Pascal wouldn’t give Pancho money for ice cream. Mother gave him five whole dollars and said to make sure his brother got an ice cream, but Pascal spent it all on a candle for his dumb girlfriend who stunk like PSLs and was real frangible, Pascal said. She spent hours carving her face and Pancho thought she looked hideous. Pancho hated her. Peg. What a dumb name.

Pancho really wanted a motherfucking ice cream, and what made Pascal the fugleman of frosty funds? Pancho hated Pascal even more than he hated Peg and her silicon chest-gourds.

Everyone knew they were fake!

“And stop carrying that ax around everywhere. No one is scared!” Pascal sneered at Pancho. “Everyone knows it’s fake!” Just like Peg’s pepos, Pancho thought quietly to himself. “Mother bought it at the Halloween store for $8!”

Pascal was wrong though. Unlike Peg’s synthetic jugs, his ax was real. He swapped it out with Farmer Picklepecker’s real like battle ax last week after Pascal made fun of him for carrying around a baby’s weapon. What are you gonna kill with that thing? Stink bugs? The pimples on your back? Pascal yelled across the playground one day, when Pancho was talking to his crush, Pepper.

Pepper laughed so hard, it was all Pancho could hear in his head, like sheets of metal shaking against his ears. She laughed and laughed and laughed until she was nothing more but a bad memory stuffed inside a dumpster with rotted meat and cat shit.

Pancho grudgingly followed Pascal home along the river. It was getting late and Mother would be expecting them to set the mannequins up near the window; ever since Pa ran off with the Bulgarian gymnast coach, Mother liked the neighbors to think that the house was full of friends and livelihood, as if she wasn’t eating her weight in beer nuts and watching DVRd recordings of Family Feud, and not even the good ones with Richard Dawson, but that shitty Steve Harvey garbage.

Hearing the river whooshing below them, Pancho considered pushing Pascal into it, but Pascal caught on quickly; his rounded eye-cuts made for exceptional peripheral peering and his reflexes were on point.

“I’ll rip your stem off!” Pascal laughed.

“You’re such a dumb baby. Dear Diary, my brother wouldn’t buy me ice cream today. I am a big cry baby. I am going to stick my pacifier in my mouth now.” Pascal laughed at his own stupid joke and Pancho started to cry.

“I’m going to tell Mother on you!” Pancho whimpered.

“Oh no, please don’t tell MOTHER on me,” Pascal begged, dragging down his voice with theatrical whines.

Pascal’s mocking tone took Pancho back to a time when Mother bought him a new doll for Christmas, the kind with human heads and long flaxen hair.

The kind that Pancho would tattoo with Mother’s simmering cigarette butts.

The kind that Pancho would decapitate with Mother’s pinking shears.

And then Pancho drifted off into a sanguinary gapeseed as Pascal’s needling taunts and baby-talked derision faded away until it blended with the birds above and the blood crashing against the inside of his head.

And then—-

Static.

[Alternately titled: Bored during my lunch break when it’s raining and there’s nowhere else to go but sit at my idiotic desk.]

Today we hung out with Blake so I could photograph a sequel to the pumpkin head photos that he posed for in 2009. I wanted to use the inside of a church as the location but Henry was like NOT IN THIS NEIGHBORHOOD so then Blake suggested that we walk down a bike trail nearby in Hays, which took us past the spot where Barb’s beloved eagle nest is located. IN YER FACE BARB!

Anyway, it was a nice leisurely stroll and Chooch and Blake were excited because they saw a bitch fall off her bike BUT I MISSED IT, UGH. 

“And she even had training wheels!” Chooch wheezed with laughter, at which point Blake said he didn’t realize it was a kid and now he was having laughter remorse; I would not have tried to return my laughter though HAD I SEEN IT. 

Hope everyone had a non-volatile Sunday with little-to-no bicycle spills. 

 Flailing. 

Typical. 

Afterward, we went to Steak n Shake, where Blake fake-bullied Chooch and then Chooch fake-cried (he is scarily good at that) pretty much the whole time and I think the only reason we didn’t get kicked out is because the employees were being just as rowdy and obnoxious and they were apparently bullying our waitress?! I didn’t know this until after we left and Henry mentioned that there was a group of them talking shit on her, wtf? 

Now I kind of want to go back and defend her honor, even though she served me a grilled cheese with a BEEF PATTY on it. 

My favorite part was when Blake tried to force Chooch to eat a crayon while people at other tables were probably recording the scene to later parent-shame us on social media. 

