Love, The Huckablog Family

*sorry about that horrible quality on the YouTube video!   It was the only one I could find, get on that Internet elves!

Do you watch  Work of Art on Bravo? If you remember, we only watch TV online, but we watch Work of Art on RealityTVFan.org.   Now this is not a kid show.  At all.  And yet?  IH watches it with me, and loves it.   I do screen out any nudity or sexual content obviously, but he can watch most of it.

He loves art, which is a little surprising to me, although I don’t know why.  There is a local art teacher who does preschool art classes on the weekend, and IH has attended many of them.  He is pretty good too, if I do say so myself.

This was after his Kandinsky inspired class,  I mean how cute is it that he could tell you who the first abstract painter was at four?

This one was after his turkey class, now all of his paintings have a horizon line.

He did a Frosty class yesterday and learned about silhouettes.

We talked about art last night, and I showed him some famous paintings online, and he said, “Mama, I wish I could see a Picasso for really real!”    Today we were off to the art museum.

Wish granted.

He loved it, and said that it was his second favorite painting there.  His first favorite?

A monkey in a dress.

He is still a five year old boy after all.

Why super heroes? I love this article on the subject, it is more than just feeling big when you usually feel small.

” That’s part of the appeal of superheroes. It’s a big world and kids are just little things.”

Even simpler, says Rubin, “superheroes can be very appealing at a sensory level. They wear primary colors, they are fast and stimulating. Kids want speed and color and cool gadgets. Superheroes literally take them on flights of fancy.”

More than just security, superheroes also provide an avenue for growth. “Kids are always looking to expand themselves, always exploring their own abilities and possibilities,” Rubin says. “As they get older, they begin to entertain abstract ideals like good and bad, strong and weak, justice and fairness. They also begin to identify with and understand the torment of some superheroes, always doing their rescue-the-world thing and then coming back and trying to fit in.”

So when I am sick to death of playing one more superhero pretend game, or of zipping up yet another raggedy costume, or of hearing all about why the Hulk was so angry…I remember that I have a super special kid who his learning how to make it in this scary world while feeling confident, brave, and mighty cute in a cape.

On a cold and dark night, on the eve of Halloween, a young mother dared to drive alone with her child to Capital City for a huge Halloween carnival.  The terrors started as soon as she hit the exit ramp for her destination….and it was backed up in both directions.  Horror upon horror, in the back seat sat a four year old who had not had a nap, and had no patience for traffic jams.  The carnival was packed; parking was obscene!  It had been years since the young woman had braved such chaos.   She curiously paid a large sum of money to enter this house of atrocities, and then proceeded to walk around and reject one activity after another because the lines were too long.   Then the whining started. ” Mama, I want to do this.  Mama, I want to do that.  Mama, I need a pummel cake.   Mama, why is that man dressed like that?”  It was Halloween eve, perhaps he had been possessed?  No, he was just four.  The night wore on.  Scary things were seen and little fun was had.  The young lady was prepared to call the night a wash and refuse to come back to this place ever again.

And then, and then the small child pointed out that there were tickets, tickets that had been purchased and not used.  Five of them.  The young lady tried to get her money back, but no.  The evil witches at the ticket booth would not refund her money.  She looked around for a quick something without a seven mile long line.  That is when he saw it.  The small child had seen what he wanted to do, what he wanted to spend his tickets on.  A THIRTY FOOT ROCK CLIMBING WALL.  Now this kid is pretty small.  Forty pounds and forty inches tall actually–waaaay too small to do this kind of X-TREME sport.   The young lady walked over to the man running this abomination, and inquired, “How old do you have to be?”

The man glanced at her precious child carelessly and said the little boy could try if he wanted to .  We hate this man.  The lady and child stood in line and waited and waited, the five red tickets growing moist clutched in the child’s pudgy little palm.  It was still the palm of a baby!  Why could the man in charge not see that?  While in line the lady tried to talk the kid baby out of it.  They watched as a dozen kids six and seven years older than the little boy burst in to tears midway up.  The mom said a hundred times that he could change his mind, that if he got up there and was scared, just  let go and the man will bring you down.

Then they heard a BUZZZZZZZZ.

“What is that, Mama?”

“Well, if someone reaches the top, then they push that red button and it makes that noise.”

“I am going to do that.”

“Um.  Okay.  But! If you get scared at any point just let go, and the man will lower you down.”

“I am not going to be scared.”

As the baby and his mother inched closer in line, people started to ask how old the boy was.  “Just turned four!” she repeated over and over.  The next youngest kid to do it was seven they replied.

