The Eve Show

What a difference two years off-treatment makes.  (I mean, besides not having cancer.)  I'm talking about hair long enough to put up in a ballerina bun.  And when you compare that to cancer, it sounds pretty shallow.  But dude, have you ever tried to put the last three strands of hair that your daughter didn't lose into a bun?  Trust me, buns are serious business.  My anaconda don't want none unless you got buns, hun.


I'm kidding.  My anaconda would love you even if you were completely bald.

The theme of this year's recital is "Passion for Fashion" and after we were seated, some older girls from the dance studio walked around and gave audience members prizes for being fashionable.  Daniel's yellow glasses scored again.  The Germans have nothing on his yellow glasses.  Always the yellow glasses for the win.

That girl thinks I'm good looking, Mommy.  I think it's probably because I'm so good looking.

Eve's main concern was that she always return to the piece of tape on the stage that signified her position.  I think I'm going to start bringing masking tape with me wherever I go- Eve, don't move from this tape until I renew my driver's license/Eve, don't move from this tape until I finish my strangely exciting hobby of shopping for meat that has been marked down/Eve, don't move from this tape until I finish up this last order of nachos supreme.

And yes, I realize that last sentence implies that I have ordered more than one nachos supreme at a time.  You are astute.

Here you can see Eve in all her glory, or "The Eve Show" as she referred to the entire afternoon:

She does the YAAA, the YACA, the YAMA, and the YCAA.  That's a lot of capslocked dances to learn.

And here, you can see me with my amazing baby ballerina and my amazing baby arm.  I only post this picture because I am such a huge Lawrence Welk Show fan.  And I'm Dooneese.

Eve got flowers, so she was stoked.  The child loves flowers.  She will smell just about anything, so I tend to steer her toward flowers and away from trashcans.

And Dum Dums.  Dum Dums keep the cancer away, but only if you eat the mystery flavor.  Which is almost always cream soda.

And sorry to keep starting sentences with and, but one thing you will notice when you put mascara on a four-year-old is that it is really strange to put mascara on a four-year-old if you're not going to be filmed by a TLC crew and that her eyelashes seriously came back much longer than they had before they fell out.  "They" being the eyelashes, not the camera crew.  Being bald could mean anything (like, I really look up to Mr. Clean/I'm a big Kojak fan/I shave my head to hide my receding hairline) but having no eyelashes means you have cancer.  Unless you singed your eyelashes off when you were trying to light the grill.

Which we will probably do before this summer comes to an end because we're running out of hair to singe  when lighting the grill.

And now that the recital is over, sure, you can go out back and do whatever you want in that costume.  Thank you for keeping it clean for that whole hour.

Although I suspect it makes an appearance on a future trip to Duke or Taco Bell.  Because that's how Eve rolls.  Taco rolls.

Although I think that's technically a taquito.