that tells us if he’s stopped breathing in the night, his car seat, his bag of toys, his 1/2000^th scale model of Parliament, his full collection of cardigans, and his trio of didgeridoos. 

I had work until 2, therefore saddling Sara with finishing up the packing we hadn’t finished – which was most of it. I didn’t appreciate that packing is vastly more complicated given the amount of stuff to pack, finding a staging area for all that stuff when nearly every spare square foot we have is taken up by Ethan’s stuff, trying to pack stuff when all the stuff is in the bedroom and that happens to be where Ethan takes a nap and you put Ethan down for a nap so you can wash a dish so you don’t come home to a pile of disease-ridden dishes but he doesn't take a nap which is WORSE because then he’s CRYING and you can't PACK when the baby is CRYING you can only try to hold off your OWN crying while you take care of Ethan’s crying and SQUELCH the baby has evacuated the entire backed up contents of his bowels managing to turn the formerly pristine white interior of his nappy into an overwhelming brown.

Therefore, by the time I got home, the packing had advanced in that a suitcase had been moved about a foot. Somehow the packing dragged on until past 4pm. It may have had something to do with my 20 minute leisurely lunch and the fact that I am under the perpetual delusion that packing will only take another 5 minutes. My preferred method of packing is to saunter from room to room, wondering why we haven’t left yet. Surely it’s not MY fault. Didn’t you see me put something in a case half an hour ago? My obligations to this packing process are complete!

By the time I squeezed the last didgeridoo into the overstuffed car, Ethan was screeching in frustration and hunger. 6 hours later, he was making similar sounds as we rolled on and on through dark roads to get to Norwich. But even at 11:30 we gave him his bath, put on his lullabye music and he was asleep as he hit the mattress. He was absolutely lovely the rest of the weekend.

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***

You know what, I’m going to say that’s the end of this edition. Who are you to say you want another section of Ethan Gazette Volume 9? If I try to add another section, there will never be an Ethan Gazette Volume 10. And doesn’t the world need an Ethan Gazette Volume 10? Do not answer that.

I hope this reaches all of you in fine health, and I hope your plans for 2012 include frivolity, hugs, cake, laughter and mischief.

- Jason, father and only staff writer of the Ethan Gazette

Ethan Gazette Reissue, Volume 8

Welcome to the Ethan Gazette, Volume 8, the finest source for all Ethan news anywhere in the world, except for Burkina Faso, where they’ve been doing some excellent reporting. Is that a real place? I will not be checking. Okay, I’ve checked. It’s in Africa. Did you know that? It just sounded like some fake place, like El Dorado or “Connecticut.”

Anyway, fine, yes, it’s been 7 weeks since the last Ethan Gazette. There’s a perfectly good reason for there not being a new Ethan Gazette other than a case of writer’s block and it’s completely plausible. I was in my local supermarket on the hunt for ice cream to beat the heat, or what passes for heat in England, which is anything above about 70 degrees Fahrenheit, or about 300 Celsius or whatever. I was delighted to see that Ben and Jerry’s Fossil Fuel flavor finally came out here.  I was looking at the nutritional information saying to myself, ‘The only thing that’s going to stop me from eating you is if my arms fall off.’ And RIGHT THEN an ironic tiger jumped out of nowhere and mauled both my arms off. Now I feel terrible that I was the Snarky Commenter of the Month on the Supermarket Maulings blog. So: Let’s all just agree that that’s what happened. The next several Ethan Gazettes I will have to type with my nose, but I will do this. I will do it.

While the Ethan Gazette is an honest and true portrait of our parenting adventure withEthan, it’s also a cynical attempt at a cash-milking machine, which is why we are once again sponsored by Mortimer Montgomery. Have a gander at their latest life-changing technology.

