In training for life as an exotic dancer

My sister and I joke about our kids' dance moves sometimes. Whether it's Clementine cozying up to the pole lamp in our bedroom, Nora doing some bump and grind on the floor or Abby in her flamboyant costumes doing her best rendition of the dance in Little Miss Sunshine (yes, I have seen a movie released since Brokeback Mountain--one single movie to which I will refer whenever appropriate), they all have what it takes to be exotic dancers and love to flaunt it. We choose to view it as cute and funny at this point but reserve the right to become total hypocrites when this behavior continues in, say, middle school. Parenting is all about boundaries, you know?

Clementine is upping the ante on her exotic dancer training a little lately in her Muppet-obsessed frenzy. [Aside that may just be repetition, but I'm constantly trying to justify: it's true that I have lightened my stance on TV and don't feel any shame. We bought her the first season of the Muppets on DVD, and while they have indeed afforded me some quiet moments to be more than three feet from my daughter, they have also proved all my suspicions about TV to be pretty dead-on. Now that she knows what's in the magic box, she wants it on ALL the time and wanders around calling "Ma Nah Ma Nah" and "Da-too" for the Muppets, she slaps her kneee for "Drummer Hoff," and she creis "Shoe, shoe!" for this great 40s cartoon called "The Kids in the Shoe." It's like crack--now that she's had a little, she wants more and more.] She calls out for the number "Lydia the Tattooed Lady," and then stands in front of the TV trying to writhe around like the bikini-clad stuffed pig. It's pretty cute, but it also involves sticking her butt way out toward the audience and bumping it around a lot, which Clementine follows by turning around and lifting up her shirt. I suppose this is so we can admire her tattoos, but of course she isn't Lydia and can't jiggle just so to get Andrew Jackson to climb up the hill of her stomach.



I can't capture her best moves on camera, so I'll need to grab some video because I think this kid has the stuff, which of course has me and Nate totally relieved--as a successful exotic dancer, darling C won't need us to put her through college and we don't have to worry if we don't put a penny away for retirement. Our little Gypsy Rose will support us.

In other news, she alternately loves and hates her barettes. Since she is nothing but an extremist these days, love means she absolutely, positively cannot go another minute without having it in her hair RIGHT NOW, I don't care if you are changing my diaper and have poop on your hand because I'm turning over and pointing at that damn barette NOW NOW NOW! And hate means get it the fuck out of my hair now or I will rip ever strand of my hair from my head angrily and throw it on the floor in front of me and why aren't you listening to me I'm gong to start screaming....AHHHHHH! Here she is somewhere in between, either on her way to hate or just getting back from love:



And still other news: only Nate got to realize his dreams of snowboarding last night because I couldn't get a sitter. I'll hopefully get my chance on Sunday and will probably be so busy nursing my sore ass OR fielding offers from thousands of would-be sponsors that I won't be able to blog about it. Luckily my manager is on the case, prepping my gear and planning for a life following her famous parents around:



I think I'm slappy because it's Friday. One last thing. Clementine wants to give you something because she just loves you all so much: