That’s him flying.

On a broom.

Chelsea took this photo today over at Finn’s house and emailed it with this note:

He keeps yelling “KIKI! FLIES!” as he runs around with the broom
between his legs!

Kiki’s Delivery Service is another Japanese Miyazaki film that we let Harrison watch. It’s a pretty strange movie about a witch who at 13, as is tradition with all witch families, leaves home to find a new city to complete her witch-training, on her own.

It makes no sense, really. Perhaps it’s lost in translation. Regardless – the kid wakes talking about Kiki, asks us to read non-existent books about Kiki and asks that we sing him songs about Kiki at bedtime. This last request results in off-key, poorly-rhymed strings of incoherent sing-song-statements about a little girl with a black cat flying through the air on her magic broom and then going home and closing her eyes and going to sleep… closing eyes and going to sleep… closing eyes and going to sleep…

Listening: Local Natives

We still don’t really have cable – Marc and I watch shows via hulu – the greatest invention since television. So, Harrison is stuck with whatever programming we can scrounge up on YouTube or archive (dot) org. His choices are Bettie Boop sings about having pep! – hilarious; YouTube videos of farm animals, firetrucks and motorcycles (for some reason H calls motorcylces TACO! I can only guess that he is aiming for cycle, but, there’s really no way to know.); and the Japanese sub-titled Totoro.

And because I’m a pretentious yuppie – I’m totally OK with with this one and we let him watch it A LOT.

So, now if there is a lull in play he immediately pulls on my hand, tells me to “coming” and drags me towards the living room. When I ask where we are going he usually replies “THIS WAY!” or “THAT WAY!” and points vigorously. When I ask him why, he replies shyly with a sneaky little smile, tucks his head down into his chest and says “teeDee”.

TV is heroin. Plain and simple. Addicting and euphoric. The kid WILL NOT SIT STILL for anything. He has never been a cuddler – not when he was a baby and certainly not now. He’ll swing by for a hug and a kiss and wants to be picked up – but, only if you will escort him around the house so that he can see and touch things that are out of his reach. But, if he is parked in front of the idiot box he is the sweetest little angel you can imagine. He is so calm and still that Marc and I just sit next to him and stare at his cute little features that are usually just a blur of spaz. He will sit in the corner of the couch propped up by pillows or on my lap with his Curious George stuffed animal in one hand and my hand in the other.

It is an incredibly special, drug-induced bonding experience.

Listening: Wild Nothing