It has been a busy stretch of much doing a little blogging. At the moment, the boys are asleep and Alden is off ice skating with a friend, and so I will gather a handful of photos from recent weeks, if only to have some way of reminding my old man self one day what manner of happenings defined my late January/early February of 2015.

A few weeks back I did some truly stellar drawings.

A few days later, Robbi and I left our children in the living room with a few spoons and big bowl of chili and drove to New York city for the evening. There we beheld the great Rich Flynn.

If you have never beheld Rich Flynn, here is an encore.

Although the opportunity to behold Rich is certainly sufficient inventive to abandon one’s children and drive to New York, we had another motive. The magnificent Ken Harmon was giving a one-man show in the East Village, a cabaret of songs he arranged and stories he wrote.

A bunch of college friends gathered. Including Rich. Thinking of Rich again just now, I am inspired to use the word “magnificent,” which is really just “Rich” in four syllables.

What else? August has been in a puzzle groove of late.

What you might not realize is that, around these parts, doing puzzles is not for the faint of heart. What seems on the surface to be a simple exercise in deftly linking oddly shaped pieces  of colorful of cardboard is, to Augie, more akin to bloodsport…

…mixed with steady contemplation.

Which is always an occasion for smiles.

In recent weeks, we have, on numerous occasions, eaten cereal.

Also, I have noticed a lovely-yet-puzzling clustering of three manhole covers quite close to one another at the intersection of High Street and Water Street, about a block from our house.

Why, I find myself wondering, are three manholes needed in such close proximity? If any of you understands sewers, please do chime in.

In anticipation of Valentine’s Day, we made a new love-themed Anonygram, which I now notice with some pride and some regret, fails to incorporate the color red.

After months and months of not carrying our favorite kind of yogurt, Acme has finally come to its senses. If you have never tried the whole milk version of Stonyfield’s French Vanilla yogurt, you really haven’t lived. Note, however, that the plain-flavored version looks far too similar to the French Vanilla, a design flaw that leads hapless dupes (AKA, Matthew Swanson) to abject disappointment upon opening the container, days later, upon discovering the error.

I had a business trip and so had to shave, but (for you, my loyal readers, for YOU) I chose to do so incrementally.

August’s Tang Soo Do training continues apace. Now he can count to five in Korean. At this point in his ninja development has no actual need for a sparring helmet, and yet…

Not long after, Alden and I baked some cupcakes.

I hosted a play date for six children.

We drove across the bridge to watch the Super Bowl with friends. While there, we stopped at Korean superstore H Mart, the parking lot of which has been declared (by my friend Judy) to be the world’s most terrifying.

We somehow managed to survive unscathed. Unless you count the gallon bucket of kimchee I purchased. Which surely causes pain to Robbi, but not sufficient pain to outweigh my rhapsodic delight.

Properly equipped with ramen, gyoza, and mustard greens, we drove down the road to Ellicott City, current dwelling place of Alden’s princess alter ego, Iris. They laughed. They cried. They put on tiaras.

As approximately 70 percent of America knows from first-hand experience, Katy Perry appeared at halftime riding a silver lion. Which provided a danceable backdrop for the nine children there assembled.

The next day were parent teacher conferences at Friendship Montessori, which meant the need for entertainment, which meant the need for bowling.

Which meant raucous celebration as helpless pins were gently toppled by balls moving barely more swiftly than turtles.

On my way to fetch Alden from school the other afternoon, I noticed that the fountain in our central park is really quite lovely.

The aforementioned business trip arrived. Which meant I got to spend three straight nights in a bed as wide as it was long, sleeping soundly with no threat of children to wake me in the morning.

Which meant a surplus of energy to devote to the important things in life. By which I mean devouring delicious breakfasts.

And emulating Spiders.

What else? Let’s see… I also texted the following photo to one of Alden’s good friends’ father, along with the following message: “TV tells me that you’ll love me more if I give you a really big teddy bear.”

Upon discovering the error, I was too demoralized to send the text to Robbi, for whom it was intended. Which likely means she’ll love me slightly less than she would have otherwise.

We went to IKEA to replace the really big IKEA clock that has been hanging, broken, on our wall for six months, permanently affixed at 8:45.

You might rightly argue that it would have been wise to buy a different really big clock this time, but, let’s be honest. There are other reasons to go to IKEA. And only one reason that matters, really.

To recap (it has been a surprisingly instructive stretch of weeks)

Go to Acme and get a tub of whole milk Stoneyfield Farms French vanilla yogurt (NOT the plain variety).

Go to IKEA and get some Swedish meatballs (purchase of really big clock optional)

Text semi-sexy photographs of really big teddy bears to your beloved (and NOT to the unsuspecting father of your daughter’s best friend).