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Hello, friends. Are you having trouble with energy bills? When you get them in the email or in the mail mail are you filled with despair or do you put your hands into your pockets and then pull your pockets all the way out revealing that you are only rich enough to afford dust? If so then prepare to be delighted by the latest offering by our subterranean, vegan, hairless lab workers: Mortimer Montgomery’s Possticityä Posset-Powered Electricity Converter. Yes that is right, your baby’s posset, vomit and drool can be turned into electricity, like Rumpelstiltskin turning straw into gold but without the creepy blackmailing dwarf. It has been shown in a scientific way that posset is one of the most fuel-efficient fuels on the planet. Just 5ml of baby posset can power an average lamp for we are guessing 500 years. You will not live that long but isn’t it nice to know that your lamp light will? Simply collect your baby’s mouth offerings with our Possticityä Gas-Powered Syphon and then transfer your collection into the Possticityä Reservoir. Press the activator button and through a combination of negative ions and pure ivory extract what was once your baby’s drool is now powering your BluRay. Finally, your baby is good for something. This incredible device can be yours for a miniscule cost of $9,283. How much would it cost you to run that lamp for 500 years straight? Probably $9,500. It is obvious that you should get one. As Mortimer Montgomery used to say, ‘Show me a man that leaves a lamp on all day, and I’ll show you a man who doesn’t trip over things as much.’

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And now, presenting the latest news in Ethan’s life in bullet point format, the way that all gazettes should be.

- Last week, Ethan was momentarily possessed by the spirit of a frenzied cat, because there’s no way human vocal cords could or should make the sound that screeched out of him. He was upset that I would dare to put his shirt on for the day, something that only happens around the same time Every. Single. Day. As soon as the shirt is on, he’s fine that the shirt is on. But having it put on is the most terrible thing that’s happened to him in his whole baby life. I have suggested to him that he try to distribute some of his body weight to areas other than his increasingly fat baby head so that it’s a more pleasant experience for everyone, but he is deaf to suggestions.

- If I could afford a Mortimer Montgomery’s Possticityä Posset-Powered Electricity Converter, I could power everything in England at this rate and then go on to solve the oil crisis. At the risk of overstating the drooling situation we’re in, Ethan is The Drooliest. He is the Niagara Falls of drooling. If Niagara Falls and Victoria Falls had a Baby Waterfall, Ethanwould out-drool that baby. It does not stop. His mouth is constantly glistening, his bibs are overwhelmed within minutes, and his hands are slimier than a greased whale. We love to indulge him in a round of SuperEthan, where he’s propped up on our shins and gets to fly through the air, but our pleasure is mitigated by the 2-foot strings of drool that dangle impressively from his mouth before pooling on our clothes.

- In the last Ethan Gazette, I offered our services as expert jewel heisters. (None of you have taken us up on the offer.) I thought that any bang or bump or stumble would wake Ethan up. I went to bed the other night in my usual slow-motion, only to find that Sara was snoring loud enough to wake a dead person who was buried with headphones on. Ethan, however, slept on completely unfazed. Finally, I thought, we can have our Gong Parties again.

- Already, whenever I see another parent, I smile this Knowing Smile. And that smile says: Yeah, I have a kid, too. I get it. I know about parenting. All of it. We’re in The Club. And whenever I see a baby younger than Ethan, or a pregnant lady, I want to flash that expression that I’ve had flashed at me. The expression that says, ‘Oh boy you are in for a lot of work but you’re going to be so in love and appreciate every minute because it goes so fast and try to sleep when the baby sleeps and it gets easier but it also gets harder and you think [insert baby age here] is hard wait until SEVENTEEN weeks…’

- Ethan has already spoken his few first words including dog, gay and hi. He especially loves to say Hiiiiiiiiii!!!!!! But now that I think about it, isn’t hai a Japanese expression! There can be no other explanation: Ethan is already bilingual and therefore the world’s smartest baby. So, given that Ethan can already speak in several(?) languages, I figured it was only right to allow him to take his first foray into writing. Ethan and I talk about many issues every day from the economy to philosophy to why beards feel so funny on the bottom of his baby feet. I offered Ethan his very own column in this Ethan Gazette and he accepted by exclaiming, ‘GAY HIIIIIII!!!!’ and then adding, “Ooooo!!!!” Ethan didn’t want to tell me what it was about before he wrote it and I have not offered any editorial control. So here, debuting his column for the first time, is my precious baby with the 6-syllable name,Ethan Harry Warner:

Guest columnist: ETHAN WARNER

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-E

I hope this hasn’t offended any of you.

That wraps it up for the latest Ethan Gazette. A special Ethan Takes A Holiday edition will be next, featuring Ethan’s trips to Scotland and Norwich. How is Ethan sleeping in faraway places? Does he like being bathed in an oversized bucket? Just how quick can a baby go from laughter to complete meltdown? Find out the answers to all this and more in the next edition.

Thank you for reading. Your attention makes me strut.

- Jason, father and Editor of the Ethan Gazette

Ethan Gazette Reissue, Volume 7

Welcome to the Ethan Gazette, Volume 7, the definitive source for all news Ethan-related. If you are getting news about Ethan from another newsletter, please let me know, because unless Sara’s writing it, someone’s watching us.  

The response to Volume 6 was so positive that people outside the orbit of Ethan’s family, and Ethan’s family’s coworkers, are reading! With circulation like that, operating costs have inevitably raised, and therefore I am beholden to another advertisement from the kind folks at Mortimer Montgomery.
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Hello, friends. Are you having trouble sleeping? When you lie your head down on your pillow in the evening time do you stare at your ceiling? Have you counted a great number of sheep to the point where you start to imagine that they are all gathering in a large herd and they are bleating and their coats are starting to get long and in a near fever-state you wonder how are you possibly going to shear them all in time and what about the wolves?? Wouldn’t it be nice if there was a guaranteed way to fall asleep within seconds and with fairly limited long-term health impacts? Thankfully, our team of subterranean vegan lab workers have been burning the midnight tempeh and have this solution to offer to you: Mortimer Montgomery’s Sleep Mallet. This is a handsome wooden mallet made out of the finest virgin rain forest wood straight from Brazil. It’s 45 cm long or 18 inches for unfortunate people unfamiliar with the metric system and it weighs approximately 2 pounds or 87 kilograms. It has been scientifically proven that all humans have a ‘sleep switch’ located in the right temple that can only be activated through blunt force delivered by mallet. Inconveniently, the sleep switch has a dual role as a ‘kill switch,’ which is why the Sleep Mallet comes with a Mallet Force Indicator. When you strike the MFI a readout will tell you whether you’ve hit hard enough to cause 4 hours of sleep, reversible brain damage, irreversible brain damage, 8 hours of sleep, or Inexorable Death. When you can consistently achieve a 8 hours of sleep strike, simply use this same force on your right temple. Easy. The Mortimer Montgomery Sleep Mallet only costs $60 so you should get one. How much would Ambien cost over a lifetime? Probably $30,000. It is also a very good meat tenderizer if you think about it. As Mortimer Montgomery used to say, ‘Show me a man who isn’t sleeping well, and I’ll show you a man that will be yawning very much.’
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Sounds like a good deal to me! With our obligatory advertisement out of the way, on to the Ethan stories, which are presented in bullet point format, the way all Gazettes should be.

- Ethan has continued to be a jerk at bedtime! Last Saturday night, Ethan subjected us, or we subjected each other, to a 4 hour battle. Ultimately, we were both victorious.

We had it in our heads that we wanted Ethan to go to bed at 7, because eventually, that's a proper bedtime for little ones. Our previous technique was...I don't know what our previous technique was. Every evening Sara and I will ask the other, what did we do the night before to put him to bed? Now that both of us are heavily addicted on a dual drug cocktail of Morning Baby Smile and Sleep Deprivation, we both adopt a far away, mystified look. It’s as if we wake up every morning and see Ethan in his crib and say, ‘Well, I guess we better take care of that baby. He looks pretty helpless and OH LOOK HE SMILED – this will never go wrong ever!!’

Following the usual boob, bath, boob, bed routine, we laid Ethan down at 6:58. We returned to the living room and turned on the baby monitor. We could hear Ethan’s steady breathing. I was feeling puh-retty goooood. With the summer sun still hours from setting, I relished the prospect of a full evening together. Perhaps we'd watch a film, eat a fine dessert, or indulge in our favorite the-baby-is-asleep activity - Swearing At Each Other With Enthusiastic And Indulgently Depraved Creativity. Sara, on the other hand, was feeling puh-retty tense. This is because Sara knows better than I do, as she does for most things, aside from developing foot calluses.

