Hulk Hands Part II

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My son was required to do a school project last year, the week before spring break. He had to choose a product to advertise.

It was my child’s last year at this elementary school.

I had some unfinished business to take care of.

And so, you guessed it, I we chose Hulk Hands (if you have not read that story yet, you might want to. It kind of explains the strangeness that takes over here).

But not the old angry Hulk Hands. These were new and improved. They did not say, “You’re making me angry. You won’t like me when I’m angry.” Well, unless I put them on while thinking about the next assignment I got to “supervise.”

Here is the unedited commercial. This is the one I wrote. The one my son wrote was obviously more politically correct:

Do you love superheros? Do you want to be a superhero? Okay. That sounds crazy. You do know you can’t really be a superhero, right?

But what about dressing like a superhero?

You could put on a cape, but we’ve all seen how that turns out by watching “The Incredibles.”

You could put on a scary mask, but, well, that’s just scary. And, well, also a little creepy.

Don’t do that.

What if it was something easy to slip on?

What if that something could also help you do your chores?

Or make a birthday party more exciting?

Well, now you can can’t!

First of all, Hulk Hands are easy to slip on and off. And put on. And take off. And put on. And take off. And put on. And take off. And put on. And take off. And put on. And take off.

Is three minutes up yet?

No?

Okay.

And put on. And take off. And put on. And take off. And put on….

your feet.

Ha! Ha!

Just kiddin’ you. Where do you think Hulk Hands go?

On your head?

Wow! Right again!

Just kidding.

I hope you know where to put Hulk Hands. I am not going explain where to put Hulk Hands. If you do not know this, you do not need to buy Hulk Hands. You need to buy a book. And quite possibly seek out a medical professional, because your head must be an insanely odd shape. Such as that of a fist.

You will also look strong while wearing Hulk Hands. Or at least your hands will. Actually, that is not true. You will still have a tiny ten year old body and giant green bulging veiny hands. Good luck with that!

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Do you have chores? Do they involve slamming cabinets, slamming doors, slamming the garbage bin? Well, good. Because those are the only chores Hulk Hands will help you with.

You can’t do dishes in them.

You can’t make your bed while wearing them.

You can’t take out the garbage.

But if you put these on, you have a great excuse as to why you cannot do your chores to tell your parents.

“But Mom! My Hulk Hands are on. They’re stuck! (No need to tell them about how easy they are to get on and off).”

You will definitely get out of your chores.

Okay. You will definitely not get out of your chores.

But you will look funny trying to do them with your Hulk Hands on.

Hulk Hands can make a birthday party more exciting. For your next piñata smashing event, just use Hulk Hands! No need for a baseball bat or a stick, Hulk Hands will do the trick.

You should especially do this if there is a certified social worker there, you should definitely destroy the Spiderman piñata in front of him. Tear it limb to limb. This will not have him telling your mom that maybe she should expect a call from the school. You should also grin at him while carrying Spiderman’s arm while he is saying this. Trust me, he won’t be scared at all.

Just do not eat birthday cake while wearing them. Unless you like eating birthday cake like a dog. Actually this might work out in your favor. If you were a dog, you would have seven birthdays a year. And seven pinatas to destroy. This would make Hulk Hands much more useful. And this paragraph that much longer.

I love my Hulk Hands! I got mine at Target. You can get yours there, too. Even little kids like them. My three year old cousin has a set. But my mom wants a pair now, too.

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This was what his school project looked like. I know what you’re thinking. Did you really send your kid to school with his project in a garbage bag (I think you must have forgotten my son’s mission project featuring Yoda)?

The answer to that is complicated.

Yes and no.

You see, his project was in the garbage bag and his project was the garbage bag.

Make sense?

No?

Well, allow me to demonstrate:

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Yes. I really did just do that. In case my gif is not clear, I am demonstrating trying to take out the trash whilst wearing Hulk Hands. I have obviously missed my calling as both an actor, director, and, well, let’s face it, pretty bad a** super hero.

You’re welcome.

My son ended up getting a “B-” on his report. We were happy with that. He still pulled straight A’s for the year, despite his mother. Thankfully my elementary school days are behind me. Any project he does now will have to be done with little help. Hopefully he does well. However, it has to be better than a black garbage bag right? In the altered words of our inspiration in regards to school projects at home:

“They make me angry. They won’t like me when I’m angry.”

The Mission Project From H%!#

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In California, every child in the fourth grade is required to do a project on a mission. So, basically, parents all around California are elbow deep in glue and tears throughout the month of April.

