My Wife, the Unabomber

I took the summer off from blogging, as you can see by the five-month gap between posts. Now I return to the blog with the shot I am most proud of. Ever.

My wife, the unabomber.

This was snapped at Boondocks. What makes the shot scrapbook-worthy -- beyond the hoodie pulled suspiciously low and the nefarious sunglasses -- is Heidi's primal scream.

Chilling.

NEXT STOP: Ian Drives Fast and Flashes Gang Signs

Heidi Works the Kitchen Catwalk

Heidi, on the way to church, strikes an alluring pose. (Her "alluring" face looks eerily similar to her "annoyed with Chris" face.)

NEXT STOP: What Ian Looks Like During the Full Moon

The Ghosts of Halloweens Past

The first stop on our tour of the Yates family is a brief stroll through our most recent Halloweens. Because, as Confucious wrote, "You can never really begin to know someone until you've walked a mile in their Pac-Man head." (This, of course, is a loose translation: the Chinese character that I'm reading as Pac-Man can alternately mean "yak cart.")

Vital stats: as of today, we're hauling six people in our minivan.

Me -- I'm 37 and swarthy.

Heidi -- the woman I conned into marrying me. She remains 25 as a portrait of her ages in our attic.

Ian -- He's nine, and owns the patent for the sabor squid (Saboris squidititus).

Lora -- She's five, and recently told me, "Dad, did you know that a long time ago, when people were poor, they didn't have computers? They had typewriters." Ouch, said I, as I adjusted my Depends man-diaper.

Isabel -- Bel is three, and tonight, she had me tie a hooded towel on her so she could transform into Super Hood Man.

Tess -- Little Tess can shake her 364-day-old head just like Stevie Wonder. 'Nuff said.

You'll see some or all of us in these Halloweenie pix. You can date the photos by my costume: In 2008, I was Pac-Man; in 2007, I was a hammer; in 2006 I was a mailbox.

Trick-or-treat.

NEXT STOP: More Halloween Pix