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!

“Who is Jesus Christ, anyway?” Chooch asked me one day last week.

“Um, he’s Jesus,” I said, totally astonished at the stupid question.

“Well, I didn’t know that was his last name!” Chooch cried defensively. So I guess the whole time I had been planning my Pizza Party for Jesus Christ, Chooch thought a real life person named Jesus Christ was coming over to eat pizza with us.

Let me start at the beginning.

Holidays give me anxiety because I don’t want to be alone. I spent most holidays in my 20s alone and even though I have Henry and Chooch now, I need those days to still feel like a holiday, like a celebration. Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve and Christmas are fine because we have things to do, but Easter is different. Easter is the holiday my family gave up on after my Pappap died. I think over the years, my mom might have had two or three Easter dinners, but it will always be That First Holiday After Pappap Died. The awkward holiday that no one knows what do with because it’s so soon after The Death and no one really wants to go through the motions.

Last year, Henry, Chooch and I ate at a Chinese restaurant. I couldn’t do that again. I needed to have company over, I needed a reason to decorate and have fun. So I invited some friends over who don’t have family here in Pittsburgh, plus Janna who was free after having Easter brunch with her parents. My brother Corey went with his girlfriend, and Henry’s sons also went with their girlfriends, because having pizza in the name of Jesus Christ wasn’t important enough for them, I guess. Pizza heathens.

Jesus doesn’t save pizza for heathens on the other side. Remember that, boys.

Everyone else I invited seemed stoked to have something to do on Easter, and that was all I hoped to achieve. Laura and Mike were on board, as well as my friends Natasha and Bill, whom I don’t get to see nearly enough! I used to work with Bill at one of my old jobs, so I was looking forward to hearing current tales about Eleanor and the job itself, which I still don’t really understand and I worked there for almost two years.

Two years of having no idea what I was doing — it’s a wonder I lasted as long as I did without getting fired, wtf.

(Don’t worry — I understand my current job, I promise.)

Chooch and I had a dance party while Henry cleaned the house.

Without consulting with Henry, I sent out a Facebook event.

“This is the day after the craft show!” Henry bitched. “When am I supposed to clean!?”

I tried to reason that he didn’t have to really go all out because it was, and I quote, “just a relaxing evening eating pizza in the name of Jesus Christ.”

Kind of like a “Welcome home!” and going away party in one.

“And furthermore, where am I going to get pizza on EASTER? There won’t be any pizza places open!” his rant continued.

“Um, maybe a Chinese pizza parlor?” I suggested smugly which only proved to anger him more.

While Henry ran off to the grocery store Easter afternoon, I did my part: setting out some religious candles and Jesus’s head. Happy Easter!

And Easter candy in bat bowls! I even walked to CVS all on my own (OK, with Chooch) to get the candy! Then I realized I forgot balloons (for Jesus) so Henry ended up having to go back out to the store anyway.

I blew up a bag of balloons and then let them float in disarray in our fake fireplace. So yes, clearly it was imperative for Henry to make that special trip to the store to get balloons. (And also crescent rolls and marshmallows for EMPTY TOMBS because what’s a pizza party for Jesus Christ without EMPTY TOMBS for dessert!?)

Michonne was one of the things in Chooch’s Easter basket because we are one of those asshole families that treat Easter like a springtime Christmas and I don’t really care if you judge me for giving the economy a boost. (Chooch and I both got new Pierce the Veil t-shirts from Hot Topic, too! THANK YOU EASTER BUNNY.)

During one of Henry’s trips to the store, he came back with some meat product you people call “pork tenderloin.”

OK. Here is a list of clues I collected during the day, proving that Henry actually enjoyed himself:

• He could have just bought pre-made frozen pizza and been done with it, but instead he came home with some kind of artisan pizza crusts and fancy ingredients.
• He took great pride in serving a variety of pizza, including: mozzarella/basil/tomato, shrimp pesto, chorizo, the aforementioned pork tenderloin, and some kind of fancy cheese thing. Who does that? A man who is having a fun time at a pizza party for Jesus Christ, that’s who.
• I caught him with a pizza hard-on a few times in the kitchen.
• He even stated for the record,”If I’m going to make pizza, it’s going to be good pizza.”

Great hair.

“What a shocker, I got a movie about a cat!”

Laura and Mike. Praying, obviously. (Look at that yellow balloon! I blew that up!)

Chooch and I were dressed like we had just tumbled out of a Crayola box.

Freaking Natasha magically turned away every time I tried to take her picture! God, she’s good.

