I found one of the extras in a kitchen drawer last week and my fingers spontaneously cramped at the memory of the labor. It took so long to make these, but it was so worth it. It was Chooch’s first birthday after all! I can’t wait until he’s a teenager and tries to pull that “You’ve never done anything for me!” bullshit, so I can scroll through my blog and show him pictorial evidence of EVERYTHING that spoiled kid has had done for him. You know, since he is so endangered and neglected.

***

It’s the moment no one has been waiting for: all of Chooch’s birthday invitations are securely hot-glued together into a foam sandwich and have been mailed off to their respective recipients. For as much anguish as these little monsters cost me, I have to admit that I miss them and I was very sad to see them go. When I handed the last batch off to the postal worker, I felt a lump rise in my throat and memories of the past few weeks bled into my mind — the good, the bad, the extremely painful (glue guns hurt). It was like sending off 23 kids to college.

I free-handed them from foam and made each individual face, and then Hoover’s Big Assignment was to use one of those big bad exacto knives that make him feel like he has a big weener to insert each tongue, which includes all the party info when pulled down.

Hopefully, everyone keeps theirs and then in a year or two we can orchestrate a reunion and play catch up while noshing on Russian tea cakes and whispering outrageous slurs behind Janna’s back.

[In light of recent activity, I have been struggling with whether to keep this blog up or take it down; I ultimately decided to keep it up because I haven’t done anything wrong; but this post, however, is password-protected* since it involves Chooch’s school friends and not these particular parents, but other parents in that class, have beef with me.]

[*Oh, fuck it. I don’t care who reads this shit anymore.]

Chooch decided a few months ago that he wanted to have the same birthday as his awesome mom. I mean, who can blame the kid for wanting to emulate such a loose cannon like myself. Hopefully, he develops a taste for foot and crow soon, because if he’s going to follow my path, he’s going to be dining on a lot of that.

So we rented out the rink for the kid and invited all his friends, most of which just happen to be grown-ups. I have never known a child to have so many grown-up friends. Which to me, that sounds like the opposite of a neglected, unloved child. But what do I know. I’ve only been a mom for six years.

Guest List

• My brother Corey and his girlfriend Danielle
• Henry’s mom Judy
• Henry’s sister Kelly
• Zac
• Steph and Kian, + a green-haired girl whose name I never got
• Danielle and Ean
• Lindsay, Anthony and Tiffany
• Lauren, Randy, Dean and Olivia
• Barb
• Lee
• Amber
• Wendy and Shawn
• Kaitlin
• Kaitlin’s famous cake
• Kristen
• Ricky, Chris, Kari and Katelyn, reppin’ Castle Blood
• Carol
• Laura
• Bill, Jessi and Tammy
• Mikayla, her sister and parents
• Nate, his brother and uncle
• Jacob, his sister and mom
• Emyle, her mom and cousin
• Bria, her sister and parents, who came from a wedding and changed in the bathroom, that’s how all about it they were
• Lisa and Matt
• Shawn, Cosi and Anais
• Peaches and Drake
• Our neighbor D and his friend who wouldn’t talk to me

Pretty sure that’s more people that came to my party. It’s hard being in the shadow of a six-year-old sometimes!

I. The Mix

I slaved over the perfect skating mix all week, staying cognizant of the fact that there would be Catholic school children in attendance, and let me tell you something: Rick Ross radio edits just don’t exist. EVEN IF IT SAYS “RADIO EDIT,” listen to that shit first, because I promise you it will all start to unravel by the end and you’ll find yourself clawing your way out of ramparts and carnage of “pussy” and “fuck.” Unbelievable that I actually rose to the occasion and did my due diligence on this one.

Reminding myself that it wasn’t MY party, I put on Chooch’s favorite Eisley song, which he totally missed because it came on while he was opening his presents. He asked for Frank Turner’s “Photosynthesis” (what 6-year-old requests that song, really), which proved to be horrible to skate to, but whatever – not my party. He threw me a bone and said I could put on “The Past Should Stay Dead” by Emarosa, but then when it came on, he switched directions just to clomp over to me and say, “Really Mommy? Emarosa? Really?” like he was totally disappointed in me WHEN HE GAVE ME PERMISSION! God, he’s always trying to make me look the fool.

