"Hubster, You are My Father."

No. Not mine. Although, there are moments when I wonder about that. But that's a deep psychological question I'm not sure I want to explore on a Thursday morning when I have all the kids in the house and Typhon woke me up at 2am with his singing. I might draw conclusions that would scare me, Hubster and my father and since I love them very, very much, we're not going to go there right now. Perhaps over lots of whiskeys later this summer but till then, let's just be happy that Husber and BaPa at least have one thing in common, me.

Where we are going to go right now is the local fire station, i.e. a garage behind the school where the truck is parked.

Mini-Husband got to have a tour the other day with Musher Boy. It lasted all of 15 minutes but M-H was psyched. Here's a shot of him wearing the helmet:

Truth be told, I think I'm a little concerned that our local pompiers wouldn't be able to see out of that Darth Vader thing. And fireman who can't actually see a fire really doesn't bode well for a fire call, now does it?

Overall, M-H had a great time climbing all over the truck, wearing the jackets and even getting to help roll up the fire hose.

And no. He's not getting one for Christmas. If he did, I'm sure he'd want to run that riot control drill way too often on his brother.