And also when Blake spilled Chooch’s lemonade during one of their violent fits on each other. 

And let’s not forget when Blake smashed the cardboard kids meal bus that he and Chooch built together, causing Chooch to dramatically and believably fake-cry, making Blake look like a grade A brute. 

 
The only thing that was missing was one of them hauling back an arm to punch the other, but accidentally missing and punching a loaded tray out of a waitress’s hands. 

Yesterday, I remembered this old Lip Service Asian-style smoker’s jacket thing that I bought ages ago when Avalon in Oakland was awesome and sold new shit and not “gently worn” basic bitch cardigans. Obviously, I’m too fat so sad to wear it anymore, but I paid a lot of money for it and I like it too much to sell on eBay or drop off at Goodwill. Plus, this was supposed to be my signature jacket for once I was turned into a vampire and I’m still clinging on to that, OK?

Chooch and I were bored yesterday evening. Henry was napping (what a shocker). I needed to take a break from the painting I’m currently working on, and that’s usually when I pull out the camera. Taking pictures always calms me down. Except for when Chooch gives me a hard time and then we fight and we hate each other and I make him an orphan and then Henry yells at both of us and there are tears and I threaten to smash my camera against a tombstone.

(OMG remember the unicorn in the wheelchair photoshoot when Chooch and I were unsupervised and far away from home!?)

Chooch was having a pretty good hair day so I yanked that jacket out of the back of my closet, knocking a bunch of other things off the hangers and then leaving them on the floor for Henry to pick up later. I had Chooch try it on and it actually kind of fit him so I asked him if he would wear it in pictures and he was like, “WOULD I?” as he gently stroked the faux-fur on the sleeves.

We originally had no theme in mind until we went in the backyard and saw that our neighbor Larry*had a shovel and wheelbarrow laying around, so Chooch grabbed the shovel and started digging. And that’s how this happened.

*(I have no idea who this guy is but Chooch literally knows every single person on our street; he’s much more people-y than I am)

My favorite memory of this jacket is from 1998, when I was having a big party at my townhouse (it was first post-high school apartment so you can imagine what went on there) for my friend Lisa’s birthday. One of my mom’s friends lived in the same townhome complex and saw me in the parking lot that night wearing this jacket. She called my mom and totally NARC’d on me, because she knew I didn’t have a job and made some passive aggressive comment about how “Erin is always wearing such nice, fancy clothes.” BECAUSE I HAD A CORPORATE AMERICAN EXPRESS CARD THAT MOMMY PAID FOR, mind your own business, cooze!

But yeah, my mom called me the next day and was all, “Blah blah called me and said…

”

It wasn’t even THAT expensive, maybe like $150? Which I guess is kind of a lot of money for a sporadically-employed 18-year-old sometimes-telemarketer to spend on a jacket that she knew she was only going to wear twice, probably.

Hot Naybor Chris came out at one point to get something from his garage.

He looked at us, did a double take, raised one eyebrow curiously, and then shrugged. God love him.

This was his own pose. I think he really liked wearing that jacket.

I just let him do whatever keeps him content and easy to work with. I learned that the hard way over the years.

And since Chooch was wearing his Never Shout Never shirt underneath the jacket, here is one of their new songs. They just released their new album last month and we were listening to it in the car yesterday when we went to visit our friend Ricky, and I felt like I was in a psychedelic haze by the time it played the whole way through.

I gotta hand it to Chooch for making me give NSN a second chance when he got into them two years ago, because I had way too hastily written off Christofer Drew. That kid is a fucking weirdo in all the best ways, and the new album is fantastic.

See also: I need to give my fingers a break from typing so here’s a photo dump, Blog.

Words cannot describe how beautiful Savannah is. I’ve wanted to visit so badly, that I was kind of starstruck to the point of not taking as many photos as I should have. (Yay, just what you guys need—more fucking photos!)

Octavia wanted to take us in this church but some asshole had to go and die and have their idiot funeral that day. Way to ruin my birthday, dead person.

Henry was happy that this plan was foiled by the reaper, because he dislikes being in god’s house.

I was stupid-scared of these steps, but Octavia said this warning was mostly there for drunk people and hobos, both of which I walk like on a good day, so that didn’t help. NICE TRY, OCTAVIA.

Henry was considering walking straight off into the river and drowning himself. Chooch was starting to that thing that kids sometimes do called TESTING THEIR PARENTS’ PATIENCE.

We spent about 15 minutes scrutinizing Forrest Gump movie stills on Octavia’s phone until we settled on this being the site of Chippewa Square where Forrest’s bench was. There were people on Segways congregating there before us, so maybe?

