The Poky Little Party

Do you know why it took me a month to post pictures of The Son’s second birthday? Because I thought it would be a good idea to give all of the little party guests dog collars with their names on them. That means I had to photo shop each and every one of the 200 pictures to blur out peoples names. Fun times. Now that I FINALLY finished, there was no way I could post them all here without boring the bejebus out of people who do not care about looking at that many pictures of a two year old’s party, so if that is all you want –skip to the bottom of the post and there is a montage for you.

We had two separate parties for The Son this year, and the overall theme for both was, “Your parents are poor.” For his actual birthday we had family only over for a Thomas the Tank Engine party. I spent exactly zero dollars on decorations. Okay that was a lie, I bought one mylar Thomas balloon that still has not deflated. I am giving it another week and then it is just going to disappear. I took a red sheet we already had and used it as a tablecloth, used a piece of blue felt as a runner, and then took a large toy train and used it as a centerpiece. I added blue and red streamers and set Thomas books and trains all over. Somehow not a single picture got taken of this, all we got were fifty shots of The Son playing with his new train table. (which, by the way, I got the best deal EVER on. I got it and all of the track for FIVE DOLLARS at a yard sale, I added it all up on Amazon and it is over $250 dollars worth of trainstravaganza.  All I had to do was refinish the top and give it all a good scrub down.  It looks brand new.  This made buying the expensive trains much more doable.) I made the cake, and decorated it at 2:30AM, so it is good there are not really any pictures of it.

We had his real party a week later at a local park, which I loved, because I did not have to clean my house at all. Here are his invitations, the second picture is the inside obviously. I was all OCD about the invites, they took hours, but did turn out pretty darn cute if I do say so.

For decorations we made a dog house facade of plywood, and put it in front of a pop-up tent, then filled it with blankets and stuffed dogs. The kids LOVED this part.

I just used paper green tablecloths (would you laugh at me if I told you I returned the first batch of tablecloths because they did not match the grass in the book?) on the picnic tables, and put stuffed dogs on top to hold them down. I found tiny little silver dog bowls at the dollar spot at Target, and ShoeShe used a paint pen to write each child’s name on them. My original idea was to fill them with puppy chow (subbed soy butter for peanut butter so it was toddler friendly), and use them as party favors, but we ran out of plates(oops!) so they all got used for fruit and cake.

I also took parts of a playground that we recently tore down at church, and made it look like a picket fence, then posted signs identical to the ones in the book. This was so cute and FREE! The only other decorations were dozens of different shades of blue balloons that I floated in the rafters of the park pavilion to look like the watercolor sky in the book, but somehow there are no pictures of that either. For favors I took balloons and tied them to a stuffed dog, and the kids got those, their dog bowls, collars and dog ears.

My plan was as soon as the kids got to the party they would sit down and color their dog ears, these were pieces of white foam pre-cut that were then glued to cheap headbands. While they were doing that, I would be pinning on collars I made for them of foam and felt, I spent forever doing this and most of the kids left on the collars for just a couple of minutes. I also had planned to paint their faces like little dogs, but only a couple of kids would let me. Lessons learned….two is too young for a lot of party activities still.

They still looked mighty cute in their ears and collars.

In my plans, after they were all doggied up, everyone would eat (hotdogs, chips, dip, fruit, and puppychow), and then we would have story time. I would read the Poky Little Puppy, and then pull out all of the things that the puppies see and smell. (You should have seen how cute the grasshopper Shoeshe made was) The kids were interested for two pages. Then they started randomly pulling things out of the box. I stand by the idea of story time, I think if we had let them run off energy at the playground first, it would have worked better. I did not even bother trying to get them to play the games I had planned, they just wanted to run around. I had planned on playing Poky, Poky, PUPPY! (think duck, duck, goose) and red rover, red rover.

The cake, however, the cake was perfect. Look at this people, have you ever seen anything so cute? It told the whole story, AND tasted good.

My planned agenda may have completely fallen through, but it was still a great party.

The Wiggle on the Block.

