Chooch finally exchanged his Christmas gift duplicates. Henry and I kept trying to give him helpful suggestions, but always he’d gravitate right back to the goddamn Mighty Beanz aisle. He has wanted Mighty Beanz for months, but I’m usually able to distract him with something shinier and more useful, but not on this day. It was Mighty Beanz or nothing.
“Just let him get them,” I sighed to Henry. “I don’t even care anymore. It’s whatever.”
What are Mighty Beanz, you ask? Fuck if I know. But I can tell you that I’m very stressed out trying to make sure they don’t become estranged from each other. “PUT THEM SOMEWHERE SO THEY DON’T GET LOST!” I keep shouting to Chooch as my brow becomes dotted with beads of OCD.
In other news, Chooch piped up from the backseat the other day with a firm and decisive, “This is my JAM!” I can’t even remember what song it was now, but he is totally my kid.