As Week Two draws to a close, I have in my head a list of things I am thankful for.
- Puzzles that occupy Chooch
- Ability to shut Chooch out when he starts whining in frustration over said puzzle
- iCarly, for being one of the few shows that can keep Chooch quiet for the entire episode
- Janna, who has babysat me numerous times while I in turn babysit Chooch
- CVS, for being in walking distance
- That I don’t own a gun (thankfulness on this tip is debatable and changes by the hour)
- the convenient way tablespoons are marked on butter wrapper so idiots like me don’t have to panic
- MTV reality shows
a. because I forgot how much I love to emulate the theatrical warbling of raggedy orphans
1 . and this in turn gives Chooch a taste of his own obnoxious-coated medicine
b. it keeps alive my dream that the sun really will come out tomorrow, and by that, I mean a rich man will adopt me and it will be all “Henry who?” and you will see me tapdancing into the sunset, my friends.
Did something amazing yesterday, I did. I made cornbread on my own, and I only had to text Henry once for help. I even added real life corn into the mix (which tastes real good, by the way, salmonella be damned) and then, oh you will never believe this, while it was baking in the oven (yes, I made sure all the extraneous cookware was cleared out first. I learned the hard way when I still lived at home and attempted to bake cookies while a bag of missed crackers still sat in the corner of the oven-turned-pantry) I even took it upon myself to mix my own HONEY BUTTER. When it was done, I swiped a finger through it and exclaimed, “I did that!” which is the same thing Chooch says when he shits on the potty/Sharpies the wall/blows up the neighborhood with a homemade grenade.
And then of course, after all my slaving in the kitchen, Chooch was like, “Are you fucking kidding me, fool? I ain’t eating that shit.” Even when I tried to say it was cake, he backed away in horror and said, “I can’t like that.” Even when I lied and said, “Daddy made it!” he was like, “Uh, no, YOU made it. I watched you, retard.”
When Henry came home last night, I begged him to try some. He kept giving me excuses like:
- I’m not hungry
- I’m allergic
- I don’t like cornbread
- Look, you’re missing the Real World, omg!
But finally he conceded.
“It’s good right?” I asked expectedly. “I even put real corn in it. It’s like an actual Mexican made it, Henry.”
He said it was decent.
“What?” he asked, cornbread mastication ceased in apprehension.
“Well, the expiration date was from a year ago. But that’s probably OK, right? I mean, it tasted fine to me.”
He quit eating it after that, but swears it was just because he was full.
Whatever. I used fresh milk and eggs, at least. Besides, it said it was a SUGGESTED date. My personal suggestion was to use it yesterday.
“Joke’s on you, mommy-asshole.”