Huckleberry

As I drove home from school drop off number one yesterday morning I made a to do list on the back of a Behr paint chip.  You know the one that helps you decide what color you should paint your room?  I had settled on Mississippi Mud the day before.  My list yesterday included all sorts of ugly projects.  I like to call these the alligator projects because they’re usually just about as fun as dealing with an alligator and I usually avoid them just the same.  These are the ones that Scott nags me about just before we go to bed.  He feels better as he gets it off his chest and I can lay there and stare at the ceiling and feel anxious about all the stuff I have to deal with the following day.  Not exactly a win win.  By the time I pulled in the driveway the list had covered the back side and was spilling over onto the front.  Yuck.

As I nursed Huck and found an episode of Barney on the DVR for Peter I made an executive decision to leave the to do list in my burby, as the boys have lovingly named my Suburban, and make a new one.  It only included two tasks.  Number one: take photos of Huck and number two: take a nap.  Sounds do-able I thought.  I can probably squeeze both of those in as long as I focus and manage my time. 

For task number one I enlisted the help of my photography assistant.  Petey (still only three, so we’ll call him my amateur photo assistant) loyally followed behind me trying to keep up with my rather long list of requests.  Go get your beanbag chair and put it in the front yard.  Also, go in my bedroom and find Huck’s dino heart, his dino blankie, his car seat cover, both swaddling blankets and his little sock monkey.  I’ll meet you in the front yard.  I grabbed the dog, this would prove to be a mistake later, and the baby and headed out.  Ten minutes and four trips later, Peter had finally drug the last item down the driveway and through the front yard. 

As I glanced at the burby, I remembered the ugly to do list sitting on the dash.  I justified my change in plans by reminding the responsible half of my brain that Huck will only be this age once and this phase must be documented.  After all, what kind of a mother would I be if I didn’t have a billion pictures of my brand new baby?

And so went the morning shooting, and adjusting, and adding props, and ordering around my favorite little assistant.  The assistant had just eaten something chocolate and had the evidence smeared all over his face.  It was difficult making sure he didn’t have any actual contact with the model, or rub his face on any of the props and most certainly didn’t appear in any of the photos because what kind of a mother would I look like then?

I justified as the shoot progressed.

 

 

I must document these feet now because baby feet are precious but ten year old boy feet stink.  In fact, this year we have a new rule, after school when I pick you up you must keep your shoes on until you get home.  Only then can you remove them and reveal your terribly stinky feet.  It’s just too much to handle in a confined area.

 

 

 

I must document these precious chubby cheeks.  He may not have them for long, or worse he will and believe me, there is nothing precious about having chubby cheeks at age 30.  I’m living proof.

 

 

 

I must document this stage where he will fall asleep anywhere even when abandoned under a tree.  Narcolepsy is a short lived phase and most of us grow out of it.

 

 

 

I must document him with his favorite toy because at this age the toys are actually cute.  There will be nothing cute about his toys in another five years.  Transformers and Legos are never classified as cute.

 

 

 

I must document how flexible his attitude is.  Somehow I know that if I suggested that Gavin allow me to tie him to the front fence so I could take some blog photos he wouldn’t be so compliant.  Compliancy is a quality that my boys quickly outgrow.

 

 

 

I must document how sweet Huck looks in hats and outfits I pick out for him.  Soon he’ll be picking out his own and refusing anything I suggest. 

 

 

 

I must document how adorable his little hands are.  Within a few years they will most likely be chocolate covered like the assistant’s and I will be reminding him to keep his grubby hands off the bakery case at the grocery store and he will have dirt under his fingernails.

 

 

 

I must document all his innocent little gestures.  I know this may look like “Stop taking my photo” but I assure you he has no idea what he is suggesting… yet.

 

 

 

I must document his little chicken legs, no scars, scrapes or bruises.  In a year or two it will be road rash and band aids and battle scars.  

 

 

I must document his ability to fit into a sling.  It doesn’t take long and he will be way too big.  Although Finn still begs to be in the sling.  There’s nothing precious about carrying a four year old with a drooly mouth and a snotty nose in a sling that positions his face about two inches from mine. 

 

Our photo shoot went smoothly for the most part although I did cause one school bus to not only stop but back up to get a better look when the nosy driver noticed a newborn hanging on my white picket fence.  Huck was not impressed with the heat so we retreated to the house to cool down and check off the next task on our list, the nap. 

 

 

Once again I must document these tiny little kissable toes now because we all know what they will turn into. 

Stinky, sweaty, sock fuzz covered boy feet.