But at least it came on after Lee and Amber were already there, so they got to hear what the true honey-tinged voice of a male siren sounds like. Even Lee admitted that he wasn’t that bad, for a drug addict.

That morning at breakfast, “Sussudio” came on, which made me, Tammy and Jessi laugh since we had just listened to an angry Phil Collins singing it the night before at my house.

“Well, this definitely has to go on the mix now, ” I laughed. AND IT DID.

And then after that, I mostly just threw on some 80s synthpop, Skrillex (unashamed dubstep fan in this hizzy), Britney Spears and some current r&b jams. At one point, I skated past Jacob’s mom, who was sitting on a bench talking to Bria’s parents, when I overheard her say, “And this music is so good. It’s really taking me back!”

That gave me the courage I needed to broach conversation with the enemy. Actually, these parents aren’t the enemy. Those parents were too cowardly to bring their children to the Evil Woman’s son’s birthday party. More on that at a later date. (And that is only one of the reasons this post is password-protected. For now, anyway.)

“I made this mix!” I shouted over top of the Breakfast Club’s mostly forgotten track “Right on Track.” And then we all had a really nice conversation about Spinning Wheels, the local rink that was poppin’ back in the 80s, and how much we miss it. It’s a Busy Beaver now. Get fucked, Busy Beaver.

They all gushed (yes, they gushed) about how they were having such a great time and thanked me for inviting them. (We put on the invitations that the entire family was welcome to come, admission was free, and skate rental was comped for the kids. Yeah, I know what that’s called. Sucking up. And I’m not beneath it.)

“Good,” I gloated to myself. “Now go back and tell those other bitch moms.”

II. Henry is the Best Skater

Cue the trumpets! Roll out the red carpet! Henry is about to take his inaugural roll around the rink and HE IS THE BEST SKATER EVER says everyone at the goddamn party. I know this based on the amount of times I skated away from people in a huff. Yeah, he’s the best skater ever, if that means he’s nearly 5o and able to skate to the tune of Peaches and Herb in his head while maintaining absolutely no rhythm, yet not falling. Bravo. Name a rink after this man, already.

I was crying about it to Barb, Lee and Amber, who all said that they were actually just commenting on how good of a skater I am, and then proceeded to stick out their arms to collect high fives from me the next time I passed their side of the bench. This appeased me, though they were probably just sucking up because they knew they would have to hear me cry about it all week at work otherwise.

Seriously, Henry is not all that. Sure, he’s a better cook, aircraft-identifier, moss expert, parent and person than me, but can’t I at least have something that I excel at? Jesus!

I am never skating with him again.

My Color Blind Brother Corey & His Girlfriend Danielle. They Will Never Be Able To Admire Rainbows Together.

III. Ultimate Party Foul

I was in the snack room when I noticed my friend Lauren’s son was crying and holding an icepack against his wrist. She told me they were taking him to the hospital and I totally felt like the biggest asshole ever.

“Why?” Lauren asked. “You didn’t push him!” She was so calm about it too. I would have been puking in my purse. After they left, Wendy’s husband Shawn was like, “His arm is totally broken” which made me feel even worse. Later that night, Lauren posted a picture on Facebook of Dean, sitting in the exam room with his entire arm in a cast. At least he was smiling, though!

First, Dean had to spend two hours with me last fall while I took pictures of him and his sister, and then he breaks his arm at my kid’s birthday party. That kid is probably so adverse to me.

Of course, one of Chooch’s big mouth friends went to school and told everyone about it, so now all the mom’s have new fodder. “Kids get broken around that evil family! This is the work of SATAN!”

