We were just scouring Goodwill for photo shoot props, when Chooch dragged this huge blue bunny rabbit over to me and in his typical high-octave, shouted, “MOMMY! I HAVE A GREAT IDEA! For the next photo shoot, we can tape a KNIFE to his hand and pretend like he’s trying to MURDER ME!

”

There were unlimited old people all around us in every direction, dropping their jaws like dominos, so I adopted a hoarse whisper and throat-slashing motion to get Chooch to can it.

“WHAT?? THAT ONE TIME YOU DRESSED ME AS A RABBIT AND PUT BLOOD ALL OVER ME!!”

This opened the door for a nice conversation about how sometimes, the things that are normal to us are things that other people don’t understand or think is “weird.” And also made me realize that I really go for the rabbit theme a lot.

But other than that, I really enjoyed the hairy eyeballin’ I got from all the elderlies.

It was either write about my kid or my long-standing, vitriolic Katy Perry-surpassing hatred for Lance Armstrong, but the vein in my head has thrummed enough this week so you get a Chooch report instead.

Chooch is totally into the weird fruits we’ve been buying. OK, he’s definitely not at all into the weird fruits we’ve been buying. He acted like the tiny piece of dragonfruit we gave him had tiny needle-covered elves inside.

I’ll tell you what he’s really into. You know those videos that people post on YouTube that are literally nothing more than just them playing video games?

Chooch loves those. In fact, there is one guy who posts videos of himself playing Minecraft that Chooch loves so much, he asked Henry if he could post a video response telling the guy that he makes good videos.

He’s also really into watching Slender Man spotting videos, but he stands really far away from the computer when doing so.

If I had do a guest post, it would probably go like this:

today I watched Minecraft videos while dum daddy fell asleep on the couch in his underwear watching criminal minds but then i woke up him after I screamed and cried while watching a Slender Man video. And then I played Happy Wheels and jacked up the computer even more while daddy answered personal ads on his phone.

It’s all he wants to talk about when I get home from work! I can’t take it! I don’t want to hear about Minecraft. He doesn’t even PLAY Minecraft!

But if he makes a You Tube video response, I’ll totally post it for you guys. And then put it in the “To Show Future GF” file post haste.

Last night, part of his homework required him to draw his family. I was angry because Henry looked exactly like Henry (a cross between a hobo serial killer and Andy from Pee Wee’s Big Adventure), but I looked all frumpy and ugly. I called Chooch out on this and he said, “Well, I WAS gonna draw you EMO,” like I should be happy he went with ugly instead.

OMG and last week his teacher told him he has swag.

I am so ready for this three day weekend.

A few weeks ago, Chooch unearthed his very first Halloween costume in his closet, put it on and then surprised me with it. I almost died laughing, seeing his big head shoved through the small opening of a fabric ice cream. It pleased me because he was 6 months old that Halloween and it poured down rain so aside from a quick photo op at my grandma’s house, that costumes was totally wasted. I even considered putting it up on eBay a few times, or giving it to someone who has a baby, but now I’m really glad that I didn’t, because nothing is funnier than someone wearing something that they’re too big for.

One day, he wore it in the backseat of the car and waved to people at red lights.  He’s even considering wearing it for real next Halloween and I will fucking die if he does because I love this costume so much, so yes — PLEASE WEAR IT!

In the meantime, I wanted to do a little photo shoot with him wearing it. The weather was so amazingly warm this weekend, and I couldn’t stop picturing him eating an ice cream cone while wearing an ice cream cone. There’s an ice cream place right down the road from the abandoned building we use for some of our pictures, but we didn’t learn it was closed until we drove all the way out there (only like 30 minutes, but still — Henry’s frown is in full effect over things like this).  We figured McDonald’s was probably our best bet at that point, and remembered that there was one down the street from the closed-down ice cream shop we took pictures at last September.  Even better!

“But does McDonald’s have rainbow sprinkles? No, I don’t think they do. You’ll have to stop at a grocery store on the way and buy some, just in case,” I said, planning ahead.