At 7:20, the monitor let forth Ethan's opening salvo. Sara was prepared with the (Pick Up And) SSH PAT technique. The theory goes that babies can only focus on two things at a time. (Given that he's male, and half mine, I'm surprised it’s even that much.) Once he cries, you pick him up, place him over your shoulder, and let out a long sssssshhhhhhh accompanied by a once-a-second pat. His underdeveloped brain is supposed to overload, whereupon he falls into a deep, unrousable sleep until the morning.

Sara went in first with the deportment of a soldier going to the front. She might as well have added, ‘Tell my mother…that I love her.’ An hour later, she emerged from Ethan’s lair, ears flattened, hair biggened and tangle-ated, and eyes perma-stare-ified. It was made clear to me that if I did not go in right that second and take over, she might use our Sleep Mallet on me for an unintended purpose.  

Ethan waited in his crib, his reddened pout-stricken face set in a combination of desperation and defiance, while the rest of his overtired body lashed out in full flail. I commenced with the SSH PAT. I picked him up. I sshed and patted. He quieted down. I put him back down in his crib.

Now, I would be highly susceptible to this technique. One day at work, I decided to fill up my water glass. Opposite the water machine was a fridge. I decided to open the fridge and look at people’s lunches. I put my glass down on top of the fridge. I went back to my desk. It was only when I got to my desk that I remembered that I was thirsty, and that all I had accomplished was moving my glass to the top of a fridge.

Ethan has not picked up this trait from me. As soon as the first molecule of his body hit the crib he instantly remembered that he was VERY ANGRY ABOUT BEING TIRED!!, his calm face changing with dispiriting speed into fury. I picked him up. I sshed and patted. He quieted down. I put him back down in his crib. VERY ANGRY ABOUT BEING TIRED!! I picked him up. I sshed and patted. He quieted down. I put him back down in his crib. VERY ANGRY ABOUT BEING TIRED!!!...

By the 25th time I picked up Ethan, I had sssshhhed more than the last five Librarian Society’s Quietening Competitions combined.  Ethan was in an overtired distressed panic, which he made clear in no uncertain terms by coming up with a new sound, a horrible escalating mewl that crashed down into car-alarm-regular wails. I left him to cry out his frustration for a few minutes while I regrouped with Sara, and noted that the pleasant evening light, with all its promise of a long relaxing evening, had passed and given way a color that can only be described as F**k It’s Dark.

During my skirmish with Ethan, Sara found a contradictory post on the internet which said that the lifting component of SSH PAT was too stimulating for a baby under 3 months. We modified to the lying down SSH PAT. I went in for my second tour of duty while Sara fended off Post Traumatic Ethan Disorder.

I sat myself on the bed next to his crib, and positioned Ethan over on his side. I ssshhhed and patted him until finally, mercifully, he gave in. Minutes later, like the villain in a horror film, he jolted awake, but I had my hand on his chest, which was enough to tame him and send him back off to sleep for good.  I joined Sara, battle scarred, in the lounge. We tried to watch a show, but nothing stuck. In the morning, Ethan smiled at us, as if nothing ever happened. Jerk.

- I had Ethan for a variety of reasons. Among them are my enduring love for Sara, the life-altering experience of raising a human through all of this world’s joys and challenges, and the knowledge that this precious, miraculous person will be obligated to give me presents. With uncharacteristic foresight, I purposely timed Ethan’s conception so that he’d be born 9 weeks before Father’s Day. This would allow him to get over the birth, figure out eating and excreting, and then have enough time for the important work of getting me his first present. Ethan got himself a job as a Cuteness Tutor at Tots B Learnin’, an online ‘Babyversity.’ (Ethan is enrolled in Mummy And Daddy Don’t Disappear Forever When They Aren’t There and Advanced Farting Technique) With his income, Ethan has purchased me a Father’s Day mug. It says I (Heart) My Dad in the style of the I (Heart) NY font and there’s a picture of the two of us mugging – see what I did there? - in the mirror. It holds a Proper Amount of coffee. It’s wonderful and I love it. Each time I take a sip out of it I think about how grateful I am to have Ethan in my life, about all that’s happened so far and the delightful mystery of what’s to come. And I wonder what he’ll be getting for my birthday.

