Bunny Fangs and Bloody Oatmeal: Another Great Easter at Our House

So, apparently, my blog is becoming like that uncle everyone’s got who never wants to come to church; I  blog at Christmas and Easter, and maybe a couple more times a year, but only if people prod me.  It’s not that Uncle Vern and I want to shirk our responsibilities; it’s just that we’re so tremendously preoccupied with Sunday football … and by “Sunday football” I mean sorting piles of tiny tighty-whities while snarfing down chocolate chips from the bag and mitigating screaming bouts of Nerf gun warfare, while at the same time scrubbing grody dishes … but every day.

Liam documents our egg coloring by photographing our work with his DS camera.

However, I DID manage to get the camera out this weekend and take some pictures of the boys making their holiday preparations for the Easter bunny, and that was fun.  They didn’t want to wait one moment longer than they had to to get started coloring those eggs, so I gathered up all our coloring supplies while the boys were munching on breakfast. 

And because I must have been suffering from some sort of acute, judgment-battering brain aneurism, I left the little bottles of food coloring right in front of Sean and then left the room to procure a couple drying racks.  I returned to the kitchen to find that Sean had dumped several colors of dye into his oatmeal.  His bowl AND his mouth were a nauseating crime scene of clashing, oat-speckled colors, and I declared breakfast over before his body could absorb enough color to tint his skin.

I should have taken the picture before I flipped out and had him go wash out his mouth.  It was pretty horrifying at first..  More like this …

We managed to get our eggs colored without further incident, and the boys were excited to leave their treat for the Easter bunny – a little pile of gummy carrots and two actual carrots.  (And, yes, you can buy gummy carrots.  They’re delicious.)  The bunny reciprocated well, and the boys were thrilled with their Easter baskets.

The day had gone so well, and spirits were high, so I thought I would give the boys a laugh by showing them some of those creepy-looking Easter bunny costumes people wore in the fifties.  So, I called Liam over to the computer, put Sean on my lap, and typed “scary Easter bunny” into my search engine.  Here’s a tip: Do not EVER gather your children and type “scary Easter bunny” into any device!  There was screaming and running and hiding under the computer desk, because apparently there are some really disturbed, undoubtedly hell-bound costume crafters in the world, and they’ve all got pictures on the internet.

It’s difficult to say whether it was the pictures of the freakish costumes or the one of the dog chewing the actual bunny head that was the true horror of the day.  But it just goes to show, when the children have had a lovely day at church and are gleefully munching their heaping kilos of sugar, and all is well with the world … just leave it alone.  That final log you want to throw onto the happiness fire might just be used to bludgeon a bunny.

Happy Easter, everyone!





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Boa Constrictors, Dorothy Hamill & Clone Wars on Netflix: The Story of My Last Haircut

Friday.  March.  Seventh.  The boys and I had been looking forward to this Day of All Days from the moment we heard the news that the “Star Wars: The Clone Wars” series was finally coming to Netflix.  We had only seen a handful of episodes, but we are still big fans.  The show has been on TV for five seasons already, but we don’t get them fancy channels like VH1 or Cartoon Network, so we had to look elsewhere for episodes.  Luckily, the boys’ Uncle Jered had given them Season One on DVD, so we had the basics down.  [For more great moments with Uncle Jered, click here.]  We hunted around the net and found some mighty fine episode fragments on YouTube, along with a few full-length episodes that we could sort of see if we just craned our necks and looked past all the Serbian subtitles.

So, hearing that the show was going to be broadcast on Netflix (for FREE!) was most welcome news.  I ran to tell Sean immediately, and he and I did a mighty Happy Dance indeed.  Then he and I planned how best to tell his big brother, Liam, once he came home from school.  We had wanted to greet him with sparklers, confetti, noise-makers, and celebratory flan, but in the end it was just the two of us jumping up and down at the bus stop, yelling and swinging pompoms we made out of plastic grocery bags.  (Reduce, reuse, recycle, People!)  Upon hearing the news, Liam quickly brushed aside the humiliation of having his bus-mates witness his mom attempting cheer squad herkies while swinging trash bags, and was reduced to uttering excited, incomprehensible squeaks with his elated face frozen in ecstasy.  Yeah, that was a good day.

This actually isn’t Liam reacting to me telling him about Clone Wars.  It’s him freaking out over the awesomeness of this Red-Tail Boa Constrictor at Wildlife Safari, but he was essentially making the same face, so I’m using this picture.

The day of the premiere finally arrived, and as Liam only had a half-day of school that morning, we were going to begin our Clone Wars marathon as soon as he got home after lunch.  It was going to be epic … and delicious.  I broke out my Star Wars cook book and baked  a batch of Wookiee Cookies while the green Jabba Jigglers were chilling in the fridge.  I figured I could pop out and get my hair cut while Grandma was playing with Sean and still have time to assemble the Death Star Popcorn Balls before Liam got home.  And then my awesome day got shoved down The Great Sarlacc Pit of Carkoon.

Sean grabs a few Wookiee Cookies before show time.

I went to a salon I had visited before, just needing a quick trim.  My usual stylist wasn’t there, so I sat down with a different gal and told her I only needed two inches taken off, and since I loved my current cut I told her just to keep all the proportions the same.  And I told her what I tell everyone who cuts my hair, “Keep the layers immediately around my face at least chin length, or else I look like a raging dork.”  Then I took off my glasses, so she could work.  After what seemed like an excessive amount of cutting and layering for a “two-inch trim,” I put my glasses back on and went white.  What the heck happened???

She had just shredded my hair!  I had come in with long-layered, shoulder-length hair and was leaving with a feathering catastrophe with layers hanging above my ears!  And worst of all, she had taken about six inches off the hair right around my face!  The hair I had said to keep at my chin!  The hair that was now at my nose!  This wreck is going to take MONTHS to looks right again!  And the feathering!  Holy outmoded awfulness, the FEATHERING!!!  I flashed back to every awful haircut I had ever had in the early 80s when my mom was determined to get me to sport the classic Dorothy Hamill ‘do.  “But it’s so great,” she would say, “When she twirls on the ice, her hair goes right back to the way it was.”  I’m not a skater, Mom!   I don’t need a bad haircut that goes right back to being a bad haircut even when it’s subjected to G-force!

Yeah, when I was little I wanted my hair to look like Barbie’s, but I got to look like this instead.  To find out how much a perm did NOT help, click here.

Oh, how my day (and subsequently my entire spring) was ruined!  I’m just going to have to look like the aforementioned raging dork until about the Fourth of July.  Even our Clone Wars marathon couldn’t cheer me up.  All the lightsaber humming and battle droid chatter was drowned out by my heavy sighs.  And then, just to make things sting a little bit more, I caught of glimpse of Anakin Skywalker staring back at me from Sean’s Clone Wars plate (the one off which he had been eating his Princess Leia Cinnamon Roll).  My gosh, now Anakin and I have the same stinkin’ haircut! 

Crud.  Now I’m going to have to watch six seasons of Clone Wars, seeing that horrible haircut staring back at me the whole time, reminding me that I resemble a surly Sith-Lord-to-be.  Ugh.  Well, I can see now why Anakin is always so moody and poised to slaughter.  It’s tough walking around, knowing you look ridiculous.  I guess we’ve uncovered the real reason our “feathered” friend finally turned to the dark side: snip-happy beauticians.  No wonder the Sith are always wearing hoods.

Yes, this is how I look now.  My hair is gone, and I’m armed with a lightsaber.  Look out!





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