Blake turned 20 on Saturday. I can’t even believe it. He was 8 when I met him after Henry and I began dating, and it blows my mind to see that this green-haired maniac kid in an over-sized Korn tshirt has grown up to be such a cool big brother to Chooch. And Chooch just adores him, even though he started crying earlier at TGIFridays because Blake “always hurts [his] feelings!”
Chooch kept threatening to tell our waitress that Blake wanted to dance with her. I think he would have told her too, had she not have been blond. Chooch has a super-hard time talking to pretty blond girls.
Blake agreed to go to the cemetery afterward and take bro-photos because it’s been awhile. I just wish Henry’s oldest son Robbie would have been there too, to make it more legit! Oh well, that gives me more time to find matching outfits for them.
Posing by the “farm of weeners.” Thanks for teaching him that one, Blake!
There was some yuppie bitch there trying to take Christmas photos of her spoiled brat children and I was getting so pissed because they kept popping up in the background of my shots. We crossed paths at one point, and I could tell she was super jealous of my cooperative subjects as she attempting to pick up one of her tantrum-throwing dick kids off the ground.
Chooch HATED this photo because it was one that Blake wanted, not him. I’ve realized over the years that the easiest way to get this shit done is to just let Chooch do what he wants. He gets really into the idea of having his photo taken as long as we’re using his ideas.
Later that day, it occurred to me that at some point during the year, Blake is 14 years older than Chooch, I’m 14 years older than Blake, and Henry is 14 years older than me, but this never happens all at once.
(And yes, I know: Chooch and Blake look so much alike, and Chooch looks nothing like me. You got me! Chooch isn’t my kid!)