A Cut Above

All we've been hearing about for the last month is how Eli wants his hair cut like Shan Yu from Mulan.  I mentioned this in another blog not long ago.  In case you've forgotten, this is what Shan Yu's haircut looks like:

Since then, Eli has gone back and forth about if he truly was ready for this drastic step.  Yesterday, we decided it was time.  I had a plan to cut the top of his hair using a #3 guard and leave the rest at the current puff-head length.

Here is a before picture:

Here is the after picture (I don't know why his head looks so bulbous in this picture...)  

Since the short part wasn't bald enough for Eli, he decided to freak out and run around with his hands covering his head while I tried not to laugh at him.  I presented him to his dad and aunt, who both tried to convince him he looked awesome.  But he wasn't having it.  He didn't understand why I wouldn't shave all the hair off the front.

Here he is covering his head while still holding his new sword.

Finally, Mommy reached her limit and sat down a very unhappy boy and shaved off the rest of his puffy hair while he screamed and cried.  Then suddenly at the end of the cut, he was all better and we decided Shan Yu was ugly anyway.   

So long, Shan Yu.  Your hair sucks.  Eli makes a cuter pirate anyway (when he is not threatening us all with bodily harm - compliments of his plastic sword or hooking his sister's face).    

Art Skills

I think there is a possibility that my son has too many toy cars.  We added up the price of all his toys and it turns out we could have bought an RV with what we have spent on him through the years.

Also, for his last day of school, Eli made his teachers some personal portraits to give them.  

Notice this first one seems to have a beard, and somehow looks like a maintenance man.  He asked me if I thought she looked pretty in his drawing.  Why, yes of course.  I don't know what is flying through the middle of the picture... maybe a pterodactyl?

 The second one seems to have snaggle teeth and boggle eyes.  Very flattering.

I seriously love all his drawings.  There is no more room on my refrigerator.  I can't wait for Marina to get to the creative stage.  Here she is letting me know that she is going to be a serious artist, and she thinks I'm stupid.

Tuesday Newsday

Dear Diary,

Here are the events of my day so far:

Woke up (hooray!)

Was lucky enough to have Marina sleep in a little late so I could take a much needed shower.  In the bathroom, I found Fat Linda (obese cat) in the tub.  I quietly ordered her to move; she didn't.  In a move of perverse cruelty, I closed the shower curtain all the way and turned on the bath.  When she still didn't move, I turned on the shower and watched her freak out.  I felt a strange sense of satisfaction, since she woke me up this morning by piercing my back with her claws.

Went to the grocery store with the kiddos.  Bought a doughnut, even though I'm on a "diet".

Finally decided to get dressed (after I had been out in public in my pajamas - paint splattered capri sweats, not a nightie).  Put on a pair of newly washed jeans that literally caused me to sweat from the straining effort.

Tried to apply make-up that was completely useless on my still-sweaty face.  Air dried hair + humidity = completely disastrous hair with no hope.

Torturing myself for the rest of the day in these jeans that are quite unflattering to my midsection.

Sitting back and listening to the sweet sounds of my kids giggling with each other.  I'd giggle with them, but these tight jeans don't allow for much oxygen...

Until next time, diary.  Stay cool.

The Christmas Clintons!

Merry Christmas from the Clintons!  Yes, I realize it is the end of May.  But for some reason, I never got around to putting up our Christmas pictures.  We sent out cards, so several people already know what kind of freaks we are.  The rest of you can find out right now... 

As you have seen from our recent Easter and Mother's Day pictures, we are not necessarily a photogenic bunch and our picture-taking woes are not an isolated event.

You may notice that we are an eccentric family and that Mark is an extraordinarily good sport about being able to just put it all out there (almost literally!) for the sake of humor.  He wins picture MVP every year.

We tried taking normal pictures one year but we have since decided that it's not really for us.

The 2010 Clinton Christmas card tag line read:  Have a Very Vestive Christmas!  Here are some pictures featured on the card.  I'm also including a few rejects.  There will be my running commentary (surprise, surprise).

As usual, Marina is thrilled to be involved in the picture-taking process.  And once again, we didn't get around to the photo shoot until after her nap time was supposed to start. 

Who knows what Eli is doing.

Yes, those are my pants Mark is wearing... And my mom's turtle neck.

I think Eli must be in the middle of his Hulk Hogan hand-to-the-ear move.

Eli is holding chop sticks.  Mark is wearing moccasins.  Lily is wearing snow boots. 

Why?  Why not.

Who is getting in trouble here?

Someone stepped into the picture at the last minute, holding electrical tape.

And then there was the year before.  In 2009, the Clinton's brought you the Have a Very Physical Christmas theme.  These were quite moving.  Yes, we realize the background is hardly ideal.  Chalk it up to bad planning.  Marina was a willing participant back then, but also just a wee baby wondering how in the world she got stuck with this family of psychos.

Eli looking quite elfish.

Oops.  Once again, the camera woman (my mom) underestimates Mark's height.

Mark looks quite wholesome in my shorts and my mom's turtle neck.

