Things About Henry – Page 3 – Oh Honestly, Erin

The Girl, Sept08 Version

stalking, That I Like, Things About Henry

Sep 132008

Henry just sent me this picture of THE GIRL that he nabbed in the library. I am overjoyed, seriously tickled to the brightest pink in the apples of my cheeks.

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And not only because he gifted me with another secret picture of THE GIRL to add to my collection, but also because my very own Henry has finally, after seven years of being my reluctant beau, succumbed to the dark and seedy underworld of stalking.

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Take my hand, Henry; you’ll be safe down here with me.

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Lowe’s: Just as Boring as Home Depot

blackberry post, Henrying, That I Hate, Things About Henry

Jul 202008

At Lowe’s on the current. Henry wanted Chooch and me to stay in the car so he could just run in and buy a padlock for work. First Chooch started crying so Henry reluctantly unstrapped him and took him out of the car. Then I was like, "Me too" and boy was Henry ever frustrated.

In the lock aisle, I suggested Henry purchase a delightful lime green lock with an alpha passcode, which he would then naturally choose "tuna" as the secret word and then proceed to scream real loud.

But instead he chose to ignore me and spent several painful minutes pursing his moustachioed lips while perusing the selection with constipating seriousness. I made some comment coated with teenaged attitude about all locks being the same, to which Henry angrily responded with a boring lesson on the varying sizes of padlocks and what it all means.

Meanwhile, Chooch was running off with thieved merchandise from shelves and I was bitching about how boring it is at Lowe’s. "This is why I wanted both of you to stay in the car!" Henry barked.

Then some dude with a limp, a protruding lip, and the general demeanor of a kid who spent his childhood making bombs and having no friends, came over and attempted to make two keys for Henry’s golden padlock of choice, but failed because he was too busy staring at my boobs and plotting the demise of our Nation to find the key code on the package. Not sure if there’s any correlation there.

On our way out, an elderly Lowe’s employee with icy blue eyes said "thank you" but I thought she said "Bury a deer."

Sappy Father’s Day Shit

chooch, That I Like, Things About Henry

Jun 152008

When I gave birth to Chooch, Henry slept at the hospital every night. Maybe it was because he was afraid he’d get his nads lopped off if he didn’t, but it was still a fair indication of how he was going to be as a father: very hands-on and always there. You know, the kind of father I never had.

Chooch and Henry are attached at the hip. They go grocery shopping together, they practically live at Target, and sometimes Chooch even gets to go to Henry’s workplace with him. (He loves it there because it’s a juice warehouse.) Henry does all the hard stuff, like cook actual well-balanced meals for him (as opposed to my popcorn-for-breakfast and freezepops-for-lunch methodology). He gets him strapped into the carseat in less than a minute without pinching skin. (It takes me three times a long and I usually hurt myself.)

Henry makes sure I don’t teach Chooch knife-throwing and flame-eating; that I don’t teach him how to build bombs and invent creative obscenities. Henry makes sure Chooch likes and respects other people and never runs out of diapers and juice. Henry never leaves him in the car with the windows up or snorts rails of coke off his ass. Henry’s catchphrase is "Don’t listen to your mother."

Henry has the daunting task of being the responsible parent. Henry is the father I never had.

While it remains to be seen if Henry and I will live happily ever after, at least I know Chooch will always have a dependable dad.

Happy Father’s Day to all you dad-dudes out there.

I’m kind of a crappy mom

chooch, Henrying, That I Like, Things About Henry

May 122008

Today, I took Chooch over my friend Jess’s. Usually I don’t have a car during the day, so whenever I go out with Chooch, Henry is with us too. But today was the day of Independence, so I loaded Chooch and all his shit in the car and after fifteen minutes of struggling with the car seat straps and retrieving all the shit I forgot in the house, we were finally ready to go.

We had to stop at CVS first to pick up some stuff for Jess. Apparently, Chooch is perfect when Henry takes him to the store. But with me, it’s always game time, so he was trying to get me to spin in circles and then wanted me to sit on the floor with him and he was pulling me in a trillion directions so I ended up having to hold him while we were in line and some old man was causing a ruckus over toilet paper and I was like, "Just pay for it, asshole, can’t you see I’m holding a eighty thousand pound toddler?"

After we left, I called Henry to tell him I appreciate him, because I can’t imagine being a single mom and having to do this shit on my own all the time. I get frazzled easily so I was nearly in tears, after struggling with the car seat again, and I think I ended the phone call by whimpering, "And I’m pretty sure his shoes aren’t on right." Pretty much the jokiest mother ever. Seriously, I’m useless. Unless it involves running around, screaming, and making up monster voices.

I even texted a heartfelt "I<3u" to Henry again, out of desperation, and I think it had an effect on him because he bought me a new camera. Yes Henry, I’m keeping you. A proposal might be nice, too, though. Just a suggestion.

Jess just had a baby a week ago and named him Gavin. It was Chooch’s first time around a baby. He was enrapt, confused, suspicious, annoyed, enamored all at once; his head was probably very near-explosion. Naturally, the first thing he did was go straight for the soft spot with his fist. He kept saying, "Baby!" and doing the sign for it. Then he was trying to tickle him, I think? I don’t know, but he was stabbing the baby with his finger and saying "diddle diddle" and it was weird. Usually, he puts up a good struggle when it comes time to have his diaper changed, but when he saw Jess changing Gavin’s diaper, he pulled me off the couch and said, "Uh-oh, pee" and patted his diaper. Then he layed down, willingly, on the floor, and remained calm and still while I changed him. If only it was always like that.