I let Bill sit in my wheelchair because it was Easter and I felt like being a little nice to my guests.

This pizza’s for you J.C.! (And for once, that’s not a Jonny Craig reference.)

Henry cut all the pizza into awkward hors d’oeuvres shapes but then didn’t walk around serving them along with champagne flutes, which I found to be just plain rude. Henry sucks at hosting.

Right when Henry was finally about to sit down, I yelled, “WHAT ABOUT THE EMPTY TOMBS!?” so he sighed and retreated back to the kitchen.

“OMG so wait! The marshmallow was supposed to be Jesus, and then it melted so that’s what makes it an empty tomb!?” I shouted in my best A-ha! voice.

Chooch during one of his temper tantrums. Sometimes he gets SO MAD when he realizes that people mght actually come to our house to hang out with ME TOO. It’s not always just about him!

Chooch made us play Pictionary Junior which only led to tears. If he’d just accept the fact that I’m the best, maybe we could play games together in harmony someday.

And then we watched the Walking Dead season finale and cried together.

This was hands down the best Easter I had in a long time. Thanks to my friends who came over and spent the evening in our crazy house. Mad respect for pizza and you too, Jesus Christ!

———

The next day at work, Cheryl asked me, “How was your Easter? Do you guys do something weird for that, too?”

I love that my co-workers know me.

I wondered why Henry was being so weird about me buying tickets to the upcoming Jonny Craig show in March. Every time I’d say, “I’m buying those tickets tomorrow,” he would snap, “No!!” I thought it was because he was writing checks behind my back again and we actually had no money.

But then he forwarded me the email ticket confirmation because I guess he was afraid I was going to start putting myself up for auction on fetishist websites again in order to buy the tickets myself.

So I guess I’m supposed to consider this my Valentine’s Day present (“I bought the tickets and I’M GOING WITH YOU, TOO. That says a lot!” Henry fought for his cause), and that’s sweet and all, but we all know I was getting these tickets one way or another.

Therefore, he still has to do something for me for Valentine’s Day. Maybe I’ll have him clean out the car or chase down a Mexican fruit cart. We shall see.

(What the fuck is up with that sinister Johan up there, anyway?)

———-

In other V-day news, I passed out my serial killer cards (and some of Chooch’s zombie ones as a safe bet for the people I wasn’t sure about). They were mostly well-received! However, I gave an Albert Fish to one of my co-workers, even though I don’t know her very well. Later, she came over to my office and, with a horrified look on her face, said, “I wiki’d the guy on the card you gave me and that was the most disturbing Wikipedia page I’ve ever seen!” And then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “Thanks for the Valentine.” I think she liked it!

I was telling Barb about it later and she was all, “OMG you gave her one of those cards? She’s so sweet and innocent! Good job, Erin!”

You know me, making friends wherever I go!

(Speaking of the serial killer Valentines, they got a little shout out on the FEARnet website!)

OK, OK, this is the last one, I swear! I just couldn’t rest over the weekend until I had an even number of sheets and I had all these ideas and then realized, “Wait, do I seriously not have ANY Green River Killer cards?!” So I made one and that is how I justified needing to make 5 more different designs. When I’m on a kick, I can get pretty out of control. I mean, you should see the fruit in my kitchen.

So here is the final sheet of the Serial Killer Valentine series (although, I might potentially be making zombie versions).

(I’m sorry for the enthusiasm, but I’m just really excited and proud of these! I’ve wanted to make them for a long time now and I worked extra-hard on them.)

Richard Ramirez, Harry Powers, The Ken & Barbie Killers, Green River Killer, HH Holmes, David Berkowitz/Son of Sam.

Each one has their name printed on the back, so if you give one to someone and they don’t know who it is, they can ask Google. Sick AND educational, see!?

In case you missed the post about this last week (which can be found here), each sheet is $6 but there are different bundles you can get to save money. All the details are on Etsy: non compos cards. If you prefer to not go through Etsy, leave a comment or email me directly: noncomposcards@gmail.com

You won’t find anything like this anywhere else, I promise. Henry and I have been making these cards since 2007 and put a lot of love and effort into them. They’re not cheaply or sloppily made. Check my feedback on Etsy, you’ll see!

The sheets are sold in protective cellophane sleeves. I just shipped a bunch to Warriors 3 Comics in Michigan, so if you live near the Wayne/Detroit, go check ’em out!

(And by that I mean go buy some!)

UPDATE: these are now even better, check out this post!

