I’m going to veer off schedule here for a  minute and share the pictures from our tour of the Lizzie Borden house in Fall River, MA. After an entertaining breakfast at AlMac’s Diner where I had Portuguese bolo and will consequently never be satisfied with a regular old English Muffin ever again, we stopped here on our last full day of vacation.

Chooch was pretty fucking stoked to say the least. The kid has grown up in a house where serial killer greeting cards are made, what do you expect?

Henry and I stayed over night here back in 2002, but it was worth the return trip for us, too. Mostly to experience it all over again with Chooch, who knows the legendary story and has watched countless YouTube videos about the house. However, when we walked into the gift shop to pay for a tour, the tour guide behind the register looked a little skeptical at these two assholes toting a 7-year-old child to a murder house.

But then Chooch sprawled out on the couch in the waiting area, mimicking the crime scene photo of dead Andrew Borden, and the tour guide widenened her eyes a bit. “Do you wanna help me out when we get in the house?” At first she suggested that he play the role of Abby Borden, but Chooch quickly said, “No. I want to be the dead dad.”

“How old is he?” one of the three old people in our group asked. I could tell that they too were leery of taking an hour long tour with some brat, but I’d like to think they were pleasantly surprised by the tour’s end.

I mean, come on guys. You know I’m the first person to call my kid out for being a dick. But he was actually super well-behaved and genuinely enrapt in touring the house. I was so proud of my gruesome little brat!

Floral patterns suit him.

The house has changed owners since we were last there. To be honest, I don’t rememeber much of the original tour we got in 2002, other than being a served a plate of cheese and Oreos to snack on while watching some made-for-TV movie about Lizzie Borden, so a lot of what I saw on this day was basically brand new to me. I also feel that the guide we had this time was more knowledgeable.

(Side Note: The guide we had in 2002 was also the summer caretaker and ended up being the only other person sleeping in the house with us that night. He was pretty creepy, but affable at the same time. I posted a picture of him on my blog a few years ago and someone commented, informing me that he had perished in a house fire. So sad! I mentioned this to our tour guide last week—I shamefully can’t remember her name but she was really wonderful—and she said that when the new owners bought the Borden house, they had a really hard time getting him to leave.)

The house was replicated as best as possible, considering they only had black and white photos to go on.

In the dining room, we learned that this is where Abby Borden’s autopsy was done. The guide had pictures of their mutilated bodies and said to me, “It’s up to you if you want your son to see these.”

I asked Chooch if he wanted to see, and he shrugged and said, “Yeah, sure.”

I found out later that I probably should have asked him if he knew what “autopsy” meant first.

While the guide was demonstrating ironing handkerchiefs (one of Lizzie’s alleged alibis), Chooch was chomping at the bit to go into the next room because he recognized the couch immediately. You’d have thought he waited all his life for this one short moment of impersonating some dead dude with a crushed skull and dangling eyeball.

Chooch’s Shining Moment.

The old people on the tour with us laughed uncomfortably during his performance.

We were all clustered in the foyer listening about Andrew Borden’s final moments on Earth; I was standing at the foot of the steps — the top of which was where Abby Borden’s dead body was first spotted prostrate on the other side of the bed in the guest room–with my back to the front door when the mailman began shoving circulars and bills through the mailslot. The new gray hairs I must have amassed in that moment has got to be a staggering number.

Chooch volunteered me to play the butchered Abby Borden, which required me to sprawl ass-up on the floor while Chooch giggled devilishly. Thank god there are no pictures. My ass is much wider than the last time I was photographed in this pose.

This lady knows her shit! We definitely got our money’s worth.

Borden spirits all up in Henry’s shit!

J/K. I was just really bored in the car. Best use of a bokeh app!

In the corner of the guest room, the actual dress Elizabeth Montgomery wore in the final scene of the Lizzie Borden movie in the 80s is on display. When the guide mentioned Elizabeth’s name, Chooch put his hand up to his mouth and whispered, “Witch!” to me, giving me this faux-serious look. At first I couldn’t figure out why he said that, but then I remembered that the day before, we took him to the Salem Witch Museum and there was a wall of photos of famous witches throughout history, and of course “Bewitched” was one of them.

The guide we had that day pointed out each picture and gave a brief explanation, and I guess that little jerk was actually paying attention (because I know I barely was).  Yay for money not wasted for once!

Actual books that belonged to Lizzie. Check out “With Edged Tools.” LOL right!?

Chooch was really into all the vintage cat figures he spotted throughout the house, and also the creepy trunk of toys that the owner keeps in one of the attic bedroom that is supposedly haunted by random children. Chooch said that’s the room he wants to sleep in when we go back and I was like, “That’s cool, bro. But have fun staying up there by yourself.”

Haunted or not, there is something to be said about standing in a house where one of the most sensationalized double-murders in this country’s history were carried out.  I was definitely on edge the entire time while Henry just looked bored (or probably confused because the only way he understands anything is if the cast of Criminal Minds is acting it out on TV for him). Chooch would get fidgety here and there, but thankfully he didn’t do anything overtly dickish to draw attention to himself. For the most part, he honestly seemed like he was interested in what the tour guide was saying, officially making “7” my favorite Chooch age thus far.

When I went back to the gift shop afterward to buy souvenirs, the guide admitted to me that she was a little worried when she saw us walk in with Chooch, and how pleasantly surprised she was at how he conducted himself. I’m so glad she told me that, because as a parent, I’m sure there are times when I think my kid is acting normal but everyone else is thinking, “TAKE THAT BASTARD BACK TO THE ZOO, MY GOD!” My fear is that we’re going to take him somewhere like this and he’s going to break something or cause a general scene by throwing a tantrum out of boredom.

I remember the time when I was a kid, just a little bit older than him, on vacation with my grandparents in Europe. I think we had stopped in Assisi, Italy and, right befor walking into a shop filled to the brim with breakables, my grandma gripped me by the upper arm and hissed, “DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING!”

Aaaaand guess who knocked over an entire display of glass figurines with her purse? GOOD OLD GRANDMA JEAN.

Meanwhile, as the guide was praising my kid’s good behavior, Chooch was in the process of pissing on his shorts in the customer rest room. So, you win some, you lose some.

Can’t leave Fall River without paying our respects at the cemetery!

Stoked for Lizzie!

I really was pleased with how we were able to sneak in educational bullshit on our vacation without it feeling like 5 days of war memorials and dry history lectures. I can’t wait for Chooch to go back to second grade and tell everyone about the shit he did, haha.

daddy didn’t go on the turtles because he’s such a cry baby. he also did not want to go on the arrow three 60 but I did and the swing shot. mommy said I was so scared to go on the arrow 3 60 but I wasn’t. I sat by a girl with red hair and mommy sat by a girl with black hair. [Ed.Note. And these are details that Chooch remembers because the girls were his type: TEENAGERS.]

mommys lying! its not true. it’s daddys type!! derp trolled

me and mommy went  on the whip and the guy said enjoy your ride and when the ride started mommy mocked the guy and on the whole ride mommy kept saying ENJOY YOUR WOOOOIDE IT was annoying.

{Ed. Note: OMG THAT LITTLE FUCKER, he was laughing so hard when I was doing that! Now he has to act all hard core for the Internet, WTF.]

fml

me and laura were talking about minecraft servers while mommy and daddy went on the thunderbolt.

I got to go on the swingshot and the aero360 [Ed.Note: I spelled it for him this time because I could stand it no longer.] and cosmic chaos and phantoms revenge for the first time  this year!  I feel sad and happy and mad. [Ed.Note. Perhaps we should get him some therapy.]

nuh uh I should not have a therapy!!!

I kept squishing mommy the first time we went on Musik Express.

Laura was squishing me on the Musik Express. I was not scared.

I won. [Ed.Note: NO HE DID NOT. HE ONLY WON AT WASTING OUR MONEY, THANK YOU, NICE TRY.]

enjoy your woooooooooide.

I wanted to visit Speck and Don’s graves on Sunday, but first we had to stop and buy some flowers. The grocery store we went to is right across the street from a mini golf course, so I told Henry to stop there afterward.

And we all know when I tell Henry to do something, he does it.

The best part was that we didn’t tell Chooch we were going to play mini golf, so he was all surprised and doubly-excited when he realized that we were OMG going to do something fun without him having to beg for a fortnight.

Begrudgingly writing in all of my fantastic scores.

Reflections in Scorekeeping.

It’s a wonder I excel at mini golf considering Chooch and I are usually doing pee-squats the whole time from laughing so hard.

Ugh, grossest photo bomb EVER, Henry!!

Henry tried to teach Chooch how to hit a golfball at the driving range, but Chooch kept shrugging him off and doing it his own way. This made Henry throw his arms up.

“You can’t teach him anything! He knows everything!” Henry cried.

“Well, that’s what happens when you’re birthed by a genius,” I said and then I blew on my fingertips in real life.

(I won at mini golf, FYI.)

The next stop was Fallen Timber Pet Cemetery. Visiting Speck and Don, though it still makes me cry, brings me a little bit of peace each time. The gesture of picking out flowers and placing them across their graves heals my heart a little more with every visit and I’m really so glad that we decided to bury them there. I know that Marcy’s days are waning, and I live every day like it’s going to be her last. (In fact, she is going to the vet today and I have been trying every thing in my power to keep myself distracted so I don’t douse the department with the saddest tears to ever fall.)

Chooch picked out Speck’s flowers. They were glittery! I think she would have loved them.

Ouch. :(

Thank god I have a weirdo kid who makes ridiculous faces to cheer me up and says shit like this:

Chooch randomly started talking about the stuffed penguin he “won” at Kennywood.

“You didn’t win it,” I corrected. “You made Janna buy it for you.”

Chooch shrugged. “Same thing.”

On the way home, Henry decided that he wanted to have taco night, so we invited Janna over because tacos taste better when shared. Isn’t that Mexico’s motto? Too bad Henry didn’t even have beans or rice in his taco cafeteria.

“I mean, there’s Chooch’s leftover fried rice,” Henry joked. Motherfucker, don’t joke with me. I’ll eat that shit on my taco.

Fried Rice Taco, DGAF.

It actually wasn’t all that bad, sour cream and all. But I did get a pretty bad stomachache later. I think Henry may have tried to warn me about that but why listen?

Chooch, mocking Henry eating a taco. This made me lose my mind in laughter, which exacerbated Chooch’s dickishness, culminating in him kicking a ball in the house. It landed right in the middle of Lunch Lady Henry’s Taco Buffet, causing Henry’s head to explode. He sent Chooch to his room which is a farce because hello, it’s Henry sending Chooch to his room — ain’t no one shaking in their boots over Henry. When I was still writhing around on the couch in hysterical laughter after this, Henry got all tough guy and tried to send me to my room, too.

So I laughed harder.

Meanwhile, Janna was sitting there with an exasperated expression on her face. She’s just trying to eat a fucking taco, you know?

Being a dickhead.

Then we watched some hockey and I was thinking to myself, “Fuck, Self. This was a really entertaining weekend” and I started to get all sad until I remembered that there was STILL ONE MORE DAY. Thank you, Henry, for being a SERVICE person.

Life is actually pretty great when you quit driving yourself crazy with the whole “WHAT AM I GONNA DO WITH MY LIFE?!!?” panic sessions and just realize, “Wait, why isn’t ‘living it’ a good enough answer?” I don’t know when exactly that clicked, but once I let go of money and “career” obsessions, I suddenly had a lot more room for having fun and enjoying each day that I have with these two weirdos I live with*. I only wish every weekend had three days!

*(Don’t worry, I still cry and whine a lot; I’m not a complete Pollyanna. Something will probably piss me off real soon and then I’ll go back to channeling Hell’s typewriter with my fingertips.

)

I pretty much eat fruit, Special K cereal and diet potato chips all week, so Saturdays are much-needed Weight Watchers splurge days. I try to make sure I still stuff in some activity in between carb-heavy Pamela’s breakfasts with Jeannie and afternoon ice cream cones. So I dragged Henry and Chooch out to walk infinite miles in the cemetery. Otherwise, I think my body would go into shock.

Chooch rode his scooter the whole time, and I am totally That Mom who screams, “OH MY GOD, CHOOCH SLOW DOWN! OH HENRY STOP HIM! HE’S GOING TO GET HIT BY A CAR!”

“He could be in a skate park and you would still think a car is going to hop the fence and hit him,” Henry sighed.

I can’t help it. I get Jello-legs just thinking about it. I wish Henry never bought him this scooter!!

Meanwhile, Henry got all butt-hurt when his desire to point out a chipmunk to us was received by giddy laughter and evil mocking. “OMG look Mommy! It’s a BIRD!” Chooch cried and we both doubled over in uncontrollable braying.

Henry stuffed his hands in his pockets and snapped, “I’M NOT SAYING ANYTHING ANYMORE. YOU TWO ASSHOLES CAN GO THRU LIFE KNOWING NOTHING.” Of course that made our giddiness straight jump the tracks and I can’t speak for Chooch, but the pee-drops were ready to fall.

Every time we go to Homewood Cemetery, Henry cranks up his “You Two Are Going to Fall Into the Pond” parental spiel. I know that the reality of this happening is very strong, but it still makes me so angry. How often do we just suddenly tumble into bodies of water, Henry!?

Chooch illustrates how someone might fall into a pond for real.

I could look at frogs all the livelong fucking day. I LOVE FROGS. Unfortunately, this leaves the door open for Henry to recite some of the National Geographic factoids he has crammed in his annoying egg head. God, go find a Boy Scout troop to lead into the woods or something. Seriously!

OH MY FUCKING GOD IT’S A GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING BIRD FLYING IN THE CEMETERY! And Henry was still being all butthurt over the chipmunk so he bit his tongue but you could tell he was ready to shit his pants, that’s how badly he wanted to point out what kind of bird it was.

Oh shit, afterward, we went to get ice cream at Oh Yeah. I was all, “I’m going to get fig and pistachio because I am boring and that is all I ever get at Oh Yeah” but then I saw “lavender” on the add-on list and almost wrenched Henry’s dick off in my embellished excitement.

Thank god there were enough people ahead of me to give me ample time to coax my head into exploding because, Jesus Christ — WHAT WOULD GO BEST WITH LAVENDER?!

Chooch was not nearly as excited about the lavender as I was.

Who the fuck frowns in an ice cream shop??

Chooch wound up ordering chocolate ice cream with Kit Kats as his mix-in, while I wrung my hands in sweaty anticipation. Of course the guy who owns the place switched out with the other Professional Ice Cream Scooper just in time to heckle my flavor combo.

(I’m pretty sure he’s the owner and he is very intimidating in his cowboy hat and steely, flavor-judging eyes.)

“Oh, good choice!” he enthused, unknowingly giving me the green light to adopt the official I Just Impressed an Ice Cream Shop Owner!!! look of smugness for approximately the next 5 minutes. (OK, hour at least.)

Meanwhile, Chooch dropped his ice cream cone before I even got mine, so when it was Henry’s turn to order, he sighed gravely and re-ordered Chooch’s ice cream. (And I’d like to take this time to point out that Chooch apparently tried to eat his ice cream off the floor and Henry had to scold him. Well, dude — when his father eats FUNNEL CAKE OFF THE PAVEMENT, what do you expect?)

So, looks like really only 2 of us were YAY SO STOKED!! for ice cream after that.

(Don’t cry too much for Henry, he got to finish Chooch’s cone.)

Fuck, that was a good ice cream cone.

We finished off the day of poor food choices by going out for Chinese. (My dinner was mostly steamed vegetables and fish, and I only ate 1/4 of it anyway, so I didn’t feel too gluttonous.)

“I hope my fortune says ‘You will receive 7000 cats’,” Chooch sighed dreamily.

It didn’t, thank god.

When we went to DelGrosso’s mommy really wanted to go on the wacky worm so we did. then we went on the crazy mouse daddy did not want to go on it because he’s such a crybaby because of the big hill. so he didn’t go on anything grandma went on the crazy mouse ;-) twice and the marry-go-round and the yoyo witch is the swings. mommy went on the super SPIRAL and the XTREAM (I put that in capital letters because it’s so XTREAM ) :cry: mommy peed her pants :lol:

ME AND MOMMY WENT ON THE Casino. I got a picture with buddy witch is a bear. Dumb dumb Daddy won me a tiger I named it Tony I won 2 things a fish & a bear. It was mothers day and my mother rules and daddy doesn’t.

I was going to win this game but this stinky lady dumbest lady in the hole wide world cheated for this 4 year old and I was so freaking madddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd the game was called water races.

I like amusement parks because there’s roller coasters and swings and some water rides.

En route to Delgrosso’s for some unlimited Mothers Day rides on the Wacky Worm! Henry invited his mom and I am going to try my hardest to get her on the Wacky Worm but I can’t make any promises.

So far this Mothers Day weekend has been the bomb! Chooch and I went rollerskating, had dinner with Janna and her friend Jeremy at Mad Mex, bought myself some new TOMS, and the motherfucking Penguins advanced to the next round of the Stanley Cup playoffs. Feeling pretty happy right now except that Henry and his mom are practically shouting to each other in the car which is really upsetting my music-listening.

Should have brought my headphones, I guess.

Happy Mothers Day to all the REAL moms out there, regardless if you gave birth or not!

(OMG WTF is Henry’s mom talking about back there?!?)

Party Chick, officially.