IV. Pictures of Children

Some of the moms at Chooch’s school found my blog. This happened in February. The first wave of confrontations came through the day before Valentine’s Day; I took it in stride and still found the will to bake that fucking cake for Henry. The biggest problem was that they saw what I had written about them (in various field trip posts), but they also made a stink about their kids’ pictures being on the Internet. So I took everything down and apologized. Still, this is not the reason this post is password-protected. Yes, something even worse than that happened. A story for a rainy day, though. (Although I will say my favorite part was when one of the moms said, “And I looked at some of the other stuff on your website and I just don’t want my family associated with ANY of…that.” I took that as a compliment.)

Now, none of the parents who came to the party are the ones who create phalange crosses and hiss when I walk into the room. But still, I wanted to show respect for those parents who allowed their kids to attend a heathen’s birthday party, thereby editing out the faces of their children before they even have a chance to cry foul.

It’s a moot point now that I made this post password protected.

(I left my friends’ kids intact, because I think you have to assume that if you attend one of my events, you’re going to have your picture taken. However, if anyone reading this is angry about it, say so and I will Jonny Craig your face, too.)

V. Afro Rink Douche

In lieu of Henry’s man-crush Paul the Rink Ref, two of the younger staff members were out there, flashing their skating prowess in their blue Neville Roller Drome shirts. At first I was like, “Thank god for built-in entertainment, now Bill & Jessi won’t have to pump out balloon animals like at last year’s party.” Except that the one with an afro took his job way too seriously and lambasted Bill for “going too slow” when it was his first time skating EVER. God, way to not only embarrass the guy, but make him not want to ever try skating again.

He also yelled “Keep moving!” to Amber who was leaning against the wall while on the rink and talking to Lee. Hello, I didn’t pay all that money renting a rink to have my friends yelled at by some neon-skated prick with a superiority complex.

(Although, if I were Amber, I would have totally blamed Lee.)

Next time I see that guy, I’ll have his Afro on a plate.

VI. Cake & Presents

Kaitlin went above and beyond as usual and made the most delicious white batter cake with this ambrosial lemon filling. She is just MAGIC. And I asked her to maybe decorate the cake with monsters, but you know what she did? She made RED VELVET CUPCAKE MONSTERS. Of course, this made the children (all the girls, natch) argue over which one they wanted, leaving Poor Henry as the official monster delegate. They were not pleased with him when he began quartering the monsters to ensure they each got a piece. And of course, there was one whole monster left over in the end. GOOD JOB HENRY.

Someone made a lofty remark about how I should be the one cutting the cake. What a fool. I wish I could remember who that was so I could call them a fool to their face.

And then Henry proceeded to cut orphan-portioned slices of cake for all of the guests. We ended up taking home HALF OF THE CAKE. My saddlebags thank you for your stinginess, Henry.

“This wasn’t on my list!” Chooch spat when he opened Barb’s present. This became the “You invited BARB!?” of 2012.

I really enjoyed that she and my cousin Danielle both stepped up to be present helpers, since I was doing other things. What was I doing? Tweeting and spinning on my stool, I think. And taking pictures! That’s important. That is a very important party task.

Corey, learning how to cut curmudgeonly cake slivers from the Master Miser.

My wonderful Michigan buds had to hit the road during Chooch’s snail-paced gift unwrapping session. As I hugged Bill, Jessi and Tammy goodbye, I noted that “Sussudio” was playing out on the rink. I think in Yacht Rock terms, that means we’re bonded for life.

Amber and Lee were competing to see whose gift Chooch liked the most. Apparently, Lee’s Skylanders warranted a “Daddy, look!” so Lee self-claimed the title.

I probably should have been writing down what he got.

Barb was smart and got me a Hot Topic gift card! She learned her lesson from my birthday party, when she was audacious enough to bring CHOOCH a present, making me cry out, “YOu didn’t bring ME a present to HIS party!” Even after I opened it, I set the small red gift bag on the table with all of his presents, just so I could sneer, “HA! That’s MOMMY’S present!” when Chooch reached for it.

And then I wonder why I’m getting accused of being a shit parent.

Chooch also got a card with a monetary gift from Rink Ref Robin, Roller DJ and Doorman Billy, who told me that they wanted to contribute to the party since Chooch always entertains them when we attend afternoon sessions. I wish I was as popular as my son. Actually, no. No, I don’t.