We saw an antique shop and Chooch wanted to go in but all I could think about was how I really didn’t want a replay of the Chooch in a China Shop episode of our weekend in Philly last winter.

Yeah! Me too! Bandwagoner!

Lastly, here is Chooch with the succulent/weed he plucked out of the sidewalk for me.

We started to walk back to the parking garage around 4:30, because it was HOT and we were all pretty exhausted. Thank god we left when we did because by the time we got back to Bonaventure for Octavia to retrieve her car, THEY WERE BASICALLY CLOSED. There were some workers by the gate and they tried to stop us from driving in but Henry was like, “We’re just taking her back to her car!” and then all exchanged blue collar, uniform-wearing hyuks and we were allowed to pass by. Henry is so weird when it comes to interacting with those kinds of people.

After saying our temporary goodbyes, we headed back to the “hotel” so we could rest for a little bit before attempting to find somewhere to eat dinner.

“What’s Octavia’s real name?” Chooch said from the backseat.

“Uhhh….Octavia?” I answered in my favorite condescending teenager tone.

This seemed to please him. He’s basically obsessed with her now.

Today I decided I wanted to take some photos of Henry and Chooch, because it’s been awhile. Caution: Henry smiles in some of these. (SOME.)

Forlorn.

It’s not easy for Chooch to make normal faces.

He was mad because I took him away from his dumb friends to, god forbid, spend family time together in the cemetery.

Henry could have buttoned his shirt at least once more so that he’d look less like second cousin Eugene who lost all his money in a cyber-mall pyramid scheme in 1998 and reeks of Wild Turkey and dumpster cabbage. 

Henry’s favorite part of the day.

Life is rough, you guys.

LOL SORRY FOR THE PHOTO DUMP.

It rained A LOT over the weekend, so when we had a little bit of a reprieve on Sunday afternoon, I begged Chooch to go for a walk with me. And then, since he got to buy a new Skylander on Saturday, I guilted him into letting me take more pictures of him, because I was bored as fuck. (This happens every time I designate a “chill” weekend. I am just not meant to sit at home.)

Henry, barely glancing up from the couch, mumbled, “Be careful” as we walked out the door.

There are a lot of creepy alleys in Brookline, so we picked one and went from there.

Chooch’s dumb mouth set off a series of dog-barking, which was totally annoying and brought a ton of attention to the two a-holes slinking around suspiciously behind houses. As we neared what seemed to be the alpha dog on the street, I mistakenly said, “Hi buddy!” which alerted, I am not shitting you, EIGHT MORE DOGS to come charging at the fence from the side of the house.

Granted, they were all really small dogs, terriers and things like that (I’m bad with recognizing canine breeds), but their barks were way bigger than the large alpha dog guarding the gate. Chooch and I cracked up because it was so cartoon-ish how this herd of tiny dogs just materialized seemingly out of nowhere.

I bet that street doesn’t have a burglary problem.

His face is always dirty.

Chooch got this shirt from the Pierce the Veil show in Lancaster when he was 6. I think it’s an Adult XS and now it almost doesn’t fit him anymore! :(

Yes, please. Pretend like you’re breaking and entering. Alert more hounds.

I like this one because it looks like he’s in a “DON’T COME NEAR ME!” stance, which is lovely and sends all the right messages to Child Protective Services.

Almost all of Chooch’s time these days is monopolized by the neighborhood kids (he has a fan club — they sit on the porch and wait for him) so I was happy that he gave me 30 minutes of his precious time. He actually didn’t even bitch about it once we got out of the door!

I’m pretty sure the only reason Chooch agreed to go on this walk with me is because he was hoping to stumble upon his GIRLFRIEND.

On the way home, we walked past succulent city! Some house had a whole shit load of succulents in long troughs and I plucked one of the leaves right the fuck off so I could take it home and propagate it because “propagate” is now a regular part of my vocabulary. Chooch was appalled that I “stole” this, but no dogs barked so it was an easy getaway.

***

Later that night, I was inspired by the upcoming premier of the new MTV Scream series (and also my brother Corey’s fanatical texts while watching MTV’s Scream marathon) to revisit the first Scream movie. Somehow, Chooch has lived nine years without ever seeing it (though he does know about it), so he ran upstairs to grab his blanket and then settled in on the couch with Henry and me in a rare, American family moment. (Henry will usually go in the other room and pretend like he’s doing important things on the computer when we watch horror movies because he’s scared.)