There is a man in our neighborhood named Greg.  He is a perfectly nice man, very good with children, in fact he has a toddler of his own.  Everyday The Son asks to go see Greg.  “Where Greg?” “I see Greg?” Occasionally when I explain that Mr. Greg is at work, we get “*Sob*, But I want GRREEEGG! MAMA, GO GET GREG! *Sob*.”   We drive by Greg’s house and if his truck is not visible, The Son says, “Greg no there.”

Now, as I said, Greg is great, but I could not figure out why The Son wants to see him so much.  At first I thought maybe The Son could not say his friend’s (Greg’s child’s) name, and that was really who he wanted to see.  When I ask The Son if he wants to go play with his friend, he is okay with that, but still asks for Greg.   Has Greg been slipping The Son chocolate or toddler crack when we’re not looking?  We also try to get The Son to say Mr. or Ms. in front of any adult’s name, and he resolutely refuses to say “Mr. Greg.” It was not until the day Greg wore a yellow T-shirt and The Son flipped out with joy that we finally figured it out.

The Son thinks Greg is THE GREG of Greg the Yellow Wiggle fame.   We have tried explaining it is not the same Greg, but so far he is still looking for Greg to trade in his red truck for a big red car.

I’m on your side when times get rough and friends just can’t be found.

See comments for details on photography.

When you’re weary, feeling small,
When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all;
I’m on your side. when times get rough
And friends just can’t be found,
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.

When you’re down and out,
When you’re on the street,
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you.
I’ll take your part.
When darkness comes
And pains is all around,
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.

Sail on silvergirl,
Sail on by.
Your time has come to shine.
All your dreams are on their way.
See how they shine.
If you need a friend
I’m sailing right behind.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind.

by: Paul Simon

A Happy Child. My Happy Child.

A Happy Child

I saw this day sweet flowers grow thick –
But not one like the child did pick.

I heard the packhounds in green park –
But no dog like the child heard bark.

I heard this day bird after bird –
But not one like the child has heard.

A hundred butterflies saw I –
But not one like the child saw fly.

I saw the horses roll in grass –
But no horse like the child saw pass.

My world this day has lovely been –
But not like what the child has seen.

by: W.H. Davies

See comments for details on photography.

A man (er, little boy) on a tractor.

The dog walked just like it was smiling,
the man drove like the world was all right.
The tractor hummed on like a part of a song
that you sing to your children at night.

His work was laid out there before him
in rows of green, his whole life was revealed.
Oh what I wouldn’t give if I could just live
like a man on a tractor with a dog in a field.

Let me do what I’m doing,
let me be where I am,
let me find peace of mind
on my own piece of land.

When I’m lost, help me to let go
and find some way to feel
like a man on a tractor with a dog in a field.

by: Rodney Atkins

See comments for details on photography.

The only thing these places have in common is they both empty wallets.

The Son had his two year old well child check up this morning. He is perfectly perfect. His weight is in the 60th percentile and his height is in the 20th, the same percentages as he has had since he was three months old. I expect he will stay around there since he has shortish, chubbyish, parents. He decided to show off his verbal skills for both the nurse and the doctor ( “Pwease nurse? The Son have a Thomas Sticker, Pwease?”, “My ears not hurt. You no look in dem.”), and they told me what I already know, his speech is way ahead of the curve. What did we get a big fat FAIL on? His sleeping habits.

The kid STILL wakes up at least once a night, walks into our room, climbs into our bed, and latches on to the first breast he can find. Sometimes The Husband or I will put him back in his bed when he falls asleep in ours……or not. Often he will just stay in our bed for the rest of the night nursing at the all night Mama buffet. This, according to my pediatrician any way, is completely unacceptable for a two year old. Now I know that I have LLL friends and MDC friends who would say the Pediatrician has been brainwashed by cold science and that children have been co-sleeping and night nursing for millennia…and while I agree it is okay for some families…it is becoming a problem for us. I want to go to sleep and stay asleep. I do not want little fingers poking me in the eye at three AM or little teeth scraping my nipple as he loses his latch in the middle of the night. While I seriously doubt I will go against all of my AP philosphies, we are getting ready to stop night nursing–cold turkey. THERE WILL BE NO NURSING FROM 9 PM TO 6AM. There I proclaimed it to the internet, so now we have to stick with it.