Then they were next.  The man in charge strapped in the tiny child.  He glowed in his orange astronaut suit as the lights hit him.  The lady again offered him an out, and reminded him to not be scared, just let go when he wanted off.

And the kid climbed.

And he climbed. And he climbed.  He had to jump to some of the footholds because his legs were too short.  His mother was shaking on the ground.  She imagined how mad her husband would be if he knew.   She took pictures and shouted encouragement.  The child climbed on.  Well past the point 90% of the older kids had stopped and he was still going.   He never fell.  He never even needed that harness his mom was praying for.  “Please let it be strong!  Please let it not be too loose!”

And then……BUZZZZZZZZ.

That stinking kid climbed the whole way, and hit the red buzzer.

(You will think the next part is an exaggeration, but it is real.  The lady even has witnesses.)

Then the entire crowd around this multistory rock wall burst into applause cheering for this little boy.

The mama burst into tears.

And the mother had a heart attack took her child home and swaddled him and nursed him and put him in his crib gave him a piece of string cheese, told him to brush his teeth, and tucked him in his bed.

The End

Today  (using that term loosely since it is now 1:12 am) he:  Threw a fit because I would not let him DRIVE MY TRUCK.  Ran away from me in a crowded restaurant.  Cried when I made him wear pants outside…in 30 degree weather.  Absolutely LOST HIS MIND when I told him he had to wear a hat and gloves to help Daddy hang Christmas lights.   Told me I was mean because I would not let him buy the 359$ train set at the hardware store.  Steadfastly refused to take a much needed (for me) nap.  Had not one, but TWO, potty related accidents–one of which he removed his underwear for so he could pee on the futon in his room and then put back on his Lighting McQueen underoos–the other less than three seconds after his Daddy asked him if he needed to go.   Purposely stuck his fingers in his mouth to make himself gag.  Screamed at the top of his lungs when the light was turned off for bed.

Someone tell me that whole this too passing thing again?

He handed out tiny pieces of  bread to all of his toys and told  them each “Jesus loves you.”

“I need to not drink so fast cause my teeth will cough.”  (hiccups)

This morning when putting on his boots he got them not quite right, when I told him they were on the wrong feet he replied, “These are my only feet!”

He told me on Thanksgiving that he was thankful his teacher’s hair was so yellow.

“I would like my shadow better if it talked.”

Now tell me what your little guys have said this week, or what you said when you were a kiddo!

These are not excuses…but come on..this is cute.

I am really, really sorry to any Native American readers.  I know your ancestors never wore necklaces made out of froot loops, or vests made out of paper bags.   But the cuteness?  Surely we agree on that right?

While we are offending people, Hey, Peta?   Yeah, they were singing a song about killing Mr. Turkey in a most violent way.  The Son thinks the song was about a BOAT and arrow.  Not that he sang it.  No, he just stood there, and you guessed it.  Looked cute.

He inherited a head full of crazy cowlicks from The Husband’s side of the family, and a thick head full of independent and stubborn hair from mine.   Buzz cuts are just not my style, and short, short little boy hair is cute on other little boys….but, I like MY kiddo to have as long of hair as my hubby will allow.  If it were just up to me he would be sporting a shaggy skater do.

This kid just needed a teeny, teeny, itsy bit taken off of his bangs.   Our usual and most wonderful stylist K had a baby one week exactly before this one.  I reasoned that there was no need to drive 25 minutes and bother K just for a teeny little bang trim.   Surely anybody who is a licensed stylist could handle that, right?

Wrong.  I told her to just trim them to his eyebrows.  First snip of the scissors saw three inches of hair on the cape. I literally gasped.  Calm down, calm down.  It is just a little short.   Snip. Snip. Snip.  Fourth cut.  ACK!  FOUR INCHES right off the front.  “Your kid is moving! He needs to mind me and hold still.”  “I am standing right here!  He is holding perfectly still.”  “Well, he is making me nervous.”  “You are making ME nervous.”

I picked him up, removed his cape, and walked out, not paying,  four cuts  into the worst hair massacre ever.  WAY worse than this.  You think I am exaggerating?

And it looked even crazier in real life.

I called K in tears.  I felt like I was confessing to cheating on her.  She graciously invited us to her home, let me cuddle her babies, and calmed me down.

She is awesome–but she is not God, and cannot magically grow hair, so the end result is still A LOT shorter than this pseudohippy would like, but it is much better.

Lesson learned: if you love who cuts your hair–NEVER EVER go somewhere else, even for a teeny trim.   Oh, and also?  K said she would have cried too.