Since we took Chooch to Knoebels on the other side of the state for his birthday, we toned down the actual party this time around and just had it at Games n’At, a retro alternative to Chuck E. Cheese with tons of Pittsburgh-flavor. It was a big hit with the kids, and awesome for Henry and me because literally all we had to do was drop off party hats, plates, etc the day before and they had everything set up for us. NO DECORATING! And each kid got to choose from a list of snack bar options, so NO PROVIDING OUR OWN FOOD!

Holy shit, it was a parental dream come true. With everything we’ve been doing lately, planning a party just wasn’t something that either of us had the energy for. And Chooch still had fun,which is all that matters.

“You’re only picking Ugli Doll stuff because you like it,” Henry accused me the day before at Party City. Well…I didn’t see any Minecraft stuff there! And Chooch likes Ugli Dolls too, God!

I secretly had Kaitlin make Chooch a “creeper” cake. It is my reluctant understanding that creepers are some sort of Minecraft villain and Chooch really likes them. When I met Kaitlin in an empty strip mall parking lot 9AM that morning, like some creepy—but delicious—drug deal, I was floored when she removed the top of the cake box to reveal this edible work of pixelated art. I mean, if it had been left up to me, I’d have just slathered green frosting on a rectangle and then finger-painted the face with black stuff.

Maybe the black stuff would be non-toxic. Maybe not.

But when you’re the presiding Queen of Zia’s Desserts, you go above and beyond and make that fondant pixels because THAT is what a true Minecraft player wants to eat.  When Chooch saw it, he gasped, “Kaitlin knows what creepers are!?!?”

When we first got to the arcade, I plopped my ass down on a couch across from some dad and watched the Penguins game for as long as I could until guests started to arrive. Fuck! I’m sorry, I know I’m the birthday boy’s mom, but theses are some important times in the NHL, OK? Step off

So then I tried to be actively involved for awhile. I even spoke with a parent! And heckled Janna mercilessly!

We all wanted something magical to be inside that armoire. But it was just a folded-up table. No Narnia.

But then something glorious happened: While I was in the party room talking to one of the parents (I did OK at that, you guys!), one of the arcade workers who looked uncannily like the dude from Ridiculousness approached me with a concerned expression and asked, “Do you want me to put the game on this TV here?” and then pointed to a TV in the corner that I hadn’t even noticed.

UM FUCK YES.

But then he couldn’t get it to turn on and kept leaving and returning with tools and various wires until finally he figured out that it wasn’t plugged in.

“Oh you have to pay for this,” Janna said, pulling her finger out of the Kiss-O-Meter and walking away.

You know who is really smart? Laura. She brought a present for me because she KNOWS. I was so excited and wanted to wear it right away but for some stupid reason, no one brought a switchblade to the Kid’s Birthday Party, so I couldn’t unleash it from the backing.

Ridiculousness serving up the food.

Chooch was so goddamn sweaty. No one else was. Just Chooch. God only knows.

Of course the kids were relatively uninterested in eating and decided to have an impromptu dance party instead. That might be because I said, “Hey you guys should have a dance party” and the Chooch’s cousin Zac started doing some frantic Gangnam Style seizure thing on the floor, which was a cattle call for the rest of the kids to get up and LOSE THEIR SHIT.

But hey. It’s not my house. Spaz it up, small people.

Blurry or not, you get the idea.

After the raucous cacophony of birthday serenading, Chooch started opening his presents. He was halfway through when he turned around and stopped mid-sentence.

“Where the heck did everyone go?” he cried when he realized he had been performing his gift-unwrapping in front of a roomful of adults.

“Dude, the kids went back out to the arcade a looooong time ago,” I said. Everyone cracked up but he just shrugged and went back to collecting his loot.

Meanwhile, I had made friends with the mom of one of the girls. But one thing to know about me is that I shit the bed when it comes to introductions. (Unless you’re in a band. Then I miraculously will remember your name right away.) So my memory proceeded to fuck her name into oblivion and I spent the rest of the party paralyzed every time someone came over that I wanted to introduce her to because I didn’t want to say, “Hey Laura, this is Astaria’s mom” because fuck if someone refers to ME as “Chooch’s mom.”

(Actually, this happens a lot and I’m OK with it. I think it happened 3x at Crafts from the Crypt in March. “Oh, you’re Chooch’s mom!” Castle Blood denizens would exclaim. Because everyone knows Chooch.)

So at one point, we were all sitting around a large table watching Game 3 of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, which had  gone into over time, and I was struggling to replay the scene when we introduced ourselves, but all I could hear was pinball machines and this one Pierce the Veil song that has been in my head for 5 years. So, I covertly texted Janna and ordered her to ask the mom what her name is.

Janna did my dirty work, and I saved the text so I will never forget, you guys.

I win at friend-making.

Chooch’s girlfriend of the week made him a card that stressed in no uncertain terms how awesome and cool he is.

Laura, arcade seductress.

I would probably look like that too if I had to work kids parties every weekend.

This is not true. You’re only a winner if you win. I hope all the kids there knew that.

Blake showed up right before the party ended and asked Henry for an envelope. Henry didn’t have an envelope, so I suggested that he just MAKE one, because isn’t that the kind of bullshit nonsense they learn to do in THE SERVICE?

(Or at the very least by watching “She’s Crafty.”)

I took pictures with my real camera but we have a new computer and the version of Photoshop I’m used to doesn’t work on it anymore and I’m too bull-headed to let Henry show me how to use something new so all of my pictures are just festering in a folder, unedited.

I know there comes a time when the big extravaganzas need to come to an end, and Chooch still had a blast even though this party was waaaaay scaled down, but I can’t help but feel the itch to have one more big party next year. Maybe in the park again, and CREEPY CARNIVAL-THEMED. I could use my papier mache clown head again! Chooch seems down with this idea.

Which is good, because I already started planning it.

I gave Chooch some of his presents before school, one of which was a Creeper shirt (some character from that Minecraft game he games, I guess).

“Do you know why they’re called Creepers?” he asked me as we walked to school.

“….because they creep?” I wagered.

“Dammit,” he whispered, dismayed that I was right.

His teacher calls him Swaggy because he has so much swag.

She’s pretty cool for a 1st grade teacher, obvi.

Henry’s mom and Janna came over in the evening and we had cake when I came home from work, which was awesome but hello—THERE WAS A HOCKEY GAME ON. Chooch tried to change it at one point and I swiped the remote back.

“I don’t care if it’s your birthday! You don’t ever turn off the hockey game!” I yelled.

Henry’s mom looked scared, but come on guys. It’s me. And it’s hockey.

Just, no.

Henry bought Chooch a shit-ton of scratch offs. “Grandma-in-training,” Andrea texted me after seeing this picture of his loot. “He just needs some Pall Malls and a Bingo dauber!”

Which is funny because one of his lottery tickets was some Bingo thing which Janna scrutinzed for 20 minutes to see if he won anything, and then Henry double-checked for another 20 minutes. Janna was apparently way off.

And then Chooch turned intoa cranky son of a bitch because it was late and he all of my drama genes.

Tomorrow, we’re taking Chooch and my incision to Knoebel’s, where we will be meeting up with the Darkride and Funhouse Enthusiasts Group and having cake in celebration of the Haunted Mansion’s 40th birthday.(Some of my co-workers have been giving me weird looks when I tell them about this which I have been translating into: JELIS.) AND THEN RIDING RIDES ALL THE LIVELONG DAY.

I’m so excited! So is Chooch! Henry is not!

 (Yes, I got my way!)

———–

I just wanted to thank everyone who reached out yesterday and wished Chooch a happy birthday. I was kind of bummed at one point when I realized that my mother has missed all but THREE of his birthdays (I mean, if she didn’t care that he was born, she sure as shit isn’t going to care that he turned 7) but we’re lucky to have  Henry’s family, my extended family and also a ton of really kind friends who stepped up and reminded me that he is loved. I’m not going to let one rotten apple spoil the day.

 So, thank you all very much!

Today is Chooch’s (and my phantom C-section incision pain’s) 7th birthday and I can hardly believe it. SEVEN! I hope that things continue to go up, because six was a not-so-bad age (as opposed to every single year that came before it). His little bitch ass temper tantrums have all but died out (probably because he’s moved on to more sophisticated ways to make us miserable) and his interests have certainly broadened. Six was the age he could finally start riding some of the bigger rides at amusement parks (obviously a very big deal for me and me alone), he went to his first wedding and his first concert (Pierce the Veil, whaddup!) and also started to really get The Walking Dead — before he was only interested in the zombie parts, but now we have these long, meaningful conversations about the characters and what we think will happen, and it’s really awesome because it’s something we do without Henry so then we get to say things like, “Ha-ha, Henry doesn’t know what we’re talking about because he sucks and doesn’t watch The Walking Dead. He probably wouldn’t understand it anyway.” And then Henry frowns.

Six was the year of “Call Me Maybe” dance parties and crossbows. Of starting a new school with normal people where he flourishes and is able to be himself with no judgment from all the prudent Catholic moms. Of making secret friends and going to haunted houses.

Six was a sweet age and I’m really looking forward to see what entertainment seven will bring!

And now here is a gratuitous photo montage of Chooch as a 6-year-old for you to enjoy while I go lay in bed and cry because if he is seven then that means I am OLD OMG CRISIS.

(This was technically a week before his 6th birthday, sue me.)

Zombie party!

Photobombing Andrea’s photoshoot.

At Conneaut.

Annoyed with me.

Oh Jesus Christ, our first attempt at a photoshoot without Henry there to supervise. Disastrous.

Pissed off at me at Lakemont Park.

First day of 1st grade!

Another disastrous photoshoot.

Everyone and their creepy dentist says that Chooch LOOKS JUST LIKE HENRY OMG and that’s fine, I’ve come to terms with that because Chooch has brought home 100%s on every single spelling test he’s had this year and he sure as shit doesn’t get THAT from Henry. That’s a tradeoff I’ll take, thanks.

One of the biggest things I’ve learned since becoming a parent is to just let the kid be himself. I’m sure there are people frowning down on me for letting him watch horror movies and speak freely (to this day he still NEVER swears in school and in public, or around his grandma, but we let him get away with it at home because after all, they’re just words & it’s not like it’s a Tarentino screenplay up in here), but I think it’s important to not have a super tight grasp on him. He is his own person and I’m proud of that. He might be a little smart ass, but he has a big heart. For example, when Henry took him to get cookies to take to school for his birthday, he got chocolate chip but then made sure to get butterfly ones for the girls. HE IS SUCH A LADIES MAN.

Happy birthday, Chooch! Here’s to another year full of photoshoots that increase your resentment for me! And also hopefully your first WARPED TOUR HOLY FUCK GET STOKED!

On Sunday, the three of us went to my favorite playground in Ambridge. I like it because it has things that you can spin on and an electronic game thingie, but also because the actual park is pretty run down and creepy. After playing for awhile, I made them go for a walk with me to one of the pavilions deep inside the park. Seriously, you just expect to hear Jason Voorhees fire up the ol’ chainsaw at any moment, it’s those kinds of woods.

Anyway, Chooch and I were still riding high on the fumes of Saturday night’s waitress incident, so we were giddy. No, that’s an understatement. We were some horrible wreckage of a classroom full of giddy tweens  molted with the obnoxious bray of Fran Drescher and Henry was quite literally swatting us away from him like gnats. Chooch was whaling pine cones at him and kicking him in the ass and I was laughing uncontrollably while periodically body-slamming him.

Yet Henry mostly just kept walking at a peaceful pace, hands in his pockets, admiring the foliage. Occasionally, he would ask us to stop and try to give Chooch threatening glares in an effort to regrip his handle on the situation, which would only make us laugh harder. Chooch threw a particularly large piece of bark at him and we decided to run, like Henry would ever chase us.

The trail back to the car splits into two: the upper trail is in better condition than the lower trail which meets back up with the other trail about half a mile or so down the way.  Chooch and I decided to take the lower trail, like Henry wasn’t going to notice — I was pretty much swathed head to toe in fluorescent pink scene girl threads. “Just keep running!” Chooch panted, and so we ran the entire way (which is a lot of running if you’re like me, a non-runner) and then climbed a hill where we hid in a wheat field, which Henry later told me isn’t wheat. (THEN WHAT IS IT!?)

Yes! We just spent 20 minutes shitting all over Henry’s authority! Now let’s make him think he lost us, too!

It was taking FOREVER for Henry to finally walk by, at which point I started wondering if he knew of a shorter way to get back to the car and if so, did he leave us there to teach us a lesson, because that would be JUST LIKE HIM.

“I bet he’s too busy looking at the grass and all that shit,” I whispered to Chooch, rolling my eyes. “‘Oh, look a berry!'” I said in my best Henry voice, which is actually just my Bullwinkle impression. Chooch started cracking up and I shushed him because look, dickhead, you just made me run half a mile and climb a fucking hill to hide from this bastard, so we are gon’ be quiet AND HIDE.

But then some hawk-like bird soared overhead and I said, “Oh shit, you just KNOW Henry is like, ‘OMG look at that bird!’ and wishing he had bird-watching glasses,” which made Chooch lose his shit all over again.

“I think I peed my pants again!” he cried in laughter.

“Ew, ‘again’?!” I asked in disgust.

“Yeah, I peed when we were throwing things at Daddy, too.”

OMG we are so much alike.

But he eventually emerged from the woods and we both came barrelling down the hill toward him. Chooch ended up falling off a small drop at the bottom and landed right on his stomach, but he sprung right back up and continued to scream and hassle Henry. THATS MY BOY. I asked Henry why it took him so long to walk back and he admitted that once he realized he couldn’t hear us “giggling like assholes,” he figured he better walk back along the lower trail to make sure we hadn’t fallen into a hole.

Honestly, that’s what he did!

I guess that must mean HENRY CARES ABOUT US.

Man, wildlife really  hated us that day.

I’ve mentioned numerous times ’round these parts that Chooch’s favorite horror movie is “Ju-On,” but it is impossible to get him to understand that the dead lady in the movie is not actually named “Ju-On.” So we will be walking through the cemetery or just down the street to school and he will say things like, “What if Ju-On is hiding behind that bush!?” and today it was, “What if I found out  you’re not really my mom, but that JU-ON is?!” (Granted this was in retaliation to me trying to convince him that tomorrow isn’t actually his birthday because he’s a robot & robots don’t have birthdays, they have manufacture dates. Don’t worry, I stopped once he started to cry.)

Anyway, I thought it would be fantastic to have the magical seamstress extraordinaire, Maya, make him a Ju-On doll for his birthday. I wasn’t sure if this was possible, but holy shit did Maya make it possible!

Chooch is going to shit his pants. Thank you so much, Maya!!

Friends: If you were at a restaurant with Chooch and me, and you realized our waitress was someone with whom you went to high school, would you tell us?

I DIDN’T THINK SO.

(It’s funny when I ask people this in person, their eyes get all big and they say, “Um, NO. God, no.”)

But Henry did just the opposite last Saturday night when we went to Eat n Park after the Pierce the Veil show. Now to be fair, I was hyper because I had just come from a concert and had a few glasses of wine earlier; Chooch was hyper because it was almost 11pm and he was delirious from an evening at his grandma’s cable-free apartment.

“I used to go to high school with her,” Henry said in a hushed tone. “We rode the bus together.” He was referring to our waitress Dawn, who definitely seemed like someone Henry would have “loafed” with (that’s what my dad always says, and I imagine Henry’s generation probably used the same term): super skinny, stringy dishwater blond hair, sunken cheeks, probably a meth addict. She had a really rough voice and called us all “hon,” and stood sideways, looking over her shoulder at us while taking our order. Also, and this is kind of hard to explain, but she had the swagger of a drag king, the way she moved her hips while talking. IT WAS BIZARRE.

So, you know, totally in Henry’s wheelhouse.

I snorted as soon as he told me. I LOVE IT WHEN HENRY BRINGS UP HIS PRE-ERIN LIFE! He gets so pissed when I laugh about his past and he recently yelled, “You act like I didn’t exist before you met me!” But come, did he really exist? Am I not basically his sole purpose for living? He basically won’t tell me anything at all anymore, so it’s surprising that he let this particular little nugget of blackmail slip out.

Then he went up to the salad bar* and I reiterated this to Chooch.

*(“Ew, he went to the salad bar at 11 o’clock at night?!” my co-worker A-ron exclaimed when I was telling him this story last night. Yes, Henry is disgusting and eats old, congealed food from the Eat n Park salad bar after hours. Henry does disgusting things.)

“Chooch, did you hear that? DADDY WENT TO HIGH SCHOOL WITH OUR WAITRESS!!”

“With DAWN!?” Chooch, for whatever reason, had immediately taken to mocking her from the get-go, saying things like, “OK, Dawn” and “Dawn doesn’t know anything!” every time she would walk away from us. He had zero respect for this lady. (Pro Tip: Don’t ever wear a name tag around Chooch.)

“You totally have to tell her!” I encouraged him, and we both started laughing so hard that Chooch literally almost threw up at the table. People were turning around and gawking at us. An entire table of elderly black women in particular gave us very disapproving Church lady scowls.  Henry returned to two children completely turned inside out with giddiness and looked utterly apprehensive.

“What?” he asked. “WHAT DID YOU DO!?”

“Nothing!” I squealed, tears streaming down my face from all of the laughs.

“I’m telling Dawn that you went to school with her!” Chooch blurted out, cracking up all over again.

“I don’t care!” Henry spat defiantly, digging into his nasty Saturday night salad to mask the nervous twitch his moustache had acquired.

But you know he totally cared. He REALLY did not want this conversation to happen. Too bad Chooch was chomping at the bit to unleash this cannon of intel. Dawn came back with our check (I mean, at least this happened toward the end of dinner, right Henry?) and Chooch nearly gave up the ghost in his attempt to scream out, “YOU USED TO RIDE THE KIDDIE BUS WITH HIM!!!” while lunging across the table and pointing furiously at Henry.

Dawn seemed confused. Nay — Dawn seemed perplexed. She laughed nervously and asked, “What?”

Chooch was laughing so hard, the same deep-throated giggles that I too employ, that I had to explain to her what was going on.

She gave Henry a scrutinizing once-over and then said, “I’m so sorry hon, but I don’t remember….”

HAHAHA SHE DIDN’T EVEN REMEMBER HIM, BEST FUCKING NIGHT EVER!

So then Henry had to explain to her who he was and I’m pretty sure she was just pretending to recognize him at that point to get us out of her section.

“I mean, it was 30 years ago,” Henry rationalized for Dawn’s inability to remember the forgettable doof in the bitchin’ Adidas shirt and tinted glasses, which only made it better for me — THIRTY YEARS, HAHAHA!

“Have a nice night, DAWN,” Chooch seethed in faux-annoyance as we were getting ready to leave (Henry had already left us at the table, that’s how embarrassed we were apparently making him) and I had to SQUAT DOWN to keep from peeing.

“You two are fucking idiots,” Henry sighed tersely, shrugging away from us when we caught up with him at the register while he waited to pay.

And then this happened before we even left the parking lot:

My favorite part is when Chooch calls Dawn an asshole and it sounds like Henry is about to get all TOUGH PAPA on him, but then all he says is “Shut the door” for the third time. He was REALLY all about having the door shut.

(Side note: I rarely post videos of myself because when I get giddy—and I am often giddy—I wind up sounding like Bobcat Goldthwait and ain’t nobody got time for that.)

Shit, Chooch and I rode the Dawn horse all day Sunday (“Remember DAWN!?” we would ask Henry and then collapse in happy laughter); I came to work yesterday and told the story to anyone who would listen to me (some people walked away). Glenn asked me if Henry drinks a lot and I have NO IDEA what kind of question that is.

So, I think it’s safe to say that we will probably never go back to that Eat n Park.

Yoga sucks it hurts my back and my spine.

On Sunday, we went to Round Hill Farm for my work friend Missy’s one-year-old son’s birthday party. I put a Jason Voorhees shirt on Chooch because that’s appropriate.

Missy had little treat boxes shaped like barns for all of the kids. Chooch was STOKED ON THIS. She even let him pick which stuffed animal he wanted, which of course was a vein-bulging decision. He ultimately chose a cow, and then immediately seemed to doubt himself. However, that cow never left his side all day. Except for when Henry was holding it.

Which was actually often, so nevermind.

(Side note: If Barb had thrown this party, she would have had a little barn gift for me, too. JUST SAYIN’, MISSY!)

Farm Frowns.

Sandy’s daughter Elena mimicked Chooch’s every word. He inadvertently taught her to say “derp” and “EAT IT!!!” while tossing bread into the pond. He kept sighing in faux-disgust, but c’mon, Chooch — you finally had the audience you always wanted! You could tell he was relishing this on the inside.

“If she goes home and wants to watch zombie movies, it’s not my fault,” I said to Sandy.

I also loved the contrast between his Jason Voorhees shirt and her pretty pink party dress.

Missy promised Elena a balloon and was trying to pass one off to her without any of the other children seeing because she wasn’t ready to start doling out party decor yet. But of course Chooch, who was probably one of the oldest kids there, saw and was all, “I WANT A BALLOON TOO OMG.” So while Missy was untying a balloon from the cake and present table inside the visitor’s center, Elena let go of her balloon and since Henry, Sandy and I are all under 12 feet tall, it now belonged to the ceiling.

When Chooch came running back to us with his balloon, I nudged him to give it to Elena. “Be the hero!” is what my elbow yelled into his shoulderblade. He did so begrudgingly, but I know my kid and if he didn’t REALLY WANT to give her his balloon, he wouldn’t have.

And then, before we could stop him, he ran back into the party room to hound Missy for another balloon.

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While everyone was gathered inside the party room, singing Happy Birthday to little James, I momentarily lost sight of Chooch and Elena. Then I saw the only two balloons undulating above the small crowd, like bouncing beacons.

“This is probably why Missy didn’t want any of the kids to have balloons yet,” Sandy observed as their balloons drifted into people’s faces and other children craned their necks to covet the accessory that their hands did not have. The whole scene just made me laugh.

What you can’t see in Missy’s blurry hand is the GIGANTIC CAKE KNIFE she was swinging around like a princess wand, slicing up the air and god forbid any poor gnat that happened to be in the vicinity. My friend Sandy and I kind of just hugged the wall and allowed this to happen because it was entertaining and we were far enough away that we probably wouldn’t have gotten carved up like someone’s Thanksgiving turkey.

You would think that going to a one-year-old’s birthday party at a petting farm wouldn’t have much morbidity going on—and it didn’t, not until my kid took it there, anyway. But while Chooch was hanging off a tree, teaching Elena god only knows what, his balloon popped on one of the branches.

So he decided to have a funeral and bury it.

(This picture is courtesy of Sandy.)

Elena of course chose a stick of a dangerous size and joined in the labor. Some party guests walked by and did a double take. Chooch explained with a shrug, “This is how people used to dig holes in the past.”

RIP Red Balloon.

I promise, this was fake. At least I think so.

After the party, we drove down the street to the pet cemetery where Speck and Don are resting. After visiting with them, we wound up going inside and reserving two plots above theirs for Marcy and Willie, so that one day they can all be together again and not scattered in far apart plots all across the pet cemetery.

You know, cat lady problems.

So, a balloon funeral and pet cemetery plots. But we had birthday cake along the way so it all balances out.

Shippensburg, PA would have absolutely no value to me if not for Ed Helms and his impeccably-constructed Tiny World, a small village in his yard built for his cats.  Henry seemed pretty ambivalent about this stop on my agenda, and I think he was going to try and dispute it so I made sure to loudly announce, “But it’s a town built for CATS!” which made Chooch’s interest pique real quick, and soon Henry had two children whining and begging to visit Tiny World. Henry glared at me for using the c-word. “Cat” is like the equivalent to smelling salt for Chooch. He can be in the deepest zone, a self-induced pouting coma, but someone casually says the c-word and he’s very much in the present, yelling, “WHERE? WHERE? WHERE IS  THE CAT!?”

Sometimes I don’t even know why Henry bothers to object. His voice of dissent falls on pretend-deaf ears every time.

As Henry wound the car over country roads, he asked, “Um, this isn’t at someone’s house, is it?” I answered him by looking out the window and ignoring him.

Parts of Tiny World can be seen from the road, so I screamed for Henry to pull over the first second I glimpsed a hillside dotted with a doll-sized community. We parked in a small, makeshift gravel lot next to several other cars. At first it seemed like Tiny World was going to be booming with tourists, but we were the only oglers the whole time, so I guess the cars belonged to the family.

I don’t know what I was expecting, just some plywood shells I suppose, but Ed’s attention to detail was impeccable. I read online that he had no formal training in this stuff, just sat down and did it for no reason other than because he wanted to. And you know what, that’s inspiring even to someone like me. If I want to be a brain surgeon, I should just sit down and do it! And boy, have I got just the person to be my guinea pig.

The town was a tiny bit weathered, some of the furnishings had toppled over and cobwebs abound, but it was still pretty surprising that it wasn’t in a greater state of disarray. The proprietor is apparently pretty old and was suffering some health problems according to a Roadside America update from 2011, so it’s hard to say if upkeep is being honored at all.

The attic of one of the larger plantation-esque homes had items all strewn about and I wondered if it was intentionally done to make it look haunted. In either case, I legitimately shivered and stepped away from the window before I wound up accidently staring into the eyes of Bagul.

Dead rooster in the barn’s hay loft.

To be honest, I kind of liked that it had an abandoned tone to it. It made me feel like we were being watched from the nearby woods, hackneyed hillbillies lining us up in the crosshairs of their laser guns, preparing to shrink us down into Tiny World citizens. I already knew which house I was going to move into. (The one with the haunted attic, duh.)

If you like trains, then one might imagine you would enjoy the Tiny World Train Station.

That wallpaper! And look at that tiny box of thread on the sewing machine – even if you’re some joyless cat-hating asshole who thinks that building a sprawling town for feral cats is a waste of time, you still have to give respect to the details that went into this project — it’s a true labor of love.

There was even a relatively hot picture of Jesus Christ on the wall of the church.

Chooch’s succinct review, typed on his own: “It’s cool!  it’s kitty awesome! it’s  really freakin cool as shit.”

Again, the reviews I read online weren’t exactly current, but Tiny World is supposedly a hot commodity for all of the neighbors during the Christmas season. We noticed quite a bit of leftover Christmas lights and decorations peeking out here and there, so God only knows the last time the holiday lights set-up was functioning.

Built into the entrance/exit trellis is a pot for donations which I insisted on contributing. This seemed to prickle Papa Tight Wad’s asshole, but he finally handed Chooch a dollar for the pot.

“I WANT TO PUT MONEY IN TOO!” I cried. “IT WAS MY IDEA TO COME HERE!!!”

Henry sighed wearily and slapped another buck in my opened, whiny palm, which I then happily dropped into the collection hole.

“I’m so glad we came out here! It was totally worth it!” I gushed while Henry tried to find his way back to the highway and a gas station before Chooch pissed his pants. “Wasn’t it awesome?!” I cried, shaking Henry’s arm.

He didn’t answer, just continued to drive while looking like the personification of FML.

Henry, actually SMILING was washing the car windows! It’s a road trip miracle!

We also visited the Flight 93 Memorial in Shanksville, but I don’t feel that it’s appropriate or respectful to include that in this post.

To lighten the mood, we stopped in Bedford for a photo op with a large Coffee Pot, which used to be a lunch stand way back in the day. Like all awesomely tacky roadside attractions, it was in threat of being demolished in the 90s, but was eventually restored and is now used as a landmark.

THANK GOD!

“No, that’s OK,” Henry mumbled when I asked him if he was going to get out of the car and gawk at it with me and Chooch.

After Chooch accidentally knocked off part of the coffee pot (in his defense, that pot has structural leprosy), we both turned into royal motherfuckers. Henry of course knew this was because we were hungry and FINALLY stopped at a Valley Dairy to feed us.

“Hey Mommy, knock knock,” Chooch said after our food was served and we began to return to our non-surly, hyper selves.

“Who’s there?” I begrudgingly went along. His knock knock jokes are the worst.

“Room service!” And then we both laughed our food all over the table while Henry simply frowned at the memory of his stressful experience the night before at the hotel.

“What are you looking at?” Chooch asked me as I stared off into the distance while slowly eating a scoop of maple pecan ice cream. (Hello Weight Watcher narcs, I was on “vacation.”)

“Nothing, I’m just thinking,” I answered.

“Oh,” Chooch shrugged. “I always figured that when you do stuff like that, you’re wondering why Daddy won’t marry you.”

HOW ASTUTE.

—————

That night, after we had been home for a few hours, Chooch sighed, “I miss yesterday.”

“What part do you miss?” I asked.

“Uh, Pierce the Veil,”  he answered in that awesomely snotty teenaged tone.

Me too, Chooch. Me too.

So much love for that entire weekend!