I'd wager there couldn't be more than a handful of children on this entire planet who dig the space hero as much as our little tyke.
Relying upon the one remaining very well worn and permanently stained and partially shredded Buzz Lightyear Halloween costume that I bought for his siblings two years ago, he will put on his suit and run around the house pushing the button on his arm to trigger the "laser."
(Here he is with his cousins who were also depressing their laser beams.)
He knows all the words (or at least the melody and chorus) to the title song, "You've Got A Friend in Me." And he has a stash of mini characters from the Toy Story cast that he carries around with him at all times.
We don't watch the movie very often. Maybe once every couple of weeks. But whenever we do watch it, he goes absolutely nuts. Screaming, yelling, pointing "BUZZ! MOMMY! DADDY! MOMDADMOMDADMOMMYDADDY! ID'S BUZZ WIGHTYEAR!!" If I'm in the kitchen preparing dinner, he'll leave the movie and come running to find me, grab me by the hand, and drag me in to show me Buzz Lightyear on the big screen.
And then he goes in to such a tizzy he almost passes out while yelling, "WOOK!! WOOK!! ID'S BUZZ WIGHTYEAR!!!"
If his language skills were more advanced I'm sure he'd add:
The greatest being ever concocted is HERE.
In OUR living room.
We have a friend, Jeanmarie, who has triplets the same age as our trio. When the children were younger, we would get together once a week - and whenever we did - I always thought it was interesting that her daughter would be dressed up as a Teletubbie.
Although Jeanmarie would tell us that her little girl had picked out her own clothes and she had NOTHING to do with dressing her up as a Po, I was hard pressed to believe that a two-year-old would have such a strong opinion on matters.
And then I had Henry.
So to Jeanmarie, I'm very sorry I ever doubted you. I'm currently of the mindset that it would be easier to part the Red Sea than to convince my son to wear something OTHER than his Buzz Lightyear costume.
Whenever we go out and Henry is in his uniform, with Toy Story characters clutched in each pudgy hand, I get a mix of looks. There are those that give me funny stares and raise their eyebrows as if to say, "What kind of parent lets their kid go out of the house in a costume that looks like it has been on the bottom of a dumpster for the past two years?"
And then I get the kind smiles and nods of understanding from those people who at some point in their life, must have had first hand experience with a head strong two-year-old. I know what battles I'm willing to fight and Henry's obsession with Buzz Lightyear isn't one of them.
When the triplets were Henry's age, they had their blanket and stuffed animal loveys. Buzz Lightyear, in any form, is Henry's lovey.
He has hand sewn Buzz Lightyear pajamas, courtesy of his talented Aunt Kathy. He has a six foot long Buzz Lightyear towel, courtesy of our neighbor, Karen. He has a Buzz Lightyear bathing suit, courtesy of his brother who spotted it while we were shopping at Costco. He has an assortment of Buzz Lightyear action figures, courtesy of the Easter Bunny, Santa Clause, and his mother who caves every time she sees one in the store. (Yes, I know I'm feeding his addiction.)
And now he has a Buzz Lightyear lunch box that he takes with him everywhere he goes.
I can just imagine him toting his lunch to work in this thing when he's 30.
Of course if he is, I suspect he'll also still be living at home with us.