Crazy Hair

Hey gang, I’m back from Germany, where I got to see lots of cool cars that won’t be available until Eli turns three. I’m not at liberty to say if any of the future cars were flying cars. Damn confidentiality agreements.

I arrived home in a cab yesterday to find my lovely wife and human boy and dog boy waiting for me on the front porch. My intense jetlag reminded me of those first couple sleepless Eli months, but I shook it off and took the entire troupe to the beach.

Thankfully, not much had changed while I was forcing down Deutschland cuisine and litres of Weiss beer. Eli hasn’t learned how to walk yet, Diana hasn’t replaced me with the gardener and Grover still hasn’t figured out how to open the back gate to freedom.

One thing I did notice is Eli is getting’ pretty shaggy up top. He’s really only had two official haircuts in his 13 months of life, and one was just his bangs. I don’t really mind. I’ll allow the hippie-ness until he starts getting mistaken for a girl. Then it’s off to the barber for the old “High And Tight.”

Now that he spends most of his time in our backyard, we have to cover his lily-white Irish flesh with SPF 400. Since he refuses to wear a hat, we’ve resorted to spraying sunscreen on his head, which gives him crazy crazy hair.

After a full day of playing he starts to resemble Nick Nolte’s mug shot. I’ve included it as reference.