Are you familiar with the Grave Digger? How about Bigfoot or Gunslinger? Or the infamous Wild Hair? Well, I suspect that you are probably not unless you have a monster truck lovin' five year old in your home. C-dub has been bitten by the Redneck bug; It's a frightening little creature that causes my otherwise loving child to sing AC/DC songs, wear only camo, and refer to his mother as "Woman." My sweet little boy is now a man-child and I'm left to vaccum up the remaining pieces (and Hotwheels) with my hot pink Dyson.

His redneck affliction began about three years ago when he quietly discovered hubby's Hotwheels, long forgotten in an old shoebox. He first admired the cars and then one by one, took them out to the vast abyss of his bedroom. We'd find Hotwheels everywhere; the toilet, our bed, and at one time, in our broiler, firmly melted to the grill. Over the years, as his love of redneck grew, so did the size of his cars and trucks. Little Gun-Gun was provided with the remnants of Hotwheels while C-dub grew into remote control trucks and fast race cars that crashed themselves.

As he became more computer literate, he discovered (with the help of Taterbug and hubby) the magic of Youtube and the endless monster truck crash videos it contained. My son was the only preschoolian who could chant the web address for his favorite videos, as well as how to spell out his redneck love with: MONSTER TRUCK CRASHES. Over and over, he would replay the videos, laughing and singing along to the narrating songs (hence the previous reference to AC/DC). During share time, he would re-enact his favorite crash scenes complete with the AC/DC song, "DND, I'm Dynamite!" (a.k.a. TNT-yes, he's hearing it wrong but no, he won't change his mind or his pronounciation), which he would belt out until embarassment got the best of him. Other parents would look on and smile, secretly thanking God that their child was still into Disney and not the hunting or racing channel.

Knowing full well of his current affliction, I recently took C-dub to a local video store to pick up some movies for the family. While there, I told C-dub that he could pick out his own movie. Of course, he quickly scanned the cover pictures until he found the "Best of NASCAR" video and swooped it up. I was deeply engrossed in the description of "Knocked Up" and faintly heard him calling for me, asking about the movie. I mumbled a response back which he evidently did not hear or did not care for. He asked again a little louder, but this time pre-empted his question with a loud, "Woman! Are you ready to go yet?" I looked over at him, thinking that my hubby had been suddenly re-incarnated in a five year old frame. I could hear snickering from the older man standing next to me, and I quietly nodded to my man-child. My man-child, a.k.a. C-dub, clutched his NASCAR movie to his chest like a prized-trophy, and led me out of the store. I followed behind like a submissive Stepford wife.

And the saga continues... At least a gazillion times a day, I'm presented with "spectacular" monster truck wrecks and the most "amazing" car crashes a person has ever seen. He does not allow you the choice to watch; it's a demand and then he wants critical feedback on the techniques demonstrated. When he's not demolishing Hotwheels or playing on Youtube, he's stealing our couch pillows and photo albums to prop up livingroom carpet ramps and jumps. You cannot walk across our livingroom floor without hearing (and feeling) the crunch of assorted vehicles under your feet. Airborne hazards are also common - just ask hubby about the tiny chip in the NEW flat screen TV.

While I love the creativity, I do admit that I'm looking forward to the day when I can dress my little man in cute corduroy pants and then take him to the museum for a day of art history (blah, I wouldn't even like that, who am I kidding?!). And, I also look forward to when he wants to actually give me smooches rather than forehead smacks or a command to "knuckle up." I admit, I do love seeing C-dub play with his cars and trucks, especially when he's doing it nicely with his little brother. Whenever he catches me staring, I'm usually greeted with a big toothy grin and then a raised fist with an exposed thumbs-up. I love my little man-child, but the emphasis certainly is on the "child" rather than the "man."