Usually by the third day of a three day weekend, Henry, Chooch, and I are at each others throats. But I mean, that’s normal family talk, right? YOU LOVE ‘EM BUT YOU DON’T LIKE ‘EM.
Except that by some crazy act of god, we had an exceptionally peaceful day and actually, dare I say, ENJOYED each others company??
And this was all without the aid of roadside tent-purchased firecrackers!
How motherfucking un-American, I know.
We went to one of our favorite nature spots—Homewood Cemetery—and ran amok like morons (two of us, anyway), namedropped birds (one of us), and spent a good ten minutes enjoying the show a groundhog put on by peeking his adorable head out of a nearby hole (ALL OF US). So much nature and dead things!
Chooch serenaded his broken stick with a creepy rendition of Sarah McLachlan’s ASPCA-anthem “Angel.”
Surprisingly not pissing in the pond. “Looking for frogs” is their claim.
This shirt was one of my Gillcrest finds and I love it so much. Battle of the Network Stars ringer tee vibes all up on yo’ girl.
Reppin’ that Hotel Books sad boy scene. You know what they say about families that listen to emo together….
….they cry together?
He looks so put out as usual, but I’ll have you know Chooch and I entertained him right down to the individually-wrapped prunes on his cargo pockets. He only yelled at us and called us idiots about 29 times! A low number for one of our family outings.
Shit really got crunk (lol yeah I went back to 2003 and I’ll do it because I’m a blogging renegade) when Chooch found a rogue TENNIS BALL and we played CATCH in the CEMETERY and successfully intimidated some poor kid who was learning how to drive in mom’s SUV.
I think “playing catch” is something that people did before smartphones happened.
Our version of playing catch is more like imagining that Chooch is perched above a dunk tank. Henry apparently “hurt his arm” from whaling the ball so hard at HIS LAST BORN SON.
I hurt my arm too, but my hurt happened the day before when we were doing YARDWORK at my pappap’s house and I used….wait for it…
….hedgeclippers for the very first time and wound up with a callous and arthritis.
I did it for like 45 minutes!
Which, if you ask Henry, is more like 20 minutes in Erin Time.
Even my mom was kind of like, “I can’t watch this” and went in the house.
After the cemetery (and after I nearly peed my pants because LOL PLAYING CATCH), we went to Millie’s for an ice cream cone lunch because that’s how we chose to celebrate the day, OK? Also, no cookouts to go to. We’re loners, Dottie.
I had pistachio rose and yogurt date — what a divine combo. It felt like a real mythical pairing, you know? Like I should have been straddling a Sphinx.
Chooch got CHOCOLATE AND VANILLA. God, his palate is so fucking pedestrian. I’m so embarrassed. What a piss-poor job I’ve done at parenting. Here’s my basic kid, World. All your intricate and sophisticated flavor profiles make him puke in his mouth.
We have to seat him by the nearest napkin dispenser everywhere we go. (SPEAKING OF NAPKIN DISPENSERS!!!)
Later that night, our GROWN ASS CHILD went to Dormont Park with Dimajio and his older sister to watch the fireworks. I was equally “WOOOO FREEDOM!’ and “OMG DO YOU THINK HE’S OK WITHOUT US?!”
I didn’t grow up as a city kid–I was allllll suburbs and sheltered, baby. So it’s pretty interesting watching Chooch living that city kid life.
Anyway. That was how we chose to celebrate our 7/4 and it was hilariously perfect. Look at that, I guess sometimes I like these assholes, too.