Two hours was totally not long enough. Before I knew it, Roller DJ was announcing that the session was over and Henry was counting out something to the tune of LIFE SAVINGS to pay the rink owners. Sophie, the owner’s wife, refused payment for the skate rentals, so we were at least able to eat dinner the next two days.

(If anyone was at the party and wants to contribute their own highlights and memories (and pictures too!), you should totally comment! It was such a whirlwind and I know I missed a ton. Like Bria sneezing on the cake, pre-Happy Birthday serenade.)

Chooch constructed a model of Jonny Craig out of Legos and then what appears to be a stage with an audience.

“I put Daddy under here so he’s stuck and now he has to listen to Jonny Craig forever.”

Fuck, did I derive so much glee from that.

I love the cap of ginger atop Jonny’s broad Lego dome.

In other news, Craig Owens is back with Chiodos, wtf. Even though he is my nemesis now, I’m still beyond stoked and was all overheated at work after I found out. My friends at Alternative Press even had the smarts to check in with me to make sure I was still breathing after the news was twitter-bombed.

In other-other news, Chooch is getting his tonsils out on July 2nd. :(

I haven’t finished editing the photos from Chooch’s birthday party yet (a lot of the shots have Chooch’s school friends in them and I don’t want to get bitched out again for posting them on my heretic blog) so here are the ones from my phone (nice & blurry to cover my ass).

Barb learned her lesson.

****
Living Treasures Birthday Field Trip

Chooch kept calling the camels “cannibals” and I didn’t correct him.

It was a nice day, nothing much to complain about. The grounds were surprisingly dick-free and we even got to see some animal mating going down, including a particularly horny peacock who was totally embarrassing himself; finally, I have a benchmark when imagining Henry trying to get laid during his SERVICE years.

However, we went to Perkins afterward, where Chooch had a total meltdown over the restaurant’s lack of wifi and kept talking in angry tones about death and how no one would care if he died, themes that he’s way too young to be touching upon, and of course the two ladies seated in the booth next to ours had just come from Bible study and were giving each other concerned raised-eyebrows. Totally awesome. Can’t wait to see what he’s like as a teenager.

Today Chooch is six! He seemed kind of upset about it though and said, “Can you cut off one of my toes so I can be 5 again?

”

Whatever that means.

His class went to the symphony for the THIRD time this year today so he asked if he could politely bow out. I figured since it’s his birthday, he shouldn’t have to suffer, so we’re going to Living Treasures animal park instead. I took the day off work and everything – finally earning some mom points!

God, he totally just bitched at me from the backseat to turn down my music because he’s trying to listen to Eisley and My Chemical Romance on “his phone.

”

I can’t believe he’s six? I can’t believe he’s ONLY six, really.

This only lasted for 2 minutes, but I can’t remember the last time I was able to meet my “Laughing at Henry’s Expense” quota in JUST TWO MINUTES.

Monster cupcakes decorated by me, Christina and Christina’s sister Cynthia.

Chooch’s 6th birthday party was last night and it was a lot of fun*. However, the mom in me has been all nostalgic today; it seems like just last year we were trhowing him a 1st birthday blowout at my mom’s house, but then I think of how much things have changed since then, how I don’t even talk to my mom anymore, or my aunt Sharon, and how I’m always trying to overcompensate for this loss of family by trying to lure as many people as possible to my kid’s parties.

(*Unless you’re breaking bones, and then it might be a pretty shitty time.)

Not only was my mom at his 1st birthday, but it was at her house and she even helped me plan it. I spent my break at work today looking at pictures from that day and feeling bittersweet, but mostly happy because that was such a good day.

And I had a tutu.

And Christina was there. She has missed his last 4 parties because of our utter inability to iron shit out between us. Even though she wasn’t at his party last night, just knowing she’s back was enough for both me and Chooch. (Plus, she bought him shit when she was visiting last weekend, so that’s definitely good enough for Chooch. He is very easily won over with tangible tokens of love, just like his mother.)