After I got chewed out for my hippie ways, The Son had to get a Hep-A booster. (see? I get him vaccinated! He is circumcised too! And we used Pampers! I am not that crunchy!—Oh wait. Hippie friends? Do you still love me? I still use my sling! I try to avoid all food dyes. We only use positive reinforcement. He is still nursing at two for crying out loud! Obviously I do not fit in with either camp of the mommy wars. Oh, well.) Where was I? Oh yeah. The Son got a shot. He did not want to sit on my lap, so he just sat in a chair and I held his hands while the nurse jabbed him. He was more pissed off and surprised than hurt. He did not cry for more than a second, but when the nurse left and then came back to hand me a packet on “healthy sleep habits” he shouted when she was in the doorway, pointing at her he said. “NO! YOU STAY!” “NOOOO! STAY!”. I asked him if anything would make him feel better (expecting him to want to nurse), and he said, “I need Pancakecakes, Mama. Pwease?” We went to IHOP of course.

After his pancake with yogurt on top (um, ewww.) and a reaaaally long nap, we did what everyone else does on a perfect early fall evening. Another fall night, another county fair. This time it was in our own hometown. I am a member of a philanthropic organization that gets partial proceeds from the paid parking…if I go risk my life by standing amongst all of the compensating for something big trucks and breathing the second hand smoke wafting from open car windows as people hand me their three dollars that have been who knows where. Things I have learned? Teeth are rarer than I once thought in our lovely community, and certain people have different standards of child car seat safety than I do. I do not find letting your toddler balance on your twelve pack of Coors in the front seat of your pickup to be particularly safe, but they pay me three bucks to point to a vacant lot with a flashlight, not gesticulate on the security of their children.

The Son got to have another fabulous fair experience, this time with his other grandparents (his Grammy and Grandpa. Not the ones in their eighties, they only take him on the super fun Buick ride–that is a joke–the Buick ride with Grandma is the scariest one of all ((Lord, please do not let them be reading my blog. Amen.)). This time The Son rode the huge Ferris Wheel (he is definitely NOT afraid of heights), a firetruck, a race car, the dragon coaster, the flying lizards, the wiggle worm, a carousel, and the spin-till-you-regurgitate apples. My mom and I rode that one with him, and it was basically Disney teacups, only enclosed in a fiberglass apple. I guess to keep vomit from hitting other patrons? All of us managed to keep down our meatloaf, but we were pretty wobbly as we stepped onto the rickety stairs.

The last ride of the night was a return trip to the rotating firetrucks, and while all of the seat belts I strapped on The Son seemed to be in pretty good shape, when the overly cheerful Carney handed The Son back to me, I could smell the liquor halo around him. I guess now we know why Mr. Carney was so friendly, Everclear! Is it considered drunk driving if all you have to do is pull a lever? The Son was the one behind the wheel after all.

That pretty much ended our rides for the evening, we sauntered over to the fishing hole (side note: Hey JHJ, were we EVER allowed to play these games? I don’t think so. My theory is because the prizes are so horrific and Mom and Dad only enjoy paying for The Son to play because they know those prizes are coming to my house.), The Son caught a rubber shark that had been dyed blue because of all the food coloring in the water. His prize “catch” earned him (at least I think, the lady carney running the booth spoke zero English, she kinda gestured at us so we grabbed a prize and left. Maybe we stole it?) a plastic trumpet. (HOOOONNKKASQUUUEEEEAK!) Oh let me tell you the joy I felt about that. On the way home, I shoved a piece of cotton candy in the end (google says it is called the bell) to keep it quiet, but all that did was earn me a piece of damp cotton candy in my hair when he blew really hard. (PhffffffftSPLATSQUEEEEEAKAHOONK!)

I guess it was pay back for telling him he can’t nurse at night anymore.

Oh, Snap!