“That lady looks familiar,” Chooch said at one point.

“She was on ‘Friends,'” I said, and then he knowingly said, “Oh yeah. Courtney Cox.”

This cracked me up, that a nine-year-old knows Courtney Cox’s name because of ‘Friends’.

Anyway, after Scream ended, Chooch emphatically announced, “I LOVED IT.” And then, after thinking about it, he added, “I didn’t know it was going to be so funny, too.” Nothing fazes him.

Incredibly, Chooch agreed to an impromptu photo shoot today when I came home from work and didn’t even ask for money or Skylanders in return. And I know exactly why.

Chooch has a “girlfriend” apparently. She’s someone from his class and before school ended, they exchanged Instagram names. So now he’s all about pictures of himself, so that he can post them and then tag her to see if she’ll say anything. Usually it’s things like, “You’re weird.”

So he was like, “Yeah let’s do this thang.”

His go-to pose.

His hair combined with his loud mouth make it easy to keep tabs on him when he’s out and about.

Obligatory Flock of Seagulls shot.

In other news, taking in-focus photos is becoming increasingly harder for me to accomplish because my eyesight is getting so horrible but I still haven’t made an appointment to get them checked because I LIVE DANGEROUSLY. Also because I constantly forget to do adult things.

Well, guys. I’m still obsessed with my succulents. Earlier tonight, I unwound by taking some of them outside for a PHOTO SHOOT. It gets really wild over here sometimes. And crunk, too, if anyone still says that. Anyway, I named this one Suzy Banyon.

One of the downsides to where I live is that there are ALWAYS people walking by and I kind of felt like I was being watched as I filmed a porno, you know? Because what I was doing was so INTIMATE. I’ve never been one to take photos of flowers and general objects of nature, so that’s how you know I am infatuated with my dumb plant collection. Henry’s mom was here today and right away I shouted COME LOOK AT MY PLANTS OMG. She agreed that Bae is pretty much the shit. 

This babe is Gossamer.

And you already know Bae! THIS IS A CLOSEUP OF BAE.

More Bae!

Sandworm, obvi. [Sidenote: I finally have a use for the root beer jug Janna bought me for my birthday at the Fayette County Fair a few years ago!]

My precious Panne.

PANNE AGAIN. I think Panne might be tied with Bae for my favorite.

Nipsy.

This one is still a John Doe. I have to stare at it intensely some more. EDIT: Monica has dubbed this one Stefano Dimera because, like his namesake from Days of Our Lives, he’s hard to kill! (hopefully.)

Gossamer’s nickname is Nun’s Vag.

Henry just walked by and sighed. That might be my cue.

I came home from work and started going through old pictures to re-edit, because it has been A Week, and playing with photos calms my nerves almost as much as wine. Obviously, I’ve been going through Chooch pictures because it’s his birthday on Saturday and I get so fucking weepy and nostalgic every year around this time. He’s almost old enough to be a latchkey kid! SOON HE WILL BE A TEENAGER AND THAT WILL MEAN I’M OLD TOO.

Haha, no it won’t. Peter Pan Syndrome 4 lyfe.

I don’t know. Enjoy some random photos of my kid.

2008 – I WONDER IF BLAKE STILL HAS THAT SHIRT. God, we used to drive Henry nuts with our constant need to listen to DGD in the car. I guess not much has changed, at least on my end.

2012

2006 – Cemeteries have always been his playground.

2011

2012 again.

Bonus: When Henry exhibited lightning-quick reflexes to catch Chooch before he pancaked across the ground, circa 2007.

Ugh, I can’t wait for the weeeeeeeekend.

Here are some pictures of things that happened today.

Apparently, I had just a smidge too much wine last night, because when I woke up this morning, I felt like I had spent the night at Burning Man, and not just hosting several friends for a Marcy memorial. Wine hangovers are my jam, if by that I mean that I just puked into a jar of Smuckers. Luckily, I recovered in time to be able to traipse around the cemetery with Henry while Chooch was at piano.

Traipsing.

The cemetery in which the traipsing occurred.

Me: “Why do you need a stick?”

Henry: “In case I need to hit a hipster on a bike.”

Valid.

Then we went to the mausoleum to pee and I wanted Henry to take fun and hilarious selfies with me but then I remembered that he’s against fun.

