It was a nice day yesterday so when Chooch came home from school, I ushered him right back outside so we could take some pictures. I like to try and post up-to-date photos of him on here whenever I can, on the off-chance that my estranged mother might decide to swing by the blog to get a refresher on what her grandson looks like.
Like that would ever happen.
He woke up two Saturdays ago with the most awesome (Biblical sense) bedhair I’ve ever seen. If Christofer Drew (Never Shout Never) had seen it, he probably would have tried to interrogate Chooch on the exact slumbering position which gained him such a scene rat-nest. It served as an intense impetus to get me to escort him to the nearest salon. I kind of hate what the lady did to him, but I guess it’s better than it was. His sideburns were practically fluttering wings before BoRics intervened.
These were the only photos I got out of him before he started doing the pee-jig and we had to race to the house, at which point it took me approximately 87 minutes to help him finagle his jeans off because he was wearing a belt, the mechanisms of which I just can’t for the life of me comprehend and Henry was at work. Life is so hard when Henry isn’t around to bail me out.