Everything about Sunday screamed, “IT’S SPRINGTIME, EVERYBODY! SPRING CAME EARLY! DUST OFF THOSE BOOTY SHORTS!” (Or maybe that was just Henry screaming that.) The sky looked like it was colored by the purest blue Crayola crayon and the sun was straight out of a cartoon. It was warm enough to open the sunroof on my car, even.
Henry had shit to do around the house, and nothing assures that the shit will get done more than me leaving him alone. You know I really wanted him to work on the kitchen (we’re* just doing minor cosmetic shit to it, like painting) when I tell Chooch that yes, we will go geocaching.
*(Lol, “we’re.” All I’ve done so far is pick out the paint!)
Honestly, I can’t find enough hateful words to properly illustrate how much I hate geocaching. But my damn kid loves it, so I thought maybe it could be a nice Mommy-Son day.
Even when it’s at one of my favorite cemeteries?
I just hate it. The clues were for the birds. I slipped down a hill. I yelled a lot of things that probably left a lasting blemish on Chooch’s childhood.
After about 30 minutes of digging around the same tint area, I threw my arms up in the air and cried, “FUCK IT, I’M DONE.” And Chooch was like, “You have like no patience, OMG” and I said, “Let’s go for a walk around the cemetery” and he said, “Ow, but my legs are so tired. Walking is terrible” and I said, “Then we’ll get ice cream after” and he said “Fine.”
I should be a playwright.
One of my biggest downfalls is that I don’t spend enough time with Chooch, just the two of us. It’s mostly because I like that when Henry is with us, I won’t have to worry about anything. Or, you know, parent. So I’m trying to change that. I mean, we’ve been fine at the hockey games and we’ve managed to survive two concerts together without Henry’s supervision, so what’s a little Sunday stroll, right?
Except that I wasn’t paying attention when we left the cemetery and I ended up missing a turn or something and I knew where I was, but couldn’t think fast enough about how to get back on track. My mind always works against me when it comes to directions. I have been to Homewood Cemetery a million zillion times and even know at least 4 different ways to get there, but something broke down in my head when we left last Sunday, probably because Chooch was talking. Anyway, we ended up near Oh Yeah!, so it felt like kismet. We were originally just going to get ice cream in Brookline, but now a wrong turn put us right in the vicinity of one of our favorite ice cream places!
I was so fucking proud of myself!
Look what I did!!
Except it’s not there anymore. There Facebook page is rife with drama. There was some kind of scandal? I don’t know. But that place never served me a bad cone, and I had some pretty weird add-in combinations there.
So then we were lost again and I kept trying to make a left turn against traffic and that was stressing me out, while Chooch was looking up other ice cream places on Yelp and I snapped, “WE’LL JUST EAT ICE CREAM AT HOME BECAUSE FUCK THIS SHIT!” And he was all, in his best grown-up voice, “Would you just calm the hell down?” And I was like, “Son, that’s good advice. I will try to calm down.” And so he directed me to the Scoops that it’s in Bloomfield, the sister shop to the one down the street from us where we were originally going to go, and I was miraculously able to get a parking spot on the street and everything seemed to be going my way, until we got inside the super tiny shop and there was a group of 5 assholes standing there, taking up valuable real estate while eating their ice cream, and they stared at us while we looked at our choices. Meanwhile, some old broad in front of us ordered a large freeze, and did you know those things take like 10 MINUTES TO MAKE?! So we just stood there, while these assholes licked their cones and bore holes into us with their judgmental eyes, the old lady waited for her freeze, and a group of 4 young hooligans came in and tried to cut in front of us.
It was a really stressful experience. I think Chooch felt pressured too, because when it was his turn to order, he couldn’t blurt it out fast enough. I paid for our cones and whisked Chooch out of the shop, where we ate our ice cream under the peace and wide-open space of the great outdoors. I couldn’t believe those assholes were standing in there like that. They weren’t waiting for anyone! They were just quietly eating their ice cream and stealing precious oxygen from the rest of us who hadn’t ordered yet. Way too many people for that tiny shop.
I can’t believe I wasted so much time writing about this. I guess I was more mad than I thought, since it’s 6 days later and I’m actually rage-biting my lower lip right now.
I think I might need to take up kick-boxing again.
Chooch was adamant on having “Let’s Go Pens” sprinkles on his Moosetracks.
I yelled, “NO ICE CREAM IN MY CAR” so we casually strolled around Bloomfield until our cones were sufficiently masticated. We walked past many of the tree beds that my Law Firm crew helped mulch last year and I was sad, yet not surprised, to see that our hard work had since unraveled, and all the spots were covered with weeds and cigarette butts once again.
Aside from the geocaching, the getting lost, and the idiots breathing my air inside of Scoops, I had a nice afternoon with Chooch. He must have had a nice time too, because a little while after we came home, I found him in his room folding his clothes! NO ONE TOLD HIM TO DO THAT! In fact, no one has ever taught him to do that, either. He said he learned by watching the employees at Target and Kohls. Maybe I should try that since my version of “folding clothes” is “rolling them up and punching them into the drawer.”
And this is the end of my Sunday afternoon recap. Look for the stage version coming soon to a Walmart loading dock near you.