He started to get annoyed at the lack of attention, though. His remedy for that was standing on his head, slamming into walls, and performing a small sign language show for us. Then he would fall on purpose and say, "SOWWY!" Yes Chooch, we’re watching you. Yes Chooch, you’re amazing. I think it was his way of saying, "That baby is ok, but let’s not bring one home." Chooch, I just got my fat ass down to a size medium, so don’t worry: there are no babies in my future.

Happy Birthday Chooch, Here’s a Nice Flesh Wound

chooch, Henrying, That I Hate, Things About Henry

Apr 252008

When Chooch was around four months old, I accidentally sliced skin while trimming his nails. There was blood, there was tears, and there was a split second when I realized this was my chance to eschew the term ‘boo boo’ from our household lexicon. It’s just one of those babyish words that I hate. "Oh no, you got a Borden! You got a little Lizzie Borden on your finger, poor baby!"

Unfortunately, Chooch hasn’t had many spills resulting in any visible marring of the flesh (fortunately, I mean! Fortunately!), so the cute and fluffy term never had a chance to stick.

But apparently last night, Father of the Year allowed Chooch to fall on the sidewalk and scrape his knee. Now, I was at work when this happened, but to further plow Henry’s good name straight into a landfill of shit, I like to imagine that when it happened, he was too busy slurping dented cans of Schlitz and thumbing through the Yellow Pages looking for bait shops and hookers while Chooch wandered around in a stupor of neglect, diaper hanging open on one hip and poop crusted on his hands.

This morning, we were sitting on the couch and I noticed his little scrape on the knee. He saw me looking at it and said, "Boo boo!" Goddammit! No! Every time he said it, I quickly corrected him. "Yeah, you got a Borden! Ouchie!" I can just hear Henry in my head, teaching him that it’s a booboo. "Oh no buddy, you got a BOO BOO! Now let’s go inside and I’ll give you your BINKY and we’ll watch BARNEY and sing HANNAH MONTANA songs!" So I pointed to the scrape again and said, "Happy birthday, Chooch. That was Daddy’s gift to you."

Things About Henry: That I Hate

Henrying, That I Hate, Things About Henry

Mar 222008

We’re at Home Depot and Henry is trying to teach me about light bulbs.

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I’m not listening so essentially he’s talking to himself because trust me, Chooch could give a shit.

This place is boring and the sawdust fumes are giving me a headache.

Things About Henry: That I Hate

Henrying, That I Hate, Things About Henry

Mar 172008

When he asks me to be more specific about the obvious.

"Henry, where are my keys?" I have two keys: house and car. They’re bound together in holy matrimony by the power of one keychain.

"The keys to….?"

"The titanium vault where we keep all the Nazi bodies and velvet satchels of rubies. The car, you fucking asshole."

When he’s vague when the question warrants specifics.

"What are you making?"

"Dinner."

"But what is it?"

"Food."

A Friendly Phone Tip, by Erin

Henrying, That I Hate, Things About Henry, Uncategorized

Feb 182008

When I notice I have a missed call from you, and I text you to see wtf you wanted, do not reply with "accident" unless you’re in the back of an ambulance. Because my heart is going to start performing palpitation gymnastics when I see that word, and when I find out you meant, "I called you by accident" and not "Hello, I had an automobile accident and am currently entangled in metal carnage" I’m going to want to take you from "accident" to "funeral" with one swift kick.

Got that, Henry?

(I can’t decide if I was more worried about Henry’s well being or the possibility that he totaled my mom’s car, which he was driving.)

A Very Non-Suicidal V-Day

chooch, Henrying, Photographizzle, That I Like, Things About Henry

Feb 142008

Happy Valentine’s Day! So far, Henry hasn’t made me want to kill myself. I finally got to present him with the Vietnam Veteran belt buckle I bought him from etsy. It’s flooding with gold-plated hokeyness. When it fell out of the bag and into his palms, he kind of stared at it with that amazing brand of disbelief that you hope every gift recipient is addled with, and then he looked at me, his mustache creeping into a confused smile, and he said, "But I wasn’t in Vietnam….?"

"But you were in THE SERVICE! Same thing." I was still standing there, waiting for him to attach it to his belt.

"No, if this said Air Force, that would make sense. Then it would be the Service…" He flipped it over to look at the lavishly coated back.

"Well, just wear it. No one will know you’re not a Vietnam Vet." I was getting annoyed, and I really wanted MY present.

"Yes they will! I’m like, twenty years too young!" And then I couldn’t stop laughing, imagining Henry being "too young" for something.

"Like I said," I repeated, "no one will notice!"

And then he realized he doesn’t have the right kind of belt for a buckle, but I think he was trying to just get out of wearing it. I knew I should have bought the rainbow one that had "JESUS" emblazoned on it.

Then UPS hurled my present against the front door. Henry, further enabling my wanton lust for living in the past, gifted me with a bottle of Versace Red Jeans, one of my favorite scents as a young slut. The gift box was adorned with an elastic red ribbon, which is now being worn as a headband, so I’m pretty content right now.

And we’re going to Columbus next weekend! This sure beats the time he bought me a Fossil watch for Valentine’s Day, using a gift card my mom got me for Christmas.