My friend Bill baked Chooch’s personal  cake and then Kara decorated it in the likeness of the party invitations I made, while I breathed down her back and made idle threats.

….M.C.A.?

Chooch has always been kind of a big deal. I love that kid.

Big shout out to everyone else out there who loves him too. Thank you for making him feel special.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna be SIX!”

Boys Table.

Chooch’s roller skating party is tonight! Bill, Jessi and Tammy came in for the weekend from Michigan, so we’ve been having fun times with them, which I will write about tomorrow.

We had breakfast this morning at Eat n Park. There weren’t enough tables so we had to split up between a table and booth. Henry tried to move the table closer but got scolded by the manager for violating the fire code. It was pretty irritating, but the bright side was that it put Henry further away from me.

Too bad today’s Pens game has been on the forefront of my mind the whole time, making me all skittish and nauseated. Why did I eat so much before such a big game? :(

I’ve had this vision for Easter portraits in my head for quite awhile now, but getting Henry to go along with it was not that easy, even for me. Well, that’s not true – it was pretty easy. But he still waited until an hour before we left the house to pull some 13th hour divo stunt and tried to text his son Blake to be a fill-in. I completely lost my shit, started crying, screamed JUST FORGET IT! and stormed off to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

As if I wasn’t already stressed enough about the Penguins playoff implosion.

Approximately five minutes later, Henry came upstairs. I forget what exactly he said to me, but it wasn’t a distinct “I am not going to do this” so that gave me hope and I went back downstairs to harp on him some more. I even promised to take the trolley to work all week!

“Look,” Christina whispered to me while Henry was in the kitchen mouthing off about how he hates when I tell him what he’s going to do. “You know he’s going to do it. He just has to put on this little show to keep some of his masculinity.” But then Chooch started crying too because all he knew was that at some point that day, he was going to get to put makeup on, and now suddenly HENRY was going to take that away from him.

“You want me to drive to some abandoned private property, put on makeup and have my picture taken,” Henry barked. “That’s like a trifecta of things I hate.”

“He just learned that word,” I said snidely to Christina.

“You owe me,” he said before he left, and Christina told me later that the part I didn’t hear was him saying, “And I’m not talking about sex, either.” OMG THEN WHAT?!

Did I mention that Henry was also sick all weekend? He had a fever the day before, even.

But because he is the BEST BOYFRIEND EVER, he tucked his tail between his legs and drove us out to Elizabeth, PA (even stopping on his own accord to get an extra pair of bunny ears) where he then stood obediently in front of me while I smeared costume makeup all over his face.

“I’m not laughing,” he snarled as I was doing my signature “laughing til I pee”-squat. But I’m certain I saw the corners of his mouth fighting to curl up.

On Saturday, Christina and I went to Goodwill to grab a dress shirt for Henry. I knew I wanted it to be a certain color, and wasn’t sure yet if I was going to incorporate fake blood, so I didn’t want to run the risk of ruining one of Henry’s TWO WHOLE DRESS SHIRTS.

For once, Goodwill didn’t fail me and I was really pleased with the shirt we found (Henry was of a different opinion), and then on a whim I said, “Let’s see if anything looks good in the boys section.” And holy shit, not only did we find a blazer, but we also found these plaid skinny jeans that happened to be in Chooch’s size. The unfortunate part is that not only are they for girls (who really cares about that though), they’re from that asshole Gwen Stefani’s kids clothing line, and I REALLY CAN’T STAND HER. But at least they were only like, $3.

(They also came with a detachable skirt, which we quickly unbuttoned before Chooch had a chance to notice. Good thing too, because he ended up loving these pants and wanted to wear them all weekend.)

(His tie was also a last minute find, and also for girls; the bottom is encrusted with rhinestones, another thing he didn’t seem to notice.)

I love that he looks like he’s going to a Sex Pistols show.

Fetus came along for the ride. I love him so.

I was angry that there was so much foliage around, so I put Christina to work (she is my slave, after all); she wound up taking all kinds of cuts and scratches back to Ohio with her. She even tried (and failed) to construct a bridge for us to cross over the muddy path that separated us from the small building I wanted to use.

Henry isn’t posing, he’s actually watching for cops because he was so paranoid we were going to get in trouble for trespassing, oh noes.

I can only imagine what goes on his head when I make him do the un-fun parts of the photo shoots. Having Christina there allowed me to get an extra 5 shots out of him, though. Usually he peaces out much sooner.

Did I mention it was over 80 degrees on Sunday? It was.

Afterward, we went to lunch at Blue Flame. I posted one of the bunny pictures of Henry that I had taken with my phone to Instagram and when I showed Henry, he quietly said, “Send that to me.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it’s a picture of me and I have a right to have it!” he said all defensively, because god forbid he should EVER admit that MAYBE he thinks something I did was KIND OF COOL.

Anyway, Henry kind of rules for doing this. And so far, I have not taken the trolley to work this week.

Chooch is being especially entertaining today. Meanwhile, Henry is pretending to be sick so he doesn’t have to put up with me and Christina.

Some girl working at Goodwill called me a genius.

She was like 17 though, so it doesn’t count.

This weekend rules so hard.

This picture freaks me out.

One more for good measure.

Speaking of Chooch, watching him play Draw Something has become my #1 favorite past time.

Last night, I was watching him draw “fishing,” but focus more on the race of the fisherman, which he changed three times before settling on a bald black man.

My friend Sandy came over to me at work the other day and said she feels she deserves an award guessing Chooch’s drawings.

“Bowser? Seriously?” she cried. I actually watched him draw that one and she’s right—she does deserve an award.

Last night, I also watched him completely complicate “bubbles.

” I think that one was actually for Sandy too, and probably REALLY stressed her out.

Sometimes he’s so good! He drew a really lovely coffin for Amelia, complete with a bloody corpse and gravestones in the background, but then other times I have no idea what he’s doing and I get all pageant mom on his ass. Like last night when he drew just a line at the bottom of the screen for “rug.”

“He really phoned that one in,” Amelia said.

But I mean, look at his penguin!

I was so totally proud of him! Too bad he was supposed to be drawing a rhino, though. Clicked on the wrong word, poor guy.

I like to take screencaps of some of mine so I can rub them in Henry’s face because he sucks so bad.

Sometimes I have a harder time trying to guess Henry’s drawings than Chooch’s. Maybe I’ll start collecting some of those for my next Draw Something post.

Even I phone it in at times, so I guess I shouldn’t be so hard on Chooch.

I’M STILL BETTER THOUGH!

I like to incorporate Jonny Craig in as many of my drawings as possible. This one was for Macbook, which was perfect since Jonny scammed his fans last year by selling non-existent Macbooks for drug money.

I get so much joy out of this game, but most of the joy comes from imagining my friends running their hands through their hair in frustration as they try to guess Chooch’s artistic impression of the word “noob.”

Other than that, I’ve just been busy bracing myself for hockey playoffs.

We did what any other sad-sack family does on a holiday when they have nowhere else to go – went and got sushi.

Chooch kept dunking his lo mein into his glass of lemonade (“What? It makes my noodles taste like lemonade and I like it.”), so now you’ll never again have to wonder why I have a strict no-share policy when it comes to my son and beverages.

Aside from Chooch shouting, “I just want to be able to recognize what they’re saying!” and then counting in Spanish to try and “fit in” with the Pan Asia waitstaff, it was a nice, drama-free Easter dinner. Since it was still early and nice out, we took Chooch to the playground afterward, where I made him cry because I’m better at sliding down slides than he is. Seriously, this happened. I’m even competitive at sliding down slides.

Henry just shook his head and sighed.

Then he convinced me that I should not take a left-behind bottle of Diet Mountain Dew even if it was unopened.

While I was swinging (better than Chooch), the parallels between that and my recent emotions were not lost on me. One simple text message received February 24th at 12:22AM and everything has been swinging out of control, my heart has felt like a fucking Elmo pinata at some dumb 4-year-old’s birthday party, and for as hard and as stubbornly I’ve been trying to slam that door in her face, for as many awkward (supposedly) last words we’ve had over the last month and a half, she is still the only one who called me on Easter to talk to me about how I was feeling, to comfort me, to remind me that I’m a better person than my family has ever given me credit for. So what am I doing. For the last two and a half years, I have had this emptiness in my heart and would constantly ask Henry things like, “Do you think I’ll ever talk to her again?” and “Do you think she still cares about me?” and then she finally gets the chance to come back, but for every brick she knocks down, I’m busy laying down five more; busy listening to all the naysayers, letting other people confuse me, when I should have been listening to myself, and to Henry who has literally only been wrong a total of 4 times in the 11 years we’ve been together. But I’ve been too fucking bull-headed, resistant and cowardly to admit that I want to be friends with Christina again (there, her name has officially been written), to have that person in my life who I can call to get a second opinion when Henry tells me not to take some stranger’s unopened bottle of Diet Mountain Dew, in spite of all the supposed “closure” I was trying to convince myself I could achieve by putting all of our sordid past out in the open for everyone to read.

And if it takes swinging on a swingset in South Park on the day that Jesus provided a lifetime of wet dreams for George Romero by rising from the dead to make me realize that maybe the ending doesn’t feel right because the story isn’t over yet, then so be it. I just know that I can’t keep having these psychopathic arguments in my head anymore; I need to make a decision and stick with it before anyone gets even more hurt. And I don’t want it to be a secret. No more texting a nameless Cincinnati phone number. Either her name goes back in my phone or I need to walk away from this for good—no more Limbo. I officially don’t give a fuck what anyone else has to say about that.

There was a middle-aged blind lady swinging next to me and it was the single most amazing thing that happened all day. She was so happy. We should all be that happy on the playground.

Totally stopped pouting after that. (Until later that night, of course, when Henry chose his words poorly, which is like the worst thing in the world for an already hyper-emotional girl.)

I found Henry standing on a tree stump, counting its rings. Apparently that was his favorite thing to do as a child after completing his daily paper route.

Went home and ate coconut cream pie (with NO meringue!), which is really all I wanted to do all weekend, although maybe in my fantasies it involved more of a swan dive into a pool of it, less spooning it into my mouth.

Thank you Henry and Chooch for salvaging yet another holiday. How can I be lonely when those two jerks are always up in my face, anyway.

I’m ready for things to be OK now. It’s like I’m punishing myself and I just don’t know what for.

Today is Chooch’s last day of Easter break so we went outside under the pretenses of doing “normal” child activities.

Writing inoffensive slogans with sidewalk chalk kept Chooch busy for approximately 5 minutes.

And then we played with what I hoped would be Thingie Ball 2012, but it is sadly a cheap imitation of my beloved Thingie Ball set from 2010, which I have been unable to find in Target ever since.

We gave up after I screamed, “THIS SUCKS, I HATE IT & NEVER WANT TO PLAY AGAIN!” Chooch was like, “God, calm down Mommy. We’re outside where people can see AND hear you.”

Finally, Chooch could contain himself no longer and we spent the rest of our time outside playing zombies.

Flexible Zombie.

Then the FedEx guy came to deliver a package for our neighbor, which made Chooch cry REAL TEARS because I NEVER ORDER ANYTHING FOR HIM, WAAAAH.

Guess what, kid—Mommy likes getting mail too, so GET IN LINE.

Seriously. Who actually LOVES Ohio? In either case, we had a nice day there yesterday. I’m very tired though & ruing the moment I gave Chooch my old iPhone so he can play Draw Something on his own.

Granted, it’s helping him with his reading and spelling, but he is SO HIGH MAINTENANCE about it and gets all pissed of when people don’t drop everything to guess his drawing immediately after he sends it to them. (omgitschooch if you want to play him.)

(He really is getting so good at reading and spelling though. Through the power of “sounding it out,” he was able to spell “piss” the other day. I’m proud and also extremely surprised that he started with such a PG word.)