- Sara and I live in what’s called a bungalow, which is British for, ‘A Rather Small Domicile That Is Good For Retired People But Perhaps Not Ideal For Babies But These Are First World Problems Pass The Tea Old Chap Wink Wink Nudge Nudge God Save The Queen Lorry Lorry Looooooooo.’ We have a kitchen, baby’s room, bedroom, lounge and a hallway. The main problem with a 4-room-and-a-hallway home is that you can hear everything from everywhere. And it’s only after we’ve had Ethan that we’ve realized that everything in the house is specially designed to make special bonus noises. The floorboards whine, the bathroom light switch CHINK-CHINKS, the bedroom door squeaks and pops, the bathroom door handle creaaakks, and don’t get me started on our collection of 18 antique grandfather clocks. Through practice and slow motion, we’re able to cut down on most of these noises. We tip toe, skulk and sneak. The moment we make a noise more than a whisper we freeze in our tracks like a tranquilized possom, waiting for Ethan’s cry. Should I clatter something, no matter where Sara is in the house, she’ll magically teleport in to hush me. She can’t SSH me or I’ll collapse asleep because I’m so used to Ethan’s technique. I guess the point I’m trying to make here is: does anyone want to go on a jewel heist with us? We’ve become very good at sneaking around, which I gather is the main component of jewel heistery. We’ll split the proceeds, 50/50. Also, I’ve read at www.HowToTrainAsAnEliteNavySealTheLikesOfWhomCouldAssassinateDangerousTerrorists.com that the last stage of training is comprised of trying to do dishes and one load of laundry without waking a nearby baby.  

That wraps it up for this edition of the Ethan Gazette. Stay tuned for the next exciting edition where we may tackle such topics as: Will Ethan have learned to stay awake at his various baby classes? What’s his relationship like with bottles? Will we have broken his will and sent him to bed at a reasonable time? What new noises is he making? All will be revealed, maybe, and more, maybe.

Thank you for reading. I thrive on your attention.

- Jason, father and only staff writer on the Ethan Gazette

Ethan Gazette Reissue, Volume 6

Hello subscribers!   Welcome to Volume 6 of the Ethan Gazette, the best - only? - source for all your Ethan and Ethan's parents-related news. But mostly Ethan. But hey, what are we, chopped liver? Or in Sara's case, chopped vegetarian imitation-liver?


This week we have seen our circulation rise to nearly TWENTY PEOPLE, and therefore our sponsorship continues. Once again, I turn over the words to whoever copywrites for Mortimer Montgomery. 
---- Hello, friends. Perhaps you are one of the many people who experience rage. You are in traffic and you are being a good driver, and then someone drives badly near you. And the rage comes up out of you like a ragecano and you hope their car would explode, like a carcano. Or you are a new parent and your otherwise cute and delightful infant refuses to drink from a bottle as if he doesn't know how to do it even though he's drunk from a bottle at least 18 dozen times so therefore he KNOWS how to do it so why in the name of heaven above won't he do it why why why? When you are full of rage and raging like a ragecano do you wish you had a good way to dissipate it that doesn't involve bludgeoning, murder, or worse? Do friends call you puce face? We assume that your answer is yes to all of these questions. Therefore, enjoy the latest offering from our subterranean lab workers: Mortimer Montgomery's Rage Helmet. How does it work? You pull the helmet over your head. You pop your ears through the ear holes. You yell a series of invectives into the helmet, which catches your rage and your spittle. Then you throw away the helmet, symbolizing the throwing away of your rage. Because your ears remained outside the helmet, you will not be subject to deafness, a problem regretfully experienced in the first version of the Rage Helmet. The Rage Helmet is made of a durable blend of cotton and rayon and a sprinkling of asbestos to make it fire retardant, in case your rage starts a fire, which has been known to happen, based on the documentary film, Firestarter. Friends, you have money. You have rage. Spend your money to get your rage out. It's proven in a medical way that unexpressed rage leads to several awful conditions, including - Face Implosion - Explosion Face- Distended Intestine - Liquidated Eyes - Late Onset Mumps The Disposable Rage helmet costs a reasonable price. How much? $10. So you are best off getting a Rage Helmet. Thank you, bye. ---
- Is our laundry mating and having laundry babies? I used to be under the impression that our various garments were dormant, inanimate objects, whose only purpose was to keep us clothed until we can finally join that French nudist colony. Eat a chocolate croissant in the nude sometime, you'll get it. But lately it's become clear that our laundry has gained sentience and is mating in some kind of cotton-on-cotton bacchanalia, or it's trying to Organize. We can not recall the last time we saw the bottom of the laundry basket.

