3 1/2 stories about a witch puppet
Stacy bought us the witch puppet. It was most definitely a Hallowe'en gift for Blake, and advanced our prime mandate of making him a spooky baby. He has generally ignored it for most of his life.
Last week Blake started to show an unusual fear of the area behind the couch. When he wanted the toys stored there, he would try to get us to pull them out for him. We asked him why and he told us that he was afraid of his witch puppet. I offered to move it, but he refused, telling me that it belonged behind the couch. I tried to explain that we would be moving out in a few weeks; should we leave it behind for Eagle Nic? No. It lived behind the couch.
When I moved it out to get a look at some other toys, he refused to walk where he could see it. I moved it back under the desk.
Later that night he had to have a Time Out. When I picked him up, he yelled, "don't put me with my witch puppet!" "I would never threaten you with your witch puppet," I said firmly.
The next day he started saying, "don't threaten me with my witch puppet!"
Three days ago, I was laying on the floor in front of the bookshelf. Blake sat beside me and reached for the box of toys directly above my head.
"Be careful," I said. "Don't hurt me. If you hit me on the face with those toys, I'll swell up and look like the witch puppet."
His eyes went wide. "What will your face look like?"
"Purple and furry. My nose will be round. My teeth will be snaggly. My eyes will go black."
Yesterday my mom told me that he told her that I'd told him: "If you’re naughty, you'll turn into the witch puppet." She asked me to stop scaring him.
Yesterday morning, I tried to take the witch puppet to school; I figured she could live in my cupboard until the heat was off. Blake's superstitious dread was becoming hard to take. Blake saw her and demanded the puppet. Before he would deign to kiss us, we had to hug the witch puppet.
He carried it around with him all day.
Today I asked him if she had a name. When he shook his head, I whispered "Hecate," and repeated it until he memorized the sounds. We took her for a walk, and played peek-a-boo around a tree. Blake was breathless with giggles.
"She was laughing because you were peeking around a tree," he informed me when the fit subsided.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*