This past weekend, we bought about 4 pigs worth of meat, lit the fire and hired a band. Several months ago, on a shopping trip into Liverpool's bootleg heaven we had run across a bluegrass band made up of Liverpool natives. Good music, surreal, and banjos, all rolled up in one package. I struck up a conversation with them at the time, and we decided they'd play the Critter's third birthday party. Screw Thomas the Train party themes. Can you say 'over done'? I guarantee that the Grady offspring is the only little girl in her school to have a Deliverance themed party. Heck, we did throw in the largest bouncy castle in northwest England for the kiddies. What more could you want? The weather was extremely un-English, sunny and topping out at around 85 degrees. And with a menu of bbq ribs, fried chicken, low country boil, corn on the cob, grits casserole, turnip greens, tomato cobbler, cornbread, watermelon & peach cobbler, we managed to indoctrinate 50 or so Brits into the way life is meant to be lived. The only thing that could have made it feel more like a down South reunion was if I discovered that I was second or third cousins with 75% of the people at the party, including my bride.         For pics of the whole event, click here.

When we went to Northern Ireland, one of the places we stopped along the way was the Silent Valley, the Irish equivalent to one of the TVA dams of my Appalachian youth. See, what created this body of water was a 250 foot high earthen dam, which I didn't manage to snap a picture of (It's basically a really big grassy hill on one side, and a lot of water on the other). However, our neighbors who accompanied us on the trip did manage to film me rolling down the front of the dam. Not once, but twice. It was 600 feet of 40 degree grassy slope. Of the 4 adults and 3 children there, I don't know how I was the only one to succumb to the temptation. I managed a top speed of 45 miles an hour and suffered 17 fractured ribs, but it was all worth it. Ok, I may have exaggerated, but it was really fast, and really painful. And yeah, I'd definitely do it again.

This weekend, the Critter turned 3. This is worth celebration: my bride and I have survived having a two-year-old living among us. Sure, lots of other people have achieved the same feat, but let's face it, they're probably a lot more patient than I am, with a much better sense of humor, and can laugh at their delightful little monkey who was 'just being creative' with the indelible blue Sharpie on my beautiful mahogany desk. (I'm saving this moment up. One day, Critter, when you're 16, and have your first boyfriend, and ask if you can't, please Father, borrow the car keys, just this once? I'm going to bring you into my office and show you the faded blue marks on the leather top and say no, and you know why? You did this when you were two. And I've been waiting, savoring my opportunity to bring the Atomic-Daddy-Piledriver that you couldn't appreciate until now. And that day, other fathers will come from near and far and admire me and my perfect fatherly-smack-down. Oh yes. My day will come.) We rewarded her successfully avoiding being abandoned in the woods for the wolves to raise with a specially requested "pink cake with strawberries", and her very first bike. But, because we apparently have a subconscious need to drive our child to early psychiatry, check out the trick relighting candles her mother - the nice one - bought "by accident." This gave us endless minutes of joy.