Lord help me, I just sent a car a fan letter.
Thought you might want to see what I wrote:
Good Morning Herbie!
My name is (The Son), I am your BIGGEST FAN, and am turning three on 8/31. You are my all time favorite, my Grandpa brought me an rc you in the hospital the day I was born and I carry you around instead of a blanket or any other lovey. I kept leaving you places so my parents spent an obscene amount of money on eBay to replace you, so now I have you and a spare just in case.
I have seen all of your movies MANY times, but my favorites are The Love Bug and Herbie Goes Bananas. In fact, I want to name my goldfish, Ocho, because of Herbie Goes Bananas.
My Mama is throwing me a Herbie birthday party on 8/30! I am so excited, because she tells me you are coming! (or some poser who looks just like you is coming.) Could I please have your autograph? Anyway I could get it in time for my Party? I thought my friends I am inviting might feel left out since they love you too… so may I have 4 autographs?
Thank you so much Herbie! I LOVE YOU, and can’t wait for the rumored Herbie in the Outback movie.
Love, The Son Huckablog
(thanks to my mama for helping me type!)
You can send Herbie an email too by going HERE:
UPDATE: DAMAGE CONTROL:
Uhh. Awkward! Right, uh, so I have lots of friends who read this site. Lots of friends with children. Lots of friends with children who have not been invited to this party. We are going on vacation really soon after the party so decided to keep it really, really small by only inviting three of The Son’s friends who are exactly his age, and car obsessed boys, and whom he sees all the time. We still love you, and your precious little one, but uh–well please still be our friends! And, invite us to your birthday parties if you are having big ones with more than a handful of age appropriate friends, we will totally come and bring awesome presents, books probably.
10 Things I Think You Should Know.
1. Up is a darn fine movie. I give it four great big shiny stars….unless you are under the age of seven. If you are under the age of seven, then first off, why are you here? Shouldn’t you be over here instead? Secondly, Up is much too scary for you. And too sad. Really it is just a whole year’s worth of therapy sessions you will have to pay for later in life, and you don’t need that, you should be cushioning your IRA instead. Then maybe you can help pay for The Son’s therapy because his parents took him to see this movie, and he spent 120 minutes asking if it was “real scary” or “pretend scary”, or if those were good dogs or bad dogs, or if that old lady was sick, or…. Yeah, it is not a good movie for a preschooler.
2. If you feed your family a dinner of popcorn served in a washtub, a bag of Reese’s Pieces which needs its own zip code, and a coke big enough for Michael Phelps to do laps in–you are probably going to have to ingest nothing but sprouts and glacier water for a month to make up for it.
3. You should be prepared to hear comments when you go into public wearing a bikini top with jeans, such as “Mama, she needs to put on a shirt to cover up her Nur-Nurs!”
4. Just because a stuffed gorilla wearing a captain’s hat and named Tennille has been in your two year old’s room since birth does not mean all of a sudden it is not scary. It could even be considered so scary the gorilla must be removed from the premises before any sleeping can take place.
5. My son is a swimming prodigy. He is going to get bumped up to the guppy class from the seahorse class because he can blow bubbles and kick at a four year old level. I am currently making room for his gold medal in my china cabinet.
6. We belong to a supper club and one of its goals is to let the hostess each month show off her culinary skills. We are hosting it at our house on Friday night and I have absolutely no intention of cooking. Isn’t that is the purpose of take out?
7. The Husband and I have found a new show on Hulu and love it, even though it is completely sadistic.
8. Shoeshe spent the weekend with us and The Son has not stopped asking when she is coming back since she left. She also would not give me her cute flip flops with Alma Mater’s logo even though we are the same size and she can totally buy a replacement pair because she WORKS there.
9. My new dentist is freaking gorgeous. Like movie star gorgeous, and even though my taste runs much more towards the adorable computer geek genre, I hate he always sees me with a blue paper bib around my neck.
10. Today tickets were purchased for The Son and I to fly to New York and Pennsylvania with my parents AND grandparents for the second leg of the farewell tour. I am actually very excited to be going, yet, certain I need to pack my crazy pills.
Filed under Boy is my face red, Watch it or Whine, lexapro lexplains it, stupidity | Comments (5)My Dad calls me Grace.
Age Five: Riding my Rainbow Bright Bicycle with training wheels. My Mom follows me on her bike with my baby brother in one of those plastic seats attached. No one is wearing a helmet, people didn’t wear helmets in 1985. A car coming quickly. A cry from behind, “Get closer to the curb!” I get a little TOO close, my skull meets a concrete ditch.
Age Ten: My dad warns me not to climb the massive fallen tree we come upon while hiking. I do it anyway. A huge rotted limb breaks, a girl falls, an ankle sprains.
Age Fourteen: I can ride a horse, very well. I mount a cranky old pony I’ve never ridden before at the stable of a friend. Pony bucks, too embarrassed to be bucked off by a pony– I hang on. Pony sits down and rolls. Left leg squished between leather saddle, obese equine flesh and hard Georgia clay.