- Ethan has definitely caught on to smiling, and sometimes he smiles so big, it's like a smile bubble pops and his face returns to normal.  Even at 4am in the midst of a feed, while Sara readjusted him, he leaned his head back and grinned at me. I registered this with delight for about half a second before crashing into the pillow and going right back to sleep. I love him and his smiles, but the only way you're keeping me up at 4am is...well, you're not, is the point. I'm going back to bed.

- Ethan has the softest baby skin everywhere and it's so cuteandsosoftandIjustwanttorubmyfacealloveritOMG!! But Ethan has undermined this softness by deciding to grow crusty dragon scales where eyebrows should be. Maybe he's sick of being typecast as the World's Cutest Baby and wants to display a harder edge. Given that he has a great fondness for his toy octopus, which is dressed as a fey pirate, I can't see this strategy working long term.

- Sleep Update: Ethan Refuses To (Go To) Sleep! All evidence points to his continuing jerkdom in this area, for we are doing all the right things. We are continuing his routine of boob, naked time (only for him, unfortunately), bath, boob, bed. I venture to you that any reasonable human being would delight in this for a bedtime routine, but no, it's not good enough for our particular human being! Ethan's jerkdom extends to faking us out by *appearing* to be asleep when he hits the bed. He even puts his arms up over his head like he's surrendering to the Sandman. Minutes later, as we sit down for our dinner, fresh and hot and inviting with all of its smells and food-like texture, this is when he wakes up and is SO ANGRY to be in bed! Is our sentient laundry taunting him, saying they've seen cuter babies?! What could be happening to rouse him so? So Sara goes in and I follow in solidarity. Sara presents a boob, which during the day he expertly sucks on for sustenance. At night though, he will try out several different verbs with increasing frustration. He will headbutt her boob, chew her boob, *fellate* her boob. Anything but actually feed from it. On and on it goes. Our food changes to a vague remnant of edibility through multiple reheats. By the time he finally falls asleep, and the dishes are done, and the bath clean, and the laundry intercepted on their way to their laundry rendezvous, it's past 11. We watch a bit of television with glazed faces, both wanting to be in bed more than anything, but defiantly insisting on having a bit of the evening to ourselves.

- Ethan's Height And Weight Stats! Ethan has blossomed into a 12 pound baby, where he's remained steadily for a couple of weeks now, putting him in the 50th percentile. I don't have the measurement for how tall he is, but he's taller than 90% of other babies. Take THAT, other-babies-who-didn't-know-they-were-competing-with-Ethan-in-a-height-competition-that-they-have-no-control-over!! When we take him to Baby Basketball Class, he's totally gonna dunk over all those other lame short babies.

That wraps it up for this edition of the Ethan Gazette. Thank you for reading! You are a good person...because you are reading this Gazetteand therefore rewarding me with attention. You should feel good about that. 