Henry glared at me.

“What? There HAS to be rainbow sprinkles! I can’t do it without the sprinkles!” I cried. EVERYTHING IS IN THE DETAILS, OK?!

So that was another 25 minutes in the car with Henry who had almost completely shut down verbally by then. I even tried to calm him down by ironically holding his hand. He wasn’t amused.

Rainbow sprinkles procured and a vanilla cone in hand, we drove back to the Twist behind a partially disabled elderly man who cruised along at a pace of about 18 mph, melting the ice cream and our patience.

But we made it with the cone mostly intact! I jumped out of the car and poured the sprinkles on while Chooch stuffed himself in the costume cone.

I positioned him in front of the closed-down ice cream shop and handed him  the severely-dripping cone.

“Vanilla? REALLY? VANILLA? You knew I wanted CHOCOLATE!” he cried.

“Well, McDonald’s only has vanilla,” I muttered, but really — he was getting vanilla no matter where we went. It had to match his costume!

And the rest of it panned out smoothly! Henry and I didn’t even argue. We were only there about 5 minutes before I got what I needed and Henry got to finish Chooch’s cone.

This was right after 2 teenage girls walked by and giggled at Chooch. He was totally angry with me.

He even DANCED for me at the end. You know why? Because that little sucker got paid to do this. I have found that giving him a few bucks is a small price to pay for cooperation and amiability in front of the camera.

God, Henry is totally going to start asking for payment now too.

<3

I had Chooch design our Christmas cards this year because that’s one less thing I’d have to worry about.

Welcome to the dictatorship, son! Henry’s been keeping a spot warm for you.

Zombiehead Tree.

Santa’s Jolly Entrails

Rudolph’s Bleeding Ass

This one is my favorite. I caught Chooch on a good day when I asked him to draw “just one more,” so he gave it his best effort with minimal mouthing off.

If you didn’t get one from us, it’s not because I don’t like you.

My Christmas card list is about as disorganized as everything else in my life. I mean, I had planned to give some to Henry’s family on Christmas Eve and completely let it slip my mind. And I LIKE Henry’s family!

I think next year, I’m going to offer them in boxed sets and give the proceeds to some sort of kid charity.

I wanted to visit Speck and Don at the pet cemetery on Christmas before stopping by my dad’s house, so we decided to find a cemetery in between to have our traditional Christmas picnic.

We wound up at some small, creepy church on a hillside (back when my mom actually gave a shit about Christmas and put up lights, you could see our house at night from this hill, so you would think that the location would kind of harbor some sense of nostalgia or childhood warmth but NO. This place held nothing of the sort, it felt wrong, it felt cold, and Chooch and I fought like cats and dogs because god forbid I had the audacity to offer him some cheese from our picnic spread and then try to take his little bratty picture.

“My Mommy is the worst!”

I finally surrendered and we drove all the way back home and went to our favorite cemetery. It was actually Henry’s idea. Oh, I know. Henry had an idea!?

Once we arrived at Uniondale, we were all at peace. That cemetery just rules so much. Chooch was in a better mood, he cooperated with the camera, and Henry stayed the fuck out of our way.

I really hope he’s in a band someday.

There’s a noticeable difference between these pictures and the ones from the initial cemetery.

Cemeteries are seriously our favorite places. (Probably not Henry’s, but it’s not like he gets to have any of his own favorite things anymore.)

This picture is relevant because Chooch got his very first concert ticket inside his Christmas stocking!

This might be a disaster, but oh well. It’s Pierce the Veil! Chooch always says that Vic Fuentes is his favorite singer, so hopefully he will love this.

(Yes, the scratch offs are his too. He loves scratch offs and cats: my son is an old lady.)

Chooch made us this card in school and it’s the best thing ever. Henry and I try to take him to as many cool places as we can and it’s nice to know that it’s not gone unnoticed. I just want him to be able to look back on his childhood and feel happy about it.

I love that kid so much.