At one point yesterday, we were at some playground in this small town outside of Columbus when he patted the pockets of his jeans and exclaimed, “Shit, where’s my phone?!”

Dude, you’re 5. Calm the fuck down and play with some Legos. And no, not a Lego app on your iPhone!

Coming home from roller skating.

Sunday was so beautiful. After the hockey game (PENS WON, FUCK YEAH), I suggested that we spend quality family time outdoors, so we went to the cemetery like anyone else would do. I chose the Homewood Cemetery on this particular day because it has a pond and it’s been awhile since we were there last. So many great memories were made in this place. And it’s where Chooch was conceived!

(Kidding. No really, it seems like it would have to be true, but it’s a joke.)

“Look at that tree!” Chooch yelled, pointing to some weird, ugly, low-to-the-ground clump of vegetation. (Not the tree in the above picture.) He covered his mouth and giggled obnoxiously. Not even plants can escape his scathing mockery.

“That’s not a tree,” my Pointdexter Eagle Scout boyfriend corrected. “It’s a rhododendron bush.” And he even pushed up his glasses as he said it.

“Oh boy, I always forget that you’re a nature know-it-all,” I mumbled, picking up my pace. He gets on my nerves with this shit. If it’s not moss education or bird identifying, it’s smug bush naming.

Get a fucking life, Henry.

Ever since that one dickhead made a comment about how I post too many Instagram’d photos, that’s pretty much all I want to do. AND I THINK I WILL. I am full of self-righteousness these days. (I know, what else is new.)

OMG DEER!!

This is like the most anti-Chooch bench of all time. Love to all? Yeah right. He divvies his love in tiny increments between our dead cat Speck, Star Wars, wii and whichever girl he’s fake-hating at school this week. (Names will forever be omitted for the sake of all those Catholic school families who do not want to be associated with any of the Satanic smut on this website.)

This is part of the maintenance building, but it reminded me so much of the Bayernhof Music Museum, that I had to take a picture and send it to Andrea. I should have waited until much later that night, though, so she would have had horrific nightmares of vagina dentata, where the dentata was actually the thrashing lid of a music box. She told me I’m evil — only to my favorites!

It’s a wonder he didn’t fall into the pond. I almost fell into the pond when I was yelling at him about falling into the pond. One of these days, I really am going to fall into a pond and I’ll be part of that small percentage of people who wind up with some nasty parasitic worm swimming up their nostril (I’d say kooka, but I’ve already mentioned vagina once and I’m trying to keep this a Catholic family blog), but if it’s the kind that will make me lose weight, I’ll be fine with it.

“CARRY ME, MY LEGS HURT! I’M SO BORED!” He says bored when really he means LAZY. This kid has so much energy and I have seen him run laps around most other kids on a playground, but if we’re anywhere else where he has to walk like a normal human being, he gets all bent out of shape. Not like I walk like a normal human being, but I can at least walk uphill without having a major fit about it.

(Mostly.)

OMG SO FUCKING TIRED!!!!!!

Oh OK, Nature Dick.

Chooch and I spent most of our walk bickering with each other. I told him lies about cemeteries and Henry would sigh and say, “No, Chooch, that’s not true.” Then he would threaten to hit me with sticks and I would retaliate with threats to leave him there alone over night.

During one of our typical banter sessions, I was frustrated to the point where I said he was my least best friend.

“Yeah, well you’re my frenemy,” he retorted with a smugness.

On the way back to the car, we passed a couple sitting on a secluded bench behind some overgrown bushes.

“WHAT ARE THEY DOING, LOOKING AT DEAD PEOPLE?” Chooch shouted in his normal high-octave voice.

Henry tried to shush him, but then I noticed what they were actually doing so then Henry turned his futile shushing onto me.

“Chooch, do you know what they’re doing?” I asked mischievously.

“WHAT? WHAT ARE THEY DOING?!” he asked, stopping in his tracks and craning his neck toward them again.

“They’re MAKING OUT!” I yelled, and Henry shook his head and walked away while Chooch and I cracked up like two five-year-0lds.

Who needs a playground when there are cemeteries?