After we surrendered Don to Fallen Timber (his burial is this Thursday), I went straight to my room and basically bathed in a body wash of my own tears for the next two hours. But even I can only take so much sulking and despair, so I demanded that Henry take us to the park. I needed to get out of the house and keep busy.
Of course I still cried at the park too, which perfectly accentuated a ridiculous argument Henry and Chooch were having about his scooter and Henry being the worst dad ever. Hopefully someone recorded that for child services. That and when Choochie Knoxville LET GO of the swing, flew through the air backward, and landed in a perfectly painful bellyflop, at which point he protected his pain into anger, slapped my arm and said, “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!” (Literally, right now he just reminded me of the centimeter-size scrape on his elbow and said “Wah.”)
Hating us. And that was BEFORE his swing stunt.
I don’t know anything about the reproductive process of bees, but these two were either fornicating or fighting, and they even took it airborne after awhile. It was a nice distraction.
Henry bought us ice cream afterward but was all grumpy about it.
Watching Chooch wear his ice cream makes me ill. I hate food messes.
After Chooch went to bed, Henry and I sat outside with Marcy. He had some beer, I had some wine, and we talked about Don. I think Henry is sadder than he is letting on.