I had dreaded the impending mission project for months.

My husband told me he would do the project this year. Score! It was a series of four projects. They completed the first three items quickly, but had saved the biggest project for last. This was, to build a replica of the mission assigned to the child.

They had two months to complete it. Which would have been fine, had the date not have been changed. It was originally due May 20th. This is how I found out the date had been changed:

The afternoon of May 2nd, I picked up my child from school. I noticed quite a few children leaving the grounds with elaborate mission projects in their hands. I began to grow alarmed. The dread crept from my heart and trickled down my back.

“Hey, when is your mission project due?” I asked my son.

“Oh, not until May 3rd,” he responded.

Time stood still. My voice became squeaky with terror, “That’s tomorrow.”

No response. Just big eyes staring at me from the back seat. We drove home in panicked silence.

My husband was at work and would not be getting home until long after the children’s bedtime. I was mad…

And that is all I am going to say about that. Oh, and my son was grounded…for forever.

I knew we had five hours to get some sort of mission completed. Let’s begin by holding hands and agreeing I am not good in a crisis. I found the pizza box from the night before. I began frantically ripping it apart. Oh? They had cheese and marinara tile flooring in missions? Yup, I bet you never knew that.

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Once I had my base, I wracked my brain for an idea. I quickly began searching the house for materials. My husband was going to build a Lego mission with my son. I immediately scrapped that idea. I only had five hours. So, I grabbed my box of Q-tips and raced to my pizza box. As I began stacking the qtips and trying to glue them together, my children gathered around me and began mocking my idea.

“Oh, my God! What are you doing? Q-tips? Really mom?” my daughter taunted.

My son, being more invested in the project, began shaking his head. “No, mom. Just No.”

I threw the Q-tips to the side. I tore the doors to my pantry open. A bright beam of light shone down from the heavens. It landed on my three boxes of graham crackers. And all was right with the world.

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I grabbed one box and began ripping it open. I started hot glueing two graham crackers together all over the table. I let these sit and dry. Then I picked them up and began glueing them together to make the walls. Yes! It worked perfectly…

I am lying.

The graham crackers disintegrated where the two ends met the glue. It was a gloppy sad mess…I am so mad! I have to write the company! How dare these treats meant to be eaten and digested by children not stand up to hot glue. The very idea.

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Then a brilliant plan formed: I could make rice krispie treats! I had just enough marshmallows for two giant batches. Those would stick together and we could roll it and cut it into shape. This might be okay. I grabbed my marshmallows from the pantry. And then gasped as large stale marshmallows flew across the kitchen floor. One of my lovely children had decided to open the bag and eat a marshmallow many weeks ago. And then left the bag open. Wasn’t that kind of them? Wasn’t that lovely? The image of the beautiful marshmallow cereal oasis dissolved in my head.

Thirty minutes had passed. My head was spinning. There was only one option left… Legos. Oh, I guess there were two. But I hate cutting cardboard more than I hated the project.

I have never built a Lego.

I have never built a Lego.

I HAVE NEVER BUILT A LEGO!

I quickly realized this after every single one of my fingernails had broken off separating all of the white legos in my son’s collection. I tried to put them together for a base and the pieces would not fit together. I pulled my knees to my chest and started sobbing. How was I going to get this done? The reality hit me that I probably wasn’t. And the failure of our parenting crushed my soul with its sorrow.

My daughter stepped in. As she does. She happens to be the only capable one in the family. And I am so grateful.

“I’ll build it with him, mom,” she said.

Actually, what she really said was, “You Idiots! I’ll build it.” She gets rather frustrated with tears.

At this point, I wasn’t going to get mad at her observation. It was true. My house looked like a chimpanzee had ran rampant. I moved over so she could start.

“I will work on this until 8:00. I have to do my homework at 8:00. If I do not have the red roof started by 7:00, then you can panic.” She told me in her matter-of-fact voice.

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I set off to the kitchen to make her favorite dinner. The kids worked together on that project for the next three hours. At 8:00, the roof was not on. But that was okay.

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It was not the fanciest mission that ever was. It does not really look all that much like the real building. Most mission projects are ten times this size. He will be lucky to get a “C.” But I can honestly say no parent hands built this. It was the work of my two children. Regardless of what grade he receives, I am very proud of it. I am incredibly proud of my daughter for stepping up to the challenging situation. Her work on it was all that held this project together. It was all that held me together.

This little mission was built from tears, broken fingernails, sibling love, and pure frantic motivation. There never was one so beautiful.

And I am not speaking of the mission.