****

For the last couple of years, I’ve really wanted to make sheets of mini-Valentines, like the kinds that kids pass out at school. Remember making those stupid cardboard mailboxes so our classmates could slip in Barbie and Hot Wheels Valentines, and then acting repulsed when you got one from the kid you had a crush on? That’s what I had in mind for my serial killer Valentines, and this year I finally made some. Three different sheets of 6, to be exact! Each sheet is perforated, so you just tear them apart and pass ’em out to whoever is on your hit list this year. I have several of my own people in mind.

I also thought these would be fun to pass out at the office, your AA meetings, church collection baskets. Leave them on the bus for the next person who sits in your seat to find! Stick them in those things called “books” before you return them to that weird place called “the library.”

The possibilities are endless! I just don’t endorse giving these to your kids to pass out at school. (Don’t they have an app for passing out Valentines now anyway?)

These are printed on high-quality paperstock in eye-popping ink. I couldn’t be happier with them!

Want a sheet of all Manson? Half Gein / half Borden? See one that you’d really like as a regular-sized card to send in the mail? These are easily customizable so holla at me with any requests. (That part will just become Henry’s burden anyway, so what do I care?)

This is honestly what I’ve been doing all week: staring at serial killer mugs and eating fruit. I might need a little rest.

DISCLAIMER: These are meant to be tongue-in-cheek. I do not think murder is cool, nor do I condone it. But what’s life without a little humor?

These were some of the best frowns of 2012. Here’s to many more in 2013!

Andrea suggested a calendar of frowns. Looks like we know what I’ll be working on this week!

Henry’s sister Kelly usually hosts Christmas Eve at her house, but we wanted to give her a break this year so we had everyone come to our crib for once. You guys know that I am embroiled in a hate-hate relationship with my house, but Henry really gave it a good cleaning and then I lit a bunch of candles.

Because candles make everything better.

Chooch picked out some Christmas M&Ms at Target and I poured them into a red bowl. Then I filled two other bowls with Chex Mix and some sort of spicy chips that no one but Chooch and I liked. I thought I did a fine job and made sure to point this out once everyone arrived.

Earlier that weekend, Chooch and I walked to the Mexican market to buy candy. I put some of that in a Mason jar. Something for everyone, you know?

There was a time when I was really super into having parties and had a spread so good, most people just wanted to stand around the food table all night.

I don’t know exactly what happened, but thank god for Henry, else our Christmas Eve crew would have gone terribly hungry. I had no idea he was making half the shit he made. Like ham. Did I even know Henry could make ham? Why would I know that? When’s the last time a vegetarian*  asked someone to cook them a motherfucking ham?

*(I eat fish now though, so I’m a poser.)

Henry also made mashed potatoes; some weird Lebanese dish with lamb and green beans, prompting an argument over whether or not I like green beans; peanut butter blossoms; shrimp-y deviled eggs; and an array of finger sandwiches which was actually my idea, I just didn’t feel like executing it.

I was really upset that I made room on one of the platters for Henry’s cocktail weiners and then he never put them out. The more wine I chugged, the more weiner-compassionate I became. “The weiners still haven’t been put out!” I would cry and Henry’s sister would laugh, because I get it — weiners are funny, but this was SERIOUS! There was this gaping void between the pepperoni and carrots that needed to be filled. IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

“I’ll get to it!” Henry kept saying, while ruining my pretty red serving platter by carving his fucking ham upon its face. Whatever.

So much cheese — I PUT THESE ON THE PLATTER! I also put out the goat cheese and I would have also put out the brie but I wasn’t sure how to open the package so Henry had to do that later. The cheese in the middle was some sort of whisky aged cheddar? Mike, Laura and Henry made fun of me because I couldn’t taste the whiskey, and then Henry asked, “Do you even know what whisky tastes like?”

I thought about it for a second and then realized that the fact that I had to even think about it probably meant that no, I don’t. If you gave me a flight of scotch, whiskey, brandy and bourbon and told me I could have STD-free sex with Jonny Craig if I correctly distinguished all four, I’d be scooting my radioactive kooka across the floor for some relief right about now.

That is to say: I would fail that taste-testing sesh.

At least I wasn’t eating the wax like Henry’s mom was!

In lieu of ingesting it, Mike made architectural masterpieces out of his cheese refuse.

Stephanie called my finger sandwiches “delightful.” Technically, I only made approximately four of them (but to my defense, they were the prettiest ones) before hysterically whining about how difficult it was while flailing about, leaving the rest for Henry to prepare.

It’s OK. He’s used to this.