The Huckablogs are spending a couple of days with the elder Huckablogs at their country compound in picturesque Middle of Nowhere. I tried to post last night, but the only computer available hadabrokenspacekey. Very.VERY.ANNOYING. Going through internet withdrawal, I swiped MMIL’s work laptop to get my daily fix. Must have email. Must have email, ahhh, spam, that’s the stuff.

Last night we went to the Middle of Nowhere County Fair…..and…..I got hit on by a Carney. Yes, the 400 pound man wearing a greasy t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and hairy arms thought I still had IT. I tried to hand him my four fuschia tickets so that I could ride the Cobra all by myself. (I am the only Huckablog who will ride anything fun. Yet. I had to give birth to my own roller coaster buddy, but he is a little wee just yet.) So Mr. Carney leaned in real close to me as he helped me in to the spinning bucket of death and said, “Honey, keep your tickets. This ride is on me and you can ride all you want.” Um. ewww. Did I mention that The Husband, The Son, MMIL and FFIL were like fifteen feet away watching from the side lines? Smelly Mr. Carney then made the ride go backwards….for a really, really, REALLY long time. I stumbled out of the SBoD (spinning bucket of death) on my own so he would not try to help me down. The Husband did not seem at all jealous when I told him about my new admirer. He laughed at me instead. I tried to tell him about the Taco Bell employee who gave me a free fruit freezee thing because I was “working it.”, but it seems that he does not feel threatened by carneys or teenage fast food employees. (Please do not send me emails about how your Daddy is a Carney and he has sleeves and works triple shifts to put you through Wellesley or something. I get it. Carneys are people too.) I felt really sick (maybe from the half a fair eggroll? Or the half a fair barbeque sandwich? Or the half a cold fair hot dog?) after the SBoD ride, so I shared my grape sno-cone with The Son and we went back to the compound.

Oh speaking of The Son, it seems when you go to the fair with your Gigi and Pappaw, you get to ride what ever you want. He rode an alligator shaped kiddie coaster, spinning ladybugs, a sparkly,  wheelie-popping motorcycle, and a rotating Jeep. I went to strap him into the Jeep, and the seat belt (you are going to think I am exaggerating here, but this is the truth, I swear!) was half a bungee cord, and the other half was one side of the blue seat belt from a Wal-Mart shopping cart. It still had Wal-Mart imprinted on the faded fabric strap. I was then supposed to tie the two parts together around my precious only child’s abdomen. Yeah right. I asked the skinny, Lucky smoking carney if I could ride with The Son and he said, “if you think you can.” I wedged into the “back seat”  (really that would be ten inch fiberglass wide spot)of the toddler sized Jeep, hung on with one arm, leaned forward and held The Son tight with the other. With a creak and the three non-burnt out bulbs flashing, we jerked forward, and I slipped deeper into the “seat”. It spun, and spun, and went entirely too fast for a kiddie ride, and I was extremely grateful when the ride ended.

Last night I stayed up way late enjoying my in-laws DISH. I watched Project Runway, The Rachel Zoe project, Top Design, and then some show about a scary British hair stylist. I stumbled to bed at two or three AM, and then this morning went to the Middle of Nowhere County fair parade with The Son and MMIL. He loved it; fire trucks, horses, floats, bands, and beauty queens–what is not to like? Actually, I enjoyed myself too, I love doing stuff like that. On the way back to the compound, about twenty minutes away, I realized that we had forgotten to pick up The Son’s pictures (stay tuned for those) we had taken! When I brought this to MMIL’s attention her response was “OH, CRAP!”. Immediately The Son said, “OH, CRAP!” Great. Now my baby knows a PG-13 word. Always the quick thinking educator, she said, “Gigi said OH, SNAP! Can you say OH, SNAP?” So for the rest of the day we said, “Oh, Snap!” whenever crap would have been appropriate. I am not entirely sure that The Son bought it, but he has not repeated “Oh, Crap” again. He is probably waiting until he is at church in front of my eighty year old grandmother. It’s okay, MMIL. My Mom accidentally taught him “shut up” while yelling at her dogs.
Can you hear my Mom somewhere moaning about what I post online? “Oh, SNAP!”