After Chooch’s piano lesson, we went to the playground in North Park, where Chooch managed to kick a soccer ball into his face, flip through the air, fall into a tree stump, and start bleeding all within 10 seconds. It was truly a sight to behold. Then he complained that he didn’t have anyone to play with and we were like THERE ARE NO LESS THAN 8 BOYS AROUND YOUR OWN AGE MILLING ABOUT AIMLESSLY JUST LIKE YOU’RE DOING, GO PICK ONE TO BE AWKWARD WITH.

Then after awhile I realized I hadn’t seen him for a good 10 minutes (there was some car race happening in the parking lot, and it was distracting me from being a parent).  “Where is our child?” I asked and Henry just shrugged. “I don’t know. Over in Pouter’s Field somewhere.” That’s when we found him sitting behind a tree like the Saddest Kid Ever, which was kind of apropos since it’s National Only Child Day (technically he’s not, but when your siblings are 14+ years older than you….).

And that is how Henry and I were guilted into kicking a soccer ball back and forth even though Henry has two broken Pallet Jack Feet and I was wearing TOMS. (Have you ever kicked a soccer ball while wearing TOMS? Feels fucking fantastic.)

Then we went to Kelley’s Dari Delite for ice cream and I changed my mind 18 times (seriously—hard ice cream or soft serve?! A milkshake or a sundae!?) but eventually opted for maple soft serve (maple is my everything) with crunchies and for once I felt pretty secure in my final decision.

Not actually whining.

And now I will leave you with my current favorite song from the new Dance Gavin Dance album, Instant Gratification, which comes out on Tuesday and you should go buy it. Borderline infatuated with it. OK fine, lose the “borderline.” I’m straight psycho for this record. I was trying to tell Henry earlier how perfect Tilian Pearson is for Dance Gavin Dance, and how it’s almost like Jonny Craig was never even in this band, but then I started to cry, because #emotions #posthardcoreprobs #scenekidsentiments

(That 2:07 mark, tho. Heart eyes for days.)

The Easter Bunny came back from vacation just in time for Henry and me to regress and sit on his lap.

Chooch just sat there eating carrots while Henry and I fought in between shots. But to be honest, I think this one of the most docile photo shoots we’ve ever done, somehow.

I have shorts on underneath here. I’m not that slutty. Ignore the writing on the bathroom stalls.

Chooch happily took our pictures. He was like fuck yes, the camera isn’t pointed on me for once.

God forbid we should ever just have a regular photo taken of us.

Happy Easter, you guys!

…Or “Chorey” as Henry accidentally portmanteau’d  them earlier.

Today after Chooch’s piano lesson (and a trip to Etna for the best pierogies I’ve had in some time), I met Corey at Jefferson Memorial to help him out with some updated headshots for his real estate business cards. Henry had to go craft shopping with the old ladies at the nearby Pat Catan’s, so he dropped Chooch and me off which turned out to be kind of frustrating because Chooch was straight sugar-rushin’.

I thought he had burned through some of his hyperactivity at his piano lesson, where his teacher Cheryl admitted that he’s  actually well-behaved when Henry takes him and agreed that he feeds off my mere presence.

She suggested that I sit in a different chair where he couldn’t see me!

Anyway, I’m getting too wordy as usual. I apologize. This post is meant to be just pictures that I want to share, because it’s been awhile since I got some good ones of Chooch and his Uncle Corey. (For someone who claims that they hate having their picture taken, Chooch sure is a fucking master photo-bomber.)

Random flowers on a fresh grave.

It was really cold out there in the cemetery, but totally worth it!

As far as November weather goes, we were having a pretty beautiful Sunday here in Pittsburgh. We had nothing planned for the day, and even though I was fighting an annoying cold/allergy attack, I decided it was too perfect of a day not to go out and take pictures. Nothing major, I said. Let’s just, I don’t know…go to the grocery store first and buy a birthday cake. For no reason.

Oh just a simple, cheap cake, I said, giving the false impression that this was going to be a breezy, casual, in-and-out trip to the grocery store. Except that we got there and I threw a fit because NONE OF THESE CAKES LOOK RIGHT! NONE OF THEM MATCH MY VISION! THIS IS FUCKING BULLSHIT! I HOPE GIANT EAGLE GOES OUT OF BUSINESS!

And then from there it was JUST FORGET IT LET’S GO HOME FUCK THIS DAY RIGHT IN THE EYE.

I know this game, Henry said out loud, and instead of going home, he drove down the street to a different grocery store, smartly left Chooch and me in the car, and came back with the gaudiest birthday cake, complete with plastic clown head whose icing body was splayed across the top in a hideous, prostrate fashion.

It was fucking perf.