Camera lens had no less than 7 fingerprints on it, but I was too drunk to notice. Besides, maybe I was going for that dreamy holiday haze. YOU DON’T KNOW.

Oh, and would you look at what is on Henry’s mom’s plate? Why, that would be an Erin Kelly Original Cookie. And by original, I mean that it originally came out of a plastic tub of fundraising cookie dough. I made these when Henry ran to the store earlier that day, thinking he would be so delighted when he came home to see that he had one less thing to do.

But no.

He was apprehensive.

And then when he saw the first batch, and how they had all adhered to each other to form one slimy pile of botulism, he said, “No. You can’t put these out. People will get SICK, ERIN.” My next batch was monitored closely and once Henry deemed them properly incubated, I was allowed to put those ones out on the table.

And then Henry had the audacity to almost forget to bring out the other thing that I sort of helped to make!

Weird shrimp egg things! He showed me how to pipe that shit into the eggs using a plastic bag. It was exciting, and when I grew tired after injecting the first three, he made me keep going.

Ugh, it was awful! I hate making food things!

Blake and Sam, sitting in the one corner of the room that wasn’t cleaned.

After texting back and forth with my friend Jessa about Newtown tragedy, she filled me in on the Sandy Hook Snowflake project, where people all over the world are making snowflakes to help turn the new elementary school into a winter wonderland. I thought, “What better time to undertake a project than when I have a houseful of minions guests to help me. I found this tutorial on some lady’s blog on how to make really fancy snowflakes out of junk mail, so I made Laura demonstrate. I’m not a good teacher. And besides, Laura had JUST looked at the instructions on my phone! They were fresh in her memory!

Even Mad Henry made one.

Snowflake Sweat Shop.

Mike made German Chocolate brownies, OMG.

Cousins.

Stephanie, Kian and Samantha. They appreciated the Jonny Craig-touches on my Christmas tree. So there, Henry. (We are in the same demographic though.)

We managed to not kill each other! Let’s have all of the parties at our house, Henry!

News flash, Chooch: Christmas ain’t all about you, OK? Mommy & Daddy got some shit, too!

In addition to a freak show bracelet & a collection of vintage photos of handicapped people, my favorite pretend-sister, Andrea, hooked me up with a Wheelchair Jimmy t-shirt!

It’s no engagement ring, but a dental disaster around my neck is enough to keep me quiet for a day or two. Thanks for paying attention to my Etsy wish list, HANK.

I was actually going to buy it for myself and then honest to god shrieked when I saw it had been sold. Henry said he had considered contacting the seller and telling her that if I sent her a convo (which I was considering) to tell me that she was never ever ever ever getting back together making another one.

I honestly had no idea that Henry bought it. Do you know how many times a day I send him things from Etsy and say, “I want this”? Christina even said she was has an entire email folder full of my wants.

My friend Tammy made this Robot Blood nail polish & I fucking love it!

I have to thank my friend Laura for posting this purse on my timeline. Henry took note and bought it for me.

I bought Henry a Krochet Kids hat, which I then decorated with a handful of Dance Gavin Dance pins that I purchased from eBay specifically for this occasion. You can tell by his delirious expression that he was stoked beyond belief.

I also gave him a DIY cheese-making kit. The gift card said “Merry Xmas. Now make me some goddamn cheese.”

I put a lot of thought into my gifts for Henry.

Please forgive me, but I still have a ton of Christmas bullshit to fling all up on these pages like Pollacked ape shit. However, I’m sick (again—December can blow me) so this isn’t happening as fast as I need it too.

Today’s cop-out post is a picture of the Darkride & Funhouse Enthusiast Christmas card that Henry, Chooch and I are on. I wasn’t expecting it so it was a fun surprise when it came in the mail.

I got made fun of at work for joining this group, but I just really like being a part of things, OK?!

Next: Christmas Eve pictures, Chooch-designed Christmas cards, PRESENTS!!!

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.

The “I Told You Not To Buy Him Mouse Trap for Xmas Because This Is The Worst Game Ever and You Two Assholes Totally Aren’t Going to Play By the Rules, Now Get That Camera Out of My Grill So I Can Finish Reading the Directions Because I Don’t Remember Way Back to 1970” frown.

BONUS MARCY FROWN: The “Wait, This Fucking Game Doesn’t Come With a Real Mouse?” frown.

(Side note: I’ve never played this game by the rules before. Exciting!)

(Side-side note: I put my first piece on backwards and Henry the Professional Mouse Trap Engineer is berating me haha.)

I would like to pay someone to teach me how to wrap presents. (Not to toot my own horn, but I do honestly think that