Time to start the therapy fund.

Now that The Son is two, he gets to watch one video a day. This morning it was Happy Feet. Singing, dancing, adorable penguins, and a conservation message without being preachy. Awesome. Plus? It does not make Mama want to stab a pencil in her ears. I am looking at you Elmo!

Everything was going along swimmingly. We were dancing along with Mumble, singing along with Memphis and Norma Jean, and occasionally coloring. All of a sudden….SPLASH! SPLASH! SPLASHEDYSPLASHSPLASH! All of the penguins jump in the ocean for the first time to find dinner on their own. The Son starts to SCREAM. He cries huge crocodile tears. He hides his face in my shoulder. I ask what is wrong? Does something hurt? What happened? He keeps pointing at the swimming penguins and screaming. I see an animated penguin with a freshly caught fish in his mouth….and figured out the problem.

Yesterday’s movie was Finding Nemo.

Paperwork

Alternate title: Hey You cannot make up her mind. Do it for her, please.

I have a new company interested in doing some advertising here, maybe even one that pays more than half a rupee per click of an ad..also maybe I will have more ads that pertain to my readers instead of how to get a 13yr old Asian Bride FedEx’d to you. (I think I got that one deleted finally. Watch it pop back up now.) This new company wants me to pick my FIVE best posts to be used to spread the word of TheHuckablog to other blogs they advertise with. Hmm. Well, that is kinda subjective, don’t ya think?

Most blogs have a tone. They are either all hilarity with some snark thrown in, or a run of the mill, here-is-what-we-did-today diary type blog, or they could be all let-me-vent-my-raw-weeping-emotional- wounds all over the Internet. Some are political. Some focus just on pop culture. Mine? Has ADD. Would you pretty please tell me what five posts in the past nine months you have liked the most? Have you liked any? Do you come just to see cute pictures of The Son? That is okay, just let me know so I can get an idea of how I should spin this to the new guys.

Now for something more fun. Not that reading my archives isn’t fun. It is super-duper fun (*waving* Hi Nice Advertising Ladies!). I am a planner. I usually have things like birthday parties (pictures are coming soon, I promise), and Christmas presents planned months in advance. Something I have not been planning? The Annual Halloween bash. We have had a Huckablog Halloween Party every year for six years. (Before I was even a Huckablog yet!), and this year….I am thinking seriously about skipping it. Last year’s was kinda lame, and no one wanted to play my Halloween inspired games (a party MUST have GAMES people! They are to a party like what the five jars of pickles are to your fridge. Unnecessary, but it would be empty without them.) Also, the day I had kinda thought about having it is the same day as the birthday party of one of our good friend’s son, and I do not want to miss that, or make our mutual friends choose who’s party to attend. If we are partyless then that means I get to take The Son to all of the cool hayrides, and carnivals, and Boo at the Zoo, and all of the other wonderful seasonal stuff without worrying about when I am going to find time to clean, and cook, and come up with costumes for everybody. Just he will need a costume. (I will probably throw on an old one to take him Trick-or-Treating). The theme for his costume this year is free! So I have scavenged around looking for him a creative costume that just also happens to be free, and I have come up with FOUR possibilities. Please, dear Internet, make a decision for me.

1. A cave boy. I have the fabric to make him a little cave boy dress thing, already own a rubber squeaky cave man club, and this would be easy to add clothes to or take away layers to prepare for our capricious weather. Also? I already have a cavewoman dress from a past Halloween that I could wear to take him out. Cons: I must make his dress, he would be wearing a dress.

2. A cowboy. He has an old fringed leather vest that was his daddy’s from his old Halloween costume. He has jeans, a cowboy hat, a plaid shirt, and a hobby horse. I think I could borrow some boots from someone. Cons: It might be hot, I would end up carrying around the horse, he has a poor track record with wearing hats.

3. An engineer (train, not mechanical). He loves Thomas. He has an engineer’s hat, overalls, and a bandanna, and some plastic tools. Cons: If it was cold and he had to wear a coat and then took off his hat, no one would be able to tell what he was supposed to be. I am sick of Thomas.