Ethan Gazette Reissue, Volume 5

Welcome to the Ethan Gazette, Volume 5. Coming up in this week's edition: The Transatlantic Visit from Ethan's Paternal Grandparents! But first, thanks to the incredible success of the Ethan Gazette and wide circulation of more than FIVE PEOPLE, we are pleased to announce that we have our first advertiser. Yes, Ethan Gazette has already sold out, for it turns out that taking care of a baby costs money, and while Ethan is rewarding, he is notmonetarily rewarding, something that his utter lack of coordination (and baby labor laws) make difficult to correct. 
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This edition of the Ethan Gazette is brought to you by: 
Mortimer Montgomery's Disposable Full Body Urine Shield! 
Hello, friends. Have you been changing a baby lately, and found that you are covered with baby urine? Isn't that terrible? Here at Mortimer Montgomery's, we think that is terrible. You paid a lot of money for that shirt and those pants. Now they are stained forever with horrible baby urine which modern science has been unable to find a detergent to get rid of. But our lab people have been a toilin' and they have come up with the best solution possible: Mortimer Montgomery's Disposable Full Body Urine Shield. Perhaps you have tried other Full Body Urine Shields and found them unwieldy or you are allergic to wearing a suit made entirely of rubber. We understand that and so we make our Full Body Urine Shields out of high quality cotton that is highly throwawayable. Please buy some. You can get 5 of them for the price of 4. How much do 4 cost? Not very much. Only $20. Think of how much your shirt costs. Probably $20.  So as you can see it makes complete logical and mathematical sense to wear one of these for each baby change. As our very own Mortimer Montgomery used to say - 'You show me a man that's getting peed on, and I'll show you a man with one less shirt.'  
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And now, on with the Ethan Gazette, presented to you in bullet point format, the way gazettes should be formatted. 
SPECIAL EDITION: AMERICAN GRANDPARENTS COME TO ENGLAND! 
- The American Grandparents - Bob and Barbara - arrived on a Monday via Iceland, thankfully leaving the ash cloud there where it belongs, along with Bjork and Iceland's speciality dish of cod sperm, which is a real thing. Does it taste like chicken? This reporter does not want to know. Although if it came wrapped up next to a piece of avocado in a sushi roll, I'd try it. I met the Grandparents at Manchester airport, and shepherded their tired selves to the Abode Hotel in Manchester, a place so cool, you hang up all your clothes right next to the television! 

THIS JUST IN! ETHAN IS BEING AN OVERTIRED JERK!!

You heard it here first in the Ethan Gazette, Baby Ethan, who was previously thought to be an Angel baby by his parents, has revealed what can only be his true nature in the last three evenings. We are certain that he will always sleep this way forever more, and that he's not just temporarily going through something. Even when he is 18, he will refuse to go to bed in just this way. There can be no other way to feel than this feeling. Despite attempts to responsibly introduce a relaxing routine of boob, bath, boob, bedtime,  Ethan refuses to go down to bed. Reached for comment, Ethan had this to say: 
AAAAHHHHH! WAAHHH! WAAAHHH! WAAAAHHH! COUGH, COUGH, COUGH - WAAAAHHH! 

Ethan further responded with 3 shrieks, a pout, and a thin rivulet of vomit.  

We now return you to the SPECIAL REPORT. 

- American Grandparents and British Grandparents met and hit it off splendidly. The Grandpas discussed current events and books about war in a series of monologues while the American Grandmas talked about lady things. Or not. I admittedly did not pay too much attention to what they were talking about, because Ethan had started smiling, and all I could do was try to get one more hit of Baby Smile.  

- American Grandma noted that diaper technology has changed in the 30 years since I've been in diapers, after Ethan managed to wet TWO of his outfits after she changed him. It must be said that American Grandma maintained her sunny disposition throughout all changes. 

- American Grandma should rent her bosom out for naps. Ethan could always be found resting in a unrousable and highly cute state atop her chest. 

- American Grandparents were subjected to our vegetarian diet at all times while in the house and even managed to suffer through a meal featuring asparagus! American Grandparents are known to have meat reserves on hand at all times in the form of jerky or cocktail shrimp but did not resort to these. OR DID THEY? 

- The American Grandparents served as anthropologists and would like to pass on these findings of Britons: 
1) The British people love to smoke. 
2) The British ladies love to dye their hair red.  
3) The British ladies also love to wear tights. Usually these are under dresses, but one lady in Chester decided that tights would suffice as pants and went about her strutty way. (I said STRUT) 
4) The British believe that potatoes are an acceptable side dish ALWAYS. Are you having chicken parmigiana at Al Fredo's Fine Italian Dining? Then you're having some Grade A boiled potatoes on the side. What's that? You want pasta? Get our of here before we shove this Italian Side Dish of Spotted Dick down your pants! 
5) British Waitstaff exist to take your order, at which point they disappear, probably to smoke and chat in the forums at tightsandfags.co.uk. 

Well readers, that about does it for this SPECIAL EDITION of the Ethan Gazette. Stay tuned for the next edition which will feature stories on Ethan's laughter, sleep patterns, urine arcs and more! 

Clad in a Mortimer Montgomery's Full Body Urine Shield, 
Jason, father and only staff writer on the Ethan Gazette