Aug 122013

It’s been kind of a long time since I took “real” photos of Chooch. Not that I don’t love my iPhone snaps of him, since those are the most candid, but I just feel like my stupid “real” camera has been sitting here, collecting dust because it’s so goddamn easy to fall into photography-apathy when you have the convenience of a tiny camera phone that fits comfortably in your palm.

I guess it was at my birthday dinner last week when I looked at him, like REALLY looked at him, and realized that he has grown so much since the last time we had a little photo shoot thingie. (God, I think that was in Decemeber. I’m a slacker.) And he looked so handsome in his little castle dinner attire that I decided we needed to take photos ASAP.

Henry was happy because it didn’t involve 87 trips to Goodwill, looking for the perfect costume or tea cups or animal masks. It was just Chooch and a guitar. (Although, Chooch really wanted to paint lines on his face, a la his new idol Christopher Drew, but CVS didn’t have thick brown eye liners that weren’t less than $10 and I didn’t feel like digging through my crap at home. Seriously, Wet n Wild, where’s your damn thick brown liners?!) However, it did involve a very Erinlicious temper tantrum and a moment that Henry told me later almost ended our 12 year run. (He is SO DRAMATIC though.) We were in this park—the same park where we letterboxed back in 2009, actually—and I just lost my shit because I hate when I ask Henry for help and HE DOES NOT HELP ME so I started coldcucking his face with death threats, and we made it MAYBE 10 minutes in the car, driving in silence, before we both started cracking up and I said, “Hey let’s just go home and eat lunch and then do this thang for real in the cemetery” and he was all, “Oh ho ho ho, I love you, my pretty princess” and the rest of the day was just a regular ol’ jubilee, you hear me?



This is the lone photo I was able to salvage from Take #1 in the park. I was all angry because there were so many people who kept trampling by while I was TRYING to murder Henry with my silver tongue, but Henry was like, “Yeah. This is a PARK, Erin.”

You can see, reflected upon Chooch’s face, the utter disdain felt by all. Henry even accidentally made Chooch cry (he supposedly hurt his back when he was lifting him up onto a log, but I think Chooch was just feeding off of our Amityville-caliber hatred for each other) at the precise moment a mom and her four kids walked past us, which is like, OK, whatever, but considering that my shrill motherfuckering mere moments before likely echoed through the valley, this entire brood was probably like, “OMG I hope our nice afternoon in the park doesn’t end with us having to call 911 on this lunatic woman.”


Thankfully, we were all in much better moods by the time we ate lunch and arrived at our favorite cemetery.



If you read Chooch’s guest post from Friday, then you already know he is REALLY INTO THE SUMMER SET all of a sudden. The funny thing is that they were at Warped Tour but we didn’t see them there and he didn’t realize that he liked them until one afternoon last week. So now it’s my fault that we didn’t see them at Warped Tour, of course, and I’m like, “WTF kid, they’re not my priority.” But anyway, Henry took him out to buy their latest CD and it’s OK, I don’t mind it. It’s pretty catchy pop-rock, I guess. I’m just thankful it’s not like, Miley Cyrus or something horrible. He sits in the backseat, poring over the liner notes, and singing along. It makes my heart swell. PLEASE BE IN A BAND WHEN YOU GROW UP, CHOOCH, OMG PLZ. I would 157% support that.



Our neighbor Toya gave Chooch this old kids’ guitar when she was moving out. He doesn’t actually know how to play it, and now it needs restrung, but he has expressed interest in learning so I’m all over this. ALL OVER IT. I won’t lie—there is a huge part of me that is praying (and I don’t pray!) that Warped Tour sticks around long enough for Chooch to make it on one of those stages OMG CAN YOU IMAGINE. I would be the proudest mom in the entire world. I’m totally not above riding on my son’s coattails.

But, you know. I’m trying not to be some big, asshole-y stage mom about it. Just like I’m letting him like the bands he wants to like, even though they’re not bands I’d necessarily be excited to see. To see him get excited is enough for me!


How Chooch does an arm party.


We were at Hot Topic on Saturday and when I saw this cat-head bow tie, I bought it STAT.



We did one wardrobe/location change but it was hot and we were all getting on each other’s nerves again so I pronounced this photo shoot dead. And then we got ice cream, but of course first we had to fight about WHERE we were getting ice cream. Yay, Sunday!


(Seriously, it’s hard to enjoy your orange cream cone and the soul-soothing tones of Christopher Cross’s seminal hit “Ride Like the Wind” when your company is sitting across from you arguing. GOD, GET SOME COUNSELING HENRY AND CHOOCH. See? My life is far from perfect, my friends. But that’s kind of how I like it.)

  4 Responses to “Coming To Blows: Just Another Photo Shoot”

  1. My God, you’re a good mom! I’m not joking. “To see him get excited is enough for me!” For fuck’s sake, I might have shed a mom-tear.

    I want that ice cream cone, like, right now please.

    • Thank you!

      When I was growing up, my step-dad was still super into music. I don’t think he went to concerts anymore, but he was always in the basement making mix tapes. He’s actually how I learned about the Cure! I can remember in high school, when we HATED each other, sneaking into his CD collection and borrowing David Bowie and Duran Duran CDs, lol. We get along fine now, but his music collection is definitely my best memory of him from when I was a kid!

  2. “He sits in the backseat, poring over the liner notes, and singing along. It makes my heart swell. ”


    These pictures are just outstanding. You really have an eye for it.

    • You know, it’s not my ideal choice of music, but it’s non-radio/mainstream music so I have to support that! It’s fun watching him develop his own tastes when it comes to music. I don’t want him to think he only has to like what I like, because where’s the fun in that?

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