4. A park ranger: My dad bought him a really, really cute outfit at a local state park. It is a khaki shirt that says park ranger on it, and has a patch from our state parks system on the arm. It also has olive pleated shorts with a ranger’s belt. I thought I could stick rubber snakes, frogs, and lizards in his pockets, or pin them to his shirt. I also think I could find him a pith helmet somewhere. One more pro: It would make my dad really happy to know he picked out The Son’s costume. Cons: If it is cold, then all I could do without covering up the costume is to put long johns on underneath it, I have not actually tried this on him yet, and it may be a little big still.

Okay, what do you think? For his first Halloween he was a monkey, and last year he was a spider if that makes a difference to you for some reason.

 Loading ...

Dear Son: The Moment When I First Saw You Gave me Life Under Calico Skies.

I can hear your giggles from all around the house. While you can be a grump, or cry when tired or hurt, you laugh five times more than anything else. Sometimes Daddy and I will be laughing at something and you  look at us, having no idea what is going on and, “Hah! Hah! Hah!”, you give a good ole’ belly laugh, just because it is what comes naturally to you. The best thing? You make me laugh along, always. You get your silliness from me, sorry about that. You are doomed to a life of loving cornball jokes, don’t worry it could be a lot worse.

We giggle at each other all day long, as we play one game after another. You take my hand and say “‘mon, Mama!”, leading me to whatever it is that you have cooked up for the moment. I confess I am much more interested in you than in most of our games. Mama can only hurtle hotwheels down the hallway so many times before feeling like she is going to go comatose.

I have tried to keep you happy and engaged this year, I am good at coming up with crafts and whatnot, but the truth is a lot of times we go to a class or the library as much for me as for you. On days we stay in our living room all day, I feel as though the walls are collapsing on me by the time Daddy gets home. Luckily, you like to go as much as I, even if it is just to wander up and down the aisles at WalMart.

Sometimes I think you notice when I am not myself; that I am worried or even sad. Darlin’, this has nothing to do with you. You are the best thing that ever happened; not just to me, but to our whole family. You make me happy. You make everybody happy. Your one overwhelmingly dominant characteristic is joy. You have a countenance, a gift from God. A gift you share with us.

One has been a good year. One has been the year that made me not only love you, but like you as your own person. Your Daddy and I are always asking each other how two nerds like us (I did Model UN as an extracurricular, and Daddy had his apartment decorated in broken circuit boards.) wound up with such a cool little kid. I also think you are a kind person.  I hope to be able to mold your manners and politeness, to encourage your kindness, while nurturing your generosity to others, all without dampening your energy, your spark. The responsibility I feel for you is overwhelming, you are so wonderful, I just want to keep you this way forever, and not screw you up. Your recent onslaught of “No Way!” and “Mine!” does concern me a bit, have I blundered already? I am just blaming it on being a toddler for now.

This year I started an online journal about our family. I am sharing a tiny piece of you with whomever happens across this blog. I do worry one of these days you will hate me for telling the world about your potty training, or any other embarrassing– but totally normal– and adorable toddler shenanigans. I am hoping  you understand my motivations. The blog is my scrapbook so I can go back and look at all of your precious grins, and remember the day to day giggles, tears, and new words you have given me this year. Speaking of new words, today, on your second birthday, you said, “I lud you, Mama.”. This is not the first time you said that, but it is the first time totally unprompted, or without me telling you first. I love you too.

Happy Birthday Darling Baby. I know, I know, I know. You are not a baby, you are boy, but you are my baby, and I will hold you for the rest of my life.

It was written that I would love you
From the moment I opened my eyes
And the morning when I first saw you
Gave me life under calico skies.

I will hold you for as long as you like
I’ll hold you for the rest of my life

Always looking for ways to love you
Never failing to fight at your side
While the angels of love protect us
From the innermost secrets we hide

I’ll hold you for as long as you like.
I’ll hold you for the rest of my life

-Paul McCartney

Love, Mama