Sweating at the fair.
Chooch is going through a shirtless phase (again) so all week, I’ve been getting dropped off at work by Henry and my hillbilly son. This is how I noticed today that Chooch had some red spots on his stomach.
“Are those bug bites or chicken pox?” I asked him, because all five-year-olds can properly diagnose themselves.
“Oh my god!” he exclaimed. “I’ve never been bitten by a CHICKEN before!” Finally, my kid said something age appropriate and swear-wordless—-something that normal kids would say!
No stranger to the joys of making Henry’s life as annoying as possible, Chooch approached me last night and said, “I have a really great idea. Find a picture of Jonny Craig on your phone and then I’ll say, ‘Daddy, come look at this picture of a cupcake!’ but really, it’ll be Jonny Craig. Daddy will be so pissed.” Of course, I responded with a resounding, “Son, that is the BEST IDEA EVER” and together we sat on the couch emitting low-octave, throaty giggles approved by 9 out of 10 deviants.
When Henry came over after being summoned and saw that it was a picture of Jonny Craig, he was indeed pissed.
God, how we laughed.
I got a letter today from the Catholic Diocese regarding the financial aid for Chooch’s school (yes, we decided to keep him in Catholic school, and yes, I’m aware of this irony). I was reading the letter out loud in a devil voice, and when I got to the part that said “God bless your family,” Chooch asked, “What? Did we sneeze?” But the way he said it, it could have been Joe Pesci sitting beside me, not a fucking five-year-old.
If Chooch wasn’t so entertaining, Henry would probably be a single father by now.
In other news (and apologies if we’re Facebook friends and you have already read this shit multiple times), we leave Saturday morning for a week in Tennessee and I love sending post cards; there is just such a satisfying feeling of scrawling out a ridiculous account of the time you’re having away from home and bugging your dad (Henry) for postage money. Makes me feel like a kid at Disneyworld. If you want one (a postcard, not a kid at Disneyworld), please email me your addess (firstname.lastname@example.org); someone might even be lucky enough to get one from Henry’s eyebrow (it’s been known to happen)!