Sometime last month, I won a premium membership to the Carnegie Museums thanks to my OCD-caliber competitive walking. This was the perfect prize, because Henry, Chooch and I are constantly going out and doing shit, and now we could add four different museums to our weekend itinerary—for FREE.

My brother Corey and I had been wanting to go to the Warhol Museum for awhile now, and that’s one of the museums covered under my membership. Henry did NOT want to go, at ALL, because art is not something he learned to appreciate in the SERVICE.

(Not unless it involves Thai hookers and Vick’s VapoRub, but I’m sure there is some niche art gallery out there somewhere in Brooklyn that might offer some nuances of just that.)

But Chooch did want to go, so I decided then that we would ALL go. 

Clearly, Chooch couldn’t wait.

I should have known that this might not have been the best place to take Chooch.

No, let me rephrase that.

This was not the best place to take Chooch at the same time as COREY. Corey is like a walking IV drip of saccharine and caffeine for that kid. Probably if I had taken Chooch alone, or if Henry had taken Chooch alone, things would have been much different.

(Read: calmer.)

Five minutes after checking in (amid scowls from the museum employees), Chooch charged into a small theater room playing some film of women being interviewed in the 70s. I was actually quite interested in sticking around and watching some of it, but Chooch peaced out after 90 seconds, sending the rest of us running after him.

“Well, he got the ‘quickly’ part right,” Corey laughed, referencing the sign at the door that said: Please enter quickly and quietly.

This happened moments before I was chastised for not reading the NO PICTURES sign. The docents (all young scowling hipster art students with greasy hair and stupid fucking eyeglasses) reeeeealllly hated us there. And I promise you we weren’t even being that diabolical. Henry and I weren’t whistling and looking up at the ceiling while our child ran wild (like some parents I know, names withheld) — we weren’t going to let him charge the world-reknown Marilyn Monroe portrait with a barbed-wired fist, OK? We had him under control. He was just excited to be with his uncle.

And I’ll tell you another thing — I have seen young adults acting like complete fuckfaces in places like that, so step off. He certainly wasn’t disrupting the other museum guests. You know how I know? Because they were all SMILING at him and one guy even stopped and said to me, “He totally made this museum for me” after Chooch sat in a corner with a pouty face, reenacting a Deborah Kass “Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner.”

Believe me, I call a dick a dick when I see one, and Chooch was just being a kid.

One of the floors was nothing but videos projected on screens. Corey pointed out a sign that said “May Contain Adult Content,” so I was doing my best to shield Chooch. However, he and I entered one of the rooms and my initial reaction to the very first video loop was to grab Chooch by his invisible suspenders and yank him back out of the room.

“What?” he questioned, shrugging out of my clutch. “It’s just a lady eating a banana!”

(It was a drag queen, but I was relieved to see that yes, it was just a banana.)

We roamed around a little bit and, rounding a corner, were just in time to see a naked man getting pelted with flour. I steered him out of there after that.

We passed by that floor again on the way out, and instead of continuing down the stairwell, Chooch took off across the floor. I caught up with him just as he was coming back out of the room with the projector screens.

“I just wanted to see if she was still eating the banana,” Chooch casually explained. “She is.”

I asked him later what his favorite part was, and of course it was that. I thought for sure it would have been the piss painting (what? that’s always been my favorite!).

There was so much more I wanted to see, but Chooch blew through those floors like your average Kansas tornado. Oh well, I still have a year to go back as much as I want, with or without Chooch. (And definitely without Henry.)

I was in the bathroom drying my hair when Chooch popped up in the doorway, wearing his very first Halloween costume that he just found in the attic. He never actually got to wear it (other than a quick photo-op at my grandma’s) because he was 6 months old that Halloween and it was pouring down rain.

This is totally going to be his costume next year.

EDIT: He’s wearing it in the car, too.

 Chooch and I were kind of under the weather on Saturday, but by that afternoon, we were practically clawing our faces off in boredom. Henry, however, was “so busy” and not doing a good job of entertaining us AT ALL, so we decided to ditch him and go to the cemetery.