Age Seventeen: I’m a drama geek. Whilst helping paint sets for “You Can’t Take it with You”, I open a can of claret paint with the nearest available implement. It turns out a chisel is not a wise choice. I, of course, slipped and a gash ensued. When I showed my drama teacher my gushing hand she replied, “Wash the paint off your hand and get back to work!”. She had seen too many students with a flair for the dramatic, but you can’t fake arterial bloodletting.
Age Eighteen: Cute shoes with stacked heels, a heavy backpack loaded with core texts, steep concrete stairs, and a late freshman are a recipe for a lovely scar right between my eyes. The new resident at the hospital slipped with the skin glue and sealed my eyelid shut. The eyelashes were missed.
Age Twenty-Nine: While showing The Son the proper way to hand feed livestock (arms outstretched, palms up) I was headbutted by a cantankerous, extremely rotund goat. My wrist was twisted between his furry cranium and a plank fence. Tomorrow, another doctor.
My darling husband typed this post for me as I sat with a bag of frozen brussell sprouts (we always use brussel sprouts for this, we should really try cooking them sometime.) controlling the swelling on my arm. Thanks Darling.
Filed under Boy is my face red, lexapro lexplains it, stupidity | Comments (4)Red noses run in our family.
Remember how I told you there were things I held back from you, Internet? And how I promised to tell you a secret? This is it.
My family of origin is a bonafide clown troop. I never feel embarrassed to be a clown when I am in character, but for some reason feel embarrassed to admit it when I am just me. Red noses give a girl a lot of confidence. On the far left is Charlie, he is a mute clown-think very Charlie Chaplinesque. Then we have Posie, and JoJo, they are very classic clowns. Next is Ladee, she is best with small children because she wears little make-up and no wig, sorta like that big comfy couch clown. 
We introduced a new clown while performing at the local Relay for Life. He was a hit. His clown name was Jonah, he carried around a little fishing pole with a stuffed whale attached and pretended to fish in funny places. He is a natural. 
Just in case you were wondering where baby clowns come from, when a Mama clown and a Daddy clown love each other very much….they bump noses? 
My darling husband stayed home, I wonder why? We no longer clown very often, and just for charity gigs now, but back in the day, JHJ and I did enough birthday parties to be able to keep from getting a real job, and JoJo has even been shot out of a cannon at the Shriner’s circus. That actually explains a few things.
There you go Internet. Now you know everything. Almost!
Filed under Boy is my face red, Family-blame the DNA, stupidity | Comments (9)Toad Racing: A Tutorial
A successful toad race starts with a successful toad. You should find one at least two weeks in advance of race day, feed it a protein rich diet, and keep it well hydrated. Or, you should let the teenager reach into the toad box at the front of the line and hand you a random one. We went with option two this year as all the toads in our area seem to have succumbed during the Aporkalypse.
Next you need a good name. Something fast sounding, like Lightening or Speedy. The Son took one look at ours and said his name was Gordon. He was named for him, not him.
Then you stand in line waiting for your chance to Toad Race, in the rain. Not just a little rain, no, truly dedicated toad racers will stand umbrella-to-umbrella in a monsoon for their sport of choice.
When it is your turn at the Toad track, you have one more quick pep talk from your trainer (or mommy, whichever) about racing strategies. These pep talks include reminders about not throwing the toad (like last year) or squeezing the toad so hard his guts come out through his eyes (like the caterpillar earlier in the week.)
You will then get into proper position; on your hands and knees behind your toad is the preferred method. On command, you begin pounding the mat behind your toad in hopes of making him hop faster. (FYI, there is not a PETA branch ’round these parts)
It is also often necessary to herd your toad to keep him in his lane. Toads crossing first in other lanes are disqualified (I think, though we have never had a particularly speedy toad, so I may be wrong about this one.)
When the race is over it is often necessary to pose for the paparazzi.
Then collect your prize money and trophy (or Sonic coupon and participant ribbon) and head over to the winners circles for more pictures in the rain.
By that time you are already soaked and covered in toad goo and hay so your parents will probably say, “why not?”, and let you ride a few rides in the rain.
The pictures of the whole event are sparse because someone is not about to let their new camera be out in the rain. You ride, partake of a corn-dog, then home for dry jammies and a nap. A good day.
Filed under Boy is my face red, Parenting for Dummies, The Son, stupidity | Comments (7)Just in case you were wondering…Do I have swine flu?
Now you can know for sure. (thanks for the link 7daytrial.)
Filed under Boy is my face red, lexapro lexplains it, stupidity | Comments OffNot Dead.
Hey Internet! I am not dead, I might have just been a wee bit burnt out after NaBloPoMo, and have been super busy this week. I have a real post I think I can get up tomorrow, but in the mean time I am off to the circus!
I made the mistake of telling The Husband and The Son that we were not decorating for Christmas until the house was clean, so now I am going to be stuck in Thanksgiving until Valentine’s Day. Last night after giving myself punch serving elbow from helping my mom, I got my Christmas fix over at my friend’s site doing this. I recommend ya’ll go play to!
Filed under NaBloPoMo, stupidity | Comments Off