We took the cake, and a “just-in-case” rabbit mask, to Henry’s workplace which has always treated me well as far as photo shoot locales go. Henry was happy because my attitude had adjusted slightly with the purchase of the cake. (Although there was a brief argument in the over birthday cake candles, or lack thereof.)

Thank god we happened to have a random paper mache clown figure in the trunk of the car, too. (Our trunk is like the Mary Poppin’s Tapestry Bag of Animal Masks, Hats, and Other Assorted Oddities. We are always prepared for impromptu costume parties or induction into the witness protection program.)

My only direction for Chooch was “pretend like it’s your birthday party and no one came.”

I can do that, he said with a shrug.

He was very accommodating and easy to work with because I promised that I would play 10 (ten!!) rounds of Call of Duty when we went home. (Mostly because I am really beginning to like playing even though my skill level is not improving.)

The stages of being blown off on your unbirthday.

Now pretend like you don’t give a fuck and just eat the everloving SHIT out of that cake, I said to Chooch, always ready to provide direction.

And then I got to smash cake in Henry’s face because who knows if I’ll ever have a WEDDING DAY. Henry wasn’t very pleased about this, but Chooch and I were laughing so hard that he eventually cracked the tiniest smile while muttering, “You just wait, little bitch.”

It’s been awhile since Chooch and I got along during a photo shoot. I think it was because I mostly let him do whatever he wanted. Plus, the cake. He got to eat cake.

I don’t always go into these things with some high-brow, art student intentions or subtle nuances suggesting a deeper message. But while I was editing these last night, my brother texted me something along the lines of how it makes him happy that even though we were dealt a pretty crappy hand as far as families go, we were still able to have a strong sibling relationship where we can go off on random adventures and laugh to the point of an ugly-cry.

So, I guess this photo series has a cheesy moral to it after all. Um….: When things don’t go the way you intended, try to make the best of what you’re given, eat some cake, etc etc.

Or just go and cut someone. Whatever makes you feel better.

It rained most of the morning and afternoon here in Pittsburgh, so I treated myself to a binge-session of the new (and final) season of The Killing. (This TV series has seriously affected me in some mysterious ways and I am so happy that Netflix revived it long enough for the series to get a proper wrap-up, but also devastated that it’s donezo.)

Then the rain broke, so I made Chooch go for a walk with me to try to balance things out. I hate being even a little sloth-like. This is why, even when I’m sick, I don’t rest. I brought my camera because I’m trying to get back into the habit of taking pictures of Chooch. I’ve been L-Z when it comes to using my camera lately, and then when I’m like, “Henry I want a new camera, buy me a new camera, Henry” he’s like “Why? You barely use the one you have.” True story. So if you’re ever thinking, “Why is she getting worse at this instead of better?”, well, that’s why.

But at least I’m getting a little better at remembering to bring the camera with me. Baby steps!

We walked to the abandoned Bradley School, which used to be a school for deaf kids. (Or blind? I’ve been there often enough, kicking around shards of broken glass, that you would think I would know this.)

This was Chooch’s idea. “Take a picture of me looking evil, and then photoshop a dead girl behind me.”

Chooch wants me to call this one “I’m Beautiful and Fabulous.” Done.

It occurred to me, halfway through our fauxtoshoot, that no one knew where we were. So I texted Henry and told him “you know, in case something happens to us.” And all he said was “ok.” No “good luck” or “please be careful” or “OMG I”m so afraid for you” or “PLEASE DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS.”

Not even a reminder to be mindful of the “CAUTION: ASBESTOS” signs posted all over the property.

Don’t worry: we kept out.

Spoiler alert: we made it home safe and sound and Henry was like “ok.” Then I watched the series finale of The Killing and bawled my little bitchy eyes out. I’ll miss you, Linden and Holder. :(

Throwback to last Friday when my son wasn’t acting like a 2-year-old crack baby who had just been uncaged in front of a bunch of my co-workers and making me want to melt into a puddle of humility. Apologies to you, my work friends. Sigh.

We let him experiment with some colored hair gel to see if he wants to dye his hair for real. Henry was all, “I’m not going through the hassle of bleaching his hair just for him to change his mind.” I love that Henry just knows this would be his responsibility.

Contrary to popular belief, this is not actually our house in front of which Chooch is posing.

Ours is a little smaller.

****

Still collecting my thoughts on the two shows I went to this past week. Hopefully tomorrow I will slap together a muzik post. Maybe you’ll read it. Maybe you won’t. I probably won’t find out. (BUT MAYBE I WILL.)