Really, Henry was begging us to leave because we were “getting in the way” of his “cleaning.”

(Seriously, the house did not look that clean when we came home. Hope you had fun watching albino porn, Henry you sexual deviant.)

Anyway, I brought my Jonny doll and Chooch brought his favorite stuffed animal — a fox puppet appropriately named Fox. We’re on the same level.

We totally don’t need Henry!

(Until we get hungry.)

I really believe that cemeteries helped Chooch learn to read. So there.

(That and Asian horror movies.)

“What’s that green stuff? Chooch asked, toeing the ground. I almost peed my pants. It was moss! Eight years ago in that same cemetery, Henry and I had the most pointless discussion about moss, which culminated with him losing his patience and yelling, “Moss is bad! It can lead to problems! Leave it at that and end it!”

“Ask your dad,” I told Chooch, doubling over with laughter. I promptly texted my friend Alyson that Chooch had asked me about moss, and her response was “Moss is bad! Leave it at that!”

Henry, leaving lasting impressions across the Internet.

Of course, when I told him about this later, he looked all confused and said he didn’t remember what I was talking about. Nice to know he’s so cloudy when it comes to Erin & Henry: The Early Years.

And then something terrible happened.

Chooch and I were strolling along when we came to a crest in the road. That was when I saw her: a random, older woman wandering around amongst the tombstones.

I clotheslined my arm, bringing Chooch to a halt.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and I hissed for him to STFU.

“Look at that lady,” I whispered. “I don’t trust her. She might be a ghost.”

“She doesn’t look like a ghost,” was Chooch’s Normal Person response, and he kept walking toward her. She was probably fifty yards away (hahahaha like I even know what yards are).

I had heart palpitations like Lady Gaga must get every time she dry humps a haute couture crucifix. “We have to get back to to the main road,” I said urgently. We were too secluded where we were. Probably no one would hear us scream when the stranger decided to mug us for our stuffed toys.

Please excuse my shitty diagram, but I am at work. This is the basic set up of the area of the cemetery we were hostages in, except that it’s kind of hilly, so you can’t actually see a lot of what’s ahead depending on where you are. For instance: Chooch and I didn’t know there was another person there until I yanked him to the right, onto another cemetery road that curves and drops down. Idling there was a man in a Blazer with Florida plates. The driver and I locked eyes in his rearview mirror and as he emitted a puff of smoke from his molestor-mouth, I had a Super Bad Feeling, also known as  Irrational Paranoia.

Just then, he put the Blazer in reverse and I dragged Chooch off the road and into the grass.

“What the hell?” Chooch yelled at me.

“OK, Chooch. Listen to me. We can either keep going straight until we reach the main road [where we could, what? Throw our bodies across the hood of a moving car so that they can drive us to safety?] or make a run for our car. Do you think we can make it to our car?”

I was afraid that the Blazer was going to loop around and beat us there AND THEN WE WOULD BE TRAPPED. But if we kept running toward the road, we could run through the grass, dodging all the graves which would make it impossible for him to run us down.

But then what if Chooch tripped or I dropped Jonny – would I be able to leave either of them behind?

(Yes, I thought a lot about this.)

Apparently I can leave my son behind because I decided we were going to make a run for the car and then started sprinting before Chooch had a chance to realize what was going on.

Don’t worry. He runs fast.

Oh fuck, did we run like Haitians.

Unfortunately, the handle on the driver’s door of our car has been broken for months now, and can only be opened from the inside. So I’m screaming, “GET IN THE CAR AND OPEN THE DOOR FOR ME! OPEN THE DOOR FOR ME OH MY GOD HURRY!!!” to Chooch, who’s flopping all over the console in an attempt to climb to the front, leaving me standing out there jumping up and down, and pee-jigging. I kept looking over my shoulder, waiting for the Blazer to appear, engine and libido revving,which would be one of the last sounds I heard before being vehicularly mudered.

Good news! We survived.

Not ready to go home yet, we went to another cemetery across the street. This one felt safer.

On the way home, I asked Chooch what his favorite part of the day was and he said, “When you got all weird about that lady.”

——————————

When we got home, I told Chooch to tell Henry about the harrowing events. He rolled his eyes and started out with, “There was this lady there that Mommy was afraid of for no reason—”

“I thought she could have been a ghost!” I interjected hysterically.

When Chooch got to the part about me making him run back to the car, Henry got all worked up and said, “Would you stop doing shit like that to him!?”

I can’t help it! I’m a very paranoid person, which I think stems from my mom. I still have vivid memories of her making me hide in the attic with her because some PTA lady was knocking on our door with a stack of papers she needed my mom to type.

There are times I scream, “PIZZA GUY!” and trip over myself as I run to the steps to hide. It’s an involuntary tick. I did this one time when Tommy and Jessy were here and Tommy mocked me for months. One time we were out at the flea market and out of the blue, he screamed, “PIZZA GUY!!” and started to run away.

(OK. Now that I just typed all that out, I guess I can see Henry’s point.)

After Chooch told the whole story, Henry sighed and said, “Did it ever occur to you that she was just looking for someone’s grave?”

Yeah, a grave to dig up and stash our remains in!

Click here to view this photo book larger

Two years ago, my friend Gayle reunited with Jeff, a man she dated thirty years ago. On Saturday, they got married!

Henry, Chooch and I were all invited, but Henry made us late (see also: Erin read the invitation wrong). By the time we arrived to the church in New Castle, Gayle must have JUST walked down the aisle, because it was quieter than a mime’s funeral up in that piece. So quiet that when the door slammed behind us, people in the back of the church turned and looked. Then Chooch started talking and it was like PING PING PING off the walls.

I clamped my hand over his mouth and pushed him down the hallway, away from the church door, and begged him to sit quietly with me on a bench. No way was I going to attempt to squeeze into a pew with the ceremony in progress, so we listened to it from the hallway, while Chooch spoke (in what he thinks is a whisper but is still totally loud and disruptive) about having to pee but really it was his ploy to get a good look around the church for the playroom that I stupidly told him was going to be available for the kids at the wedding.

Thankfully, the ceremony was seemingly performed by the Micro Machines guy and was over a few minutes after we arrived. Super bummed that we didn’t get to see any of it, but the advantage of being on the other side of the doors meant that we got to be the first people to hug and congratulate them! Chooch kept trying to ask her about that damn playroom, like that’s really what she’s thinking about 2 minutes after becoming Jeff’s wife.

Chooch was interrupted by the rest of the bridal party filing out, with all of the guests pouring out behind them, and we somehow got stuck standing alongside the bridal party, pinned against the wall by the receiving line. Some people seemed unsure if they were supposed to shake our hands too. It was incredibly awkward.

Henry was originally wearing his Freddy Krueger-striped henley but I made him change. He hates dressing nice. He would have worn his Everfresh pullover if he knew I wouldn’t castrate him with my former rich girl couth. But on the plus side, he didn’t frown once all night!

Speaking of appearances, I was super self-conscious about how I looked. (When am I not?) Henry kept saying, “Seriously? No one is going to pay any attention to us with Chooch there.” And he was correct. That little fucker has a permanent spot light on him. The coolest girl at the wedding (her name is Kayla and we’re both friends with the Trundle Manor crew, so Gayle formally introduced us – she has a giant ice cream sundae tattoo on her arm and I totally have a girl-crush on her now) told Chooch he had the best outfit and his cheeks immediately flushed.

We weren’t in the reception room for 10 minutes before Chooch found a rolled-up rug to purposely trip over. I know I shouldn’t be, but I still get mortified when he does shit like this. It’s embarrassing! And the front of his pants were filthy afterward. My greatest fear was that he was going to face-plant into the wedding cake. I saw the way he was eying it up.

And thankfully, the chocolate fountain was far enough back on the table that he couldn’t reach his tongue into it.

We sat with my co-worker Pam and her 18-year-old nephew Dominic who kept Chooch entertained. Mostly by egging him on and encouraging his antics.