Nothing big hair and a lot of make-up can't fix!  We are all showing our serious side here.

Here are some overly excited freaks!

Mark is looking like the quintessential P.E. teacher and Lily is holding the perfect push-up position with the weight of a child on her back.  If this isn't physical fitness, I don't know what is.

USA!  USA!

Pause for a nose pick.

Merry Christmas and rock on, dude!

If you play your cards right at the end of the year, you might just make it onto our 2011 Christmas mailing list.  Believe me, it's a coveted position to be in.

Goosed!

My kid likes to play dress up and go out in public.  You've seen how I dress, who am I to stop him?

By the way, we were on our way to the mall.  Interestingly enough, no one seemed to notice (or comment on) the slightly odd child walking around the stores with a goose on his head (he left his beloved praying mantis glasses behind in the car because he didn't want anyone to think he was stealing them.  I use this reasoning on him every time he wants to bring one of his toys in the store with him).

Perhaps they were distracted by his mother who wore disturbingly tight yoga pants (that have never been used for exercise) and a beer t-shirt (Red Stripe - I have class).

In this last picture, Eli wanted me to congratulate him for not looking away from the camera, even though it was very bright for his eyes.  Yes, he looks very comfortable.

Our next stop was Sam's Club (of course).  While I was standing at the customer service desk, in front of a line of people, Eli decided to start pinching and slapping my butt (see last blog for an explanation as to why he does this).  I was busy signing my receipt and had difficulty stopping him.  I made some kind of joke to the employee about getting "goosed by a goose," which I thought was quite funny.  He didn't even smile.  

In other news...

Here's one of Marina and her new pig-tails for good measure.  By the way, that is not me standing behind her.  That's her aunt in her customary two pairs of sweat pants.  She believes in the double-bag trashiness.  

He's A Cheeky One

In this house, we sometimes value laughter over good sense.  We are also learning our parenting skills as we go.  You would think after five years, we would be a little further along.

While experimenting with our first child, we made certain mistakes.  Some of those included teaching him words that may not be suitable for little mouths, or not shushing him when he discussed the contents of his recent toilet activity.

Then, there are things that I am still totally clueless about.  For instance, naming body parts.  We taught him to say, "nuts","wiener", and "booty" for his parts.  To this day, I can't think of more suitable terms for these (though my sister still insists 'buttocks' is perfectly appropriate, I can never say it without laughing).  And believe me, a five-year-old seems to find reasons to bring up these terms on a regular basis.  Sorry, I can't seem to muster the appropriate guilt for this, though perhaps I might next year when he gets in trouble for his language at school.

Perhaps the most lamentable of all the things we taught (or allowed) was the butt pinching.  Yes, I said butt pinching.  When Eli was two, we taught him to go up and pinch people's butts.  There was always endless amounts of laughing involved.  It would always be an unsuspected attack.  Grandma would be standing in the kitchen, washing dishes and suddenly feel a little pinch.  When she turned around, there would be a tiny child standing there, laughing his head off.  This was excellent.

But things like this come back to almost literally bite you in the butt.  Cute little butt pinches by a two-year-old transform when that child grows up.  These days, everything Eli plays is violent.  He is the quintessential boy.  He's using the paper towel roll as a sword and he's slicing off my limbs.  Butt pinches have turned into run-by butt slapping.  Unfortunately, this is a tough one to break since for years we have been laughing at this kind of action.

This week, I've decided that the butt violence has become an occupational hazard.  Recently, I was minding my own business, cutting a bagel with a sharp knife, when suddenly my whole body jerked forward.  I was the victim of a run-by butt slap.  I yelled a "Hey!  Don't slap my butt while I have a knife in my hand!"  But I'm not sure if I got through to him because today, while I was putting on mascara with the stillness of a surgeon's hand, BAM!  I got a slap and very nearly a devastating eye injury, not to mention a big black smudge on my cheek (my face cheek, just to be clear).

So, what to do now...?  Is this something I can write to Dr. Dobson about?
Dear Dr. Dobson, my child has a bad habit of smacking people in the butts, and by the way, I taught him this when he was two and encouraged him to attack the people of my choosing so I could get a good laugh out of it.  Now this action is as natural to him as breathing.  What should I do?  Please advise.

So, next time you come to my house, enter at your own risk.

Corny Meal

Every now and then I feel ambitious enough to cook a meal, though usually there isn't enough creativity or supply to make a full one meal, just parts.

Yesterday was one of those days.  I threw a corned beef chunk into the crock pot, added some water, and poured the spices it came with inside.  I switched it on high and set the timer.  Poof dinner was on the way.

I usually don't bother with sides, but yesterday I was feeling quite Betty Crockerish, so I looked around the kitchen.  Hmmm.  No potatoes, no vegetables... bananas?  No, that didn't go.

Finally, I found a box of corn bread.  Yes!  It didn't matter that it had been in the cabinet for a number of years; I didn't even buy it, so I don't know what its life was like before it arrived in my kitchen.  All I knew was it didn't have an expiration date printed on it, nor did it have any bugs crawling around inside when I opened the package.  All I had to do was add milk, an egg, and a shocking amount of oil and bake.  Simple!  But as usual, my oven conspired against me and dried the bread into a mouth-sticking mess.  I was able to eat some by pouring coffee in my mouth simultaneously to push it down the pipes.

So there was dinner:  dried corn bread and corned beef.  Yes, these two items seem incongruent, but notice they both have the word "corn" in them, so I went with it.

When I got home from work at 9, I asked Mark about dinner.  I was expecting a parade and news article about my monumental effort.  He said it was fine.  Just fine. In the kitchen, the corn bread was almost all gone (everyone in my family must have been totally dehydrated after it soaked up all the liquid in their bodies) but the corned beef seemed strangely untouched.  I asked Mark if he had any and he looked a bit sheepish.  He finally admitted that when he opened the container of meat, it smelled like very bad farts so he couldn't bring himself to eat any.  He did, however, manage to feed it to the kids, who didn't seem to mind the farty meat.

Well, I guess it is time for me to step down from my post as master chef and back into the role of C+ wife and mom.

This concludes the cooking portion of our segment for today.  Until next time, America (it is very unlikely that I will be cooking anything for a few more weeks).

Homie's House

I'd like to introduce you to Eli's Homies.  We bought them in one of those machines that take quarters in a bowling alley in Minnesota.  They are the most famous and revered of all his toys.  They get top billing and stand on his dresser, so they don't have to associate with the lower toys.

What's up, Homies?

 Eli kept trying to stick his face in the pictures so I let him do a "senior pictureish" pose with his friends

 Check out this watch, Homie.

 Nice rims, mano.

Eli has the coolest toys of any kid.  We have tried to locate more Homie machines so we could use up all of our quarters buying the whole family, but they don't seem to exist outside of Minnesota bowling alleys.  If you ever see one, let me know.  I'll drive there for the sake of the Homie.  

Dishwashing Dreams

It's funny how the things that excite you change as you grow older (and fatter).  It used to be a new pair of shoes or the prospect of getting my hair highlighted would set me up for days.  Now, getting a new dishwasher has given me an unrivaled sense of euphoria.  For today, I don't mind doing the dishes (this will likely change tomorrow).  I'm including a picture so you can feel excited too.

At the rate I'm going, I wonder what will be thrilling next year, a pair of control top panty hose?  Cellulite firming lotion?  I'm depressing myself.  Maybe I should take myself to the mall and buy some of those leggings that all of the young kids are wearing.  I should have just kept my stirrup pants from 6th grade (especially since I'm exactly the same size).  

Tonight, (Saturday night) I'm going to sit down with a nice (cheap) glass of wine, wearing my new leggings and stare at my dishwasher.  You are welcome to join me, if you can appreciate the company of a good dishwasher and like seeing spandex being severely abused.   

Picture Tells All Those Words

Ever look at one picture and say, "That just sums it all up"?  That's how this picture makes me feel.  We forced our kids to take Mother's Day pictures so we could give them to our moms.  Another forced photo session was an act of lunacy (see Easter blog photography failure).  This time, as a matter of sheer volume, we lucked out with some usable pictures.  This was not one of them.  

Notice Marina fleeing the picture with sass and rebellion written all over her.  Then notice her mother shouting after her (Hey!  Get your butt back here!) and her father reacting a little more calmly.  Eli of course, is in his own world, looking slightly bored and distracted by the possibility of microscopic bugs on his hand.  

I think we'll be waiting until next Christmas for our next set of posed family pictures.  Even though I'm considered a saint, I can only take so much, especially on Mother's Day.

We March to Our Own Beat

Don't worry, we were at Wal-Mart.  We fit right in.

By the way, today is May 3rd and my kids are dressed for winter.  Marina refused to take off her hat and Eli needed his scarf to complete his Shan-Yu (from Mulan) outfit.  You can't really see, but he only has one glove on (he does this every day).  The praying mantis glasses were to keep the sun out of his eyes, of course.  

Speaking of odd kids, for the last week, Eli has been telling us over and over that he needs a haircut.  Then he goes on to describe what he has in mind:  "I want it long on the sides and all over the back.  I want you to cut the front and top so it is all the way gone."  We probe further into this mysterious cut and find out he means that he wants his hair to look exactly like Shan-Yu's.  In case you are not current on your 90s Disney movies, I will include an example.

Part of me is tempted to shave the top of his hair off.  There will likely be a good life lesson in there somewhere, as well as several days of laughter for me.  If that day comes, pictures will definitely be taken.

You Are What You Wear

If you find yourself noticing in the middle of the day that your underwear are on backwards (not inside-out, mind you), you may have exited the realm of sensible underwear and entered the land of granny panties (you would also have a mean wedgie for the majority of the day).

This is hypothetical.

** Note:  if it were true, it would be because of a lack of clean laundry (and perhaps from consuming too many chips).  Keep that in mind, before you start hypothetically feeling sorry for my husband.

This brings to mind that Shakira song, "Underneath your clothes there's an endless story..."  Girl, you weren't kidding.