And it’s always wonderful when we’re in a church and he’s introducing himself to people as “Devil.” I don’t think Pam was very amused by that, but Dominic started choking.

Chooch kept pacing around, waiting for Gayle. “Where is she!?” he kept asking huffily. And when the bridal party finally entered the room, Chooch acted like he was going to rush at Gayle, so I had to grab him by his blazer.

“Jesus, Chooch — let her sit down!” Henry sighed.

We were the table furthest away from the food, so Pam started grumbling about how we were going to be the last table called. Henry and I agreed, but Chooch, always contrary, said, “Yeah, well, I bet we’re first!”

And we were first. We had to hear about that one all night, and part of the next day too. (“Remember when the whole table was WRONG but I was RIGHT?”)

On the way back to our table, dinner plate in hand, Chooch walked right up to Gayle at the bridal table, interrupted her conversation with another guest, and in a frustrated tone, he asked, “WHERE is the play room!?” She laughed and explained that they still had to clear their stuff out of it, and he walked away completely unsatisfied with this answer.

After we had eaten, we were joined by my another girl from the Law Firm, Patty, and her fiance Tim (they had a friend with them too but I am half-retarded and forgot his name). They’re big horror buffs so I told Chooch this, hoping it would distract him from his play room quest. They asked him what his favorite horror movie is and he said Ju-On without hesitation. I ook their surprised reaction as a seal of approval — my kid doesn’t fuck around when it comes to horror. I don’t know where he gets that.

Gayle came over to visit with us and finally took him to the goddamn play room, in which he spent a whopping five minutes before returning to our table.

“It’s just a room,” he sighed. “With a few toys.”

“Well, what the hell did you think it was going to be?! A water park?” I asked. At least I was able to enjoy my cake after that without having to hear about the mysterious play room.

Anyway, what a fun night! It was great to see Gayle so happy and positively a’glow, and I’m honored that we got to share her big day with her and even made it out of there without Chooch doing anything devastating. I get that he’s amusing to most people, but he makes me so goddamn nervous and I’m hyper-aware of his every movement.

(He did come close to crashing into the Irish-music-playing sound system at one point.)

Chooch’s wedding card. I don’t know what kind of idea the groom is having, but it might have something to do with the bride’s boobs, maybe?

Blake turned 20 on Saturday. I can’t even believe it. He was 8 when I met him after Henry and I began dating, and it blows my mind to see that this green-haired maniac kid in an over-sized Korn tshirt  has grown up to be such a cool big brother to Chooch. And Chooch just adores him, even though he started crying earlier at TGIFridays because Blake “always hurts [his] feelings!”

Chooch kept threatening to tell our waitress that Blake wanted to dance with her. I think he would have told her too, had she not have been blond. Chooch has a super-hard time talking to pretty blond girls.

Blake agreed to go to the cemetery afterward and take bro-photos because it’s been awhile. I just wish Henry’s oldest son Robbie would have been there too, to make it more legit! Oh well, that gives me more time to find matching outfits for them.

Posing by the “farm of weeners.” Thanks for teaching him that one, Blake!

There was some yuppie bitch there trying to take Christmas photos of her spoiled brat children and I was getting so pissed because they kept popping up in the background of my shots. We crossed paths at one point, and I could tell she was super jealous of my cooperative subjects as she attempting to pick up one of her tantrum-throwing dick kids off the ground.

Amateur.

Their idea.

Chooch HATED this photo because it was one that Blake wanted, not him. I’ve realized over the years that the easiest way to get this shit done is to just let Chooch do what he wants. He gets really into the idea of having his photo taken as long as we’re using his ideas.

Later that day, it occurred to me that at some point during the year, Blake is 14 years older than Chooch, I’m 14 years older than Blake, and Henry is 14 years older than me, but this never happens all at once.

(And yes, I know: Chooch and Blake look so much alike, and Chooch looks nothing like me. You got me! Chooch isn’t my kid!)

Dumdum daddy would not let me go to staples to get sum paper because he thinks he is special and he was to busy watching his favorite* show.

[Mom Edit: This was apparently a super big deal while I was at work, as evidenced by Chooch’s notes to Henry, who was on the phone with his sister at the time. Please also note that for his inaugural post, I discouraged Chooch from using the arsenal of swear words he keeps on hand.

*By “favorite,” he means something more disparaging.

]

I love that Chooch’s front teeth are all exploited every time he take a swig from an iced tea bottle. It makes me crack up every time!

Here he is posing with Iceburgh (Penguins mascot) at the Heart Walk 5k we participated in Saturday morning. (Yet another frown-factory for Henry.)

Chooch has been especially sassy lately. Henry said they were at Kmart (ew) on Monday when Chooch grabbed a flag and shouted, “Me and mommy are voting tomorrow! We’re voting for Obama! Daddy’s voting for his ass!”

Then this morning, he casually asked, “I wonder if Mitt Romney is throwing a fit right now?”

In other news: what a fucking asshole of a week this is. Highlight was the Pierce the Veil show last night, which I wanted to write about today but I wasn’t able to take a break at work, so there went that idea.

Aron and I were commiserating today on what a cluster fuck work has been since our new program was launched on Monday.

“Well, a month from now—” he started.

“You’ll all be saying how much you miss Erin Kelly,” I finished for him.

And he laughed BECAUSE IT’S TRUE.

It seemed so perfect and so simple: Chooch being Daryl Dixon, his favorite character from The Walking Dead.

For once, I wouldn’t have to piss around with zombie makeup or clown makeup. And he would be comfortable! No itchy wigs! No coagulating fake blood on his face! No masks! (We did the Jason Voorhees thing when he was three, and that was stupid. A three-year-old in a mask? What were we thinking.)

I figured, “Oh, I’ll just peruse eBay for some toy crossbows, it’s all good.” And there were tons of toy crossbows on there! Some were REALLY CHEAP, too. But of course, I waited until the last minute because I kept getting distracted and missing the auctions. Finally, a week before Halloween, I snagged one with literally three seconds left. I’m not lying. Three seconds. And I got it for like $5, free shipping!

Too bad the estimated delivery date was November 1.

Henry went to one of the thrift stores one night shortly after that and found a toy crossbow in a bin. He sent me a picture of it and walked around while waiting for my response. Of course, some douchebag snatched it up right before I was able to respond to Henry’s text. Henry, learn to be more assertive! You don’t always need my permission! (I can’t believe I just admitted that.)

Meanwhile, the plastic ears I also purchased from eBay had arrived. Never mind that they were over-sized and meant to impersonate an elf. I painted them zombie-green and felt relieved that at least one component of the costume was ready.

You can kind of see his zombie ear trophy necklace here. I wish I had more time — I’d have made the ears myself. And by that I mean I would have sliced them off the missionaries we keep chained up in the basement next to the litter box and then let them decompose a little on their own before giving them a nice, preserving shellac.

The last part (aside from the clothing, which was easy to pull together – I just sent Henry out with his redneck fashion sensibilities and he sniffed out an outfit right quick, y’all) was the squirrel catch that Daryl has hanging from a rope on his side.

Plush squirrels are really fucking hard to find. And instead of focusing on that, I was too busy checking the tracking info for the crossbow, which was steady holding at November 1.

Then Hurricane Sandy happened and most of Western PA’s trick-or-treating was pushed to Saturday, November 3, buying us more time.

Not that it mattered — when the crossbow arrived the day after Halloween, it was THE SIZE OF MY HAND. That’s what I get for never reading descriptions. I was actually at work when this happened, and Henry informed me via text. I was already having a horrible day, so this turn of events had me heading for the bathroom for a quick cry.

My immediate response to adversity is to cry uncle. “Just take him to the Halloween store and let him pick out some stupid store-bought costume, I DON’T CARE ANYMORE!” I texted Henry while trying to maintain a pleasant face for my unaware co-workers. Keeping it together is probably the hardest exercise in my regimen.

The shit that goes on behind the scenes in my head, you guys. The shit that goes on.

While I spent the rest of the night with sparking synapses at work, Henry and Chooch went out and found a plush dog toy (that was my idea! To check dog toys!) that is actually a fox, but resembles a squirrel enough. So that was a relief. And then when I went home that night, Henry showed me some wooden pop gun he found and a thin, flexible piece of wood and explained that he was going to turn those two things into a crossbow.

And by George, that’s exactly what he did! THANK GOD FOR HENRY. A goddamn Halloween hero.

Ha-ha-ha, those fucking ears. I mean, at least they stood out. I guess.

It was way too cold for him to go sleeveless, obviously.

And just like last year’s Zombie Bieber fail, pretty much  no one knew who he was supposed to be.

We opted out of Brookline and instead went to Henry’s sister Kelly’s neighborhood in Bethel Park to trick-or-treat with Chooch’s cousin Zac, because going in groups is way more fun. Steph and her boyfriend Kian made sure to keep a two-house distance from the rest of us, though. Trust me, I know – adults are lame! I always get stuck with them!

This picture if blurry as shit but I don’t care — it was difficult enough to get one; I wasn’t about to make them stand there any longer.

We were joined by Kelly’s neighbors and their 7-year-old twins, Maya and Luke. At first I was skeptical, because you know me and kids. But they were super cool and Maya had biting wit to match Chooch’s. I think he fell in love with her.

And the parents were fun, too! It was a good time.

Henry had morphed into that weird, obnoxious Trick or Treating Coach again (“THAT HOUSE DOESN’T HAVE ANY LIGHTS ON! DON’T CROSS THE STREET YET OR ELSE YOU WON’T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO ON THE WAY BACK! STOP CUTTING THROUGH THE YARDS! DON’T RUN — PACE YOURSELVES!”) so I hung back with Kelly and the other two parents most of the time.

In Brookline, we barely see any trick-or-treaters when we’re out. I know that there were definitely less kids out this year because it was moved to a different night, but it just seems like trick-or-treating is a dying tradition and it makes me so fucking sad. When I was a kid (I hate that I’m old enough to start stories with that bullshit line now), I remember there being swarms of kids out on Halloween, and you fucking stayed out until the last minute, when all of the houses started turning off their porch lights and your pillow case was so full, you had to drag it behind you like a dead body. It’s so different now. Kids start whining after one street! ONE STREET! This isn’t slave labor — you’re getting FREE CANDY just for looking adorable in your stupid costume, so STFU about it! My god.

Maybe if there was an app for it, more kids would have interest.

Here’s where coach Henry would holler, “USE THE STEPS!!!”

One house had their gazebo transformed into a haunted house. Kelly was too scared to approach it so she stayed on the street. I made sure to tell her kids later that their mom is a wuss.

At the house across the street from that one, I heard the guy handing out candy say, “Oh look! He’s Daryl from The Walking Dead!” and that was all the validation I needed. Thank you, That Guy.

There was a group of teenaged girls dressed in regular clothes and select Hot Topic head accoutrements who were trick-or-treating. We kept passing them and literally everything down to their very essence was irritating me. I mean, if you’re going to be taking candy from peoples’ houses, at least put some effort into your costume. Maybe go as a pregnancy test.  At one point, they were passing our little group of kids and overheard one of them saying, “Happy Halloween!”

“It’s not Halloween,” a tall one beneath a stupid fuzzy monster hat said in a shitty teenaged sneer. “It’s November 3rd.”

WELL, IT’S HALLOWEEN TO THEM, OK? OMG I wanted to slap that fucking snarled lip right off her pizza face.

I was totally never like that when I was that age.

OK, I was. But still! Maybe if more grown-ups had called me out, I would still be the same asshole I am today, so never mind.

Chooch’s crossbow broke at the very last house. Surprising it lasted that long.

<3 <3 <3 <3

Seriously, if Daryl dies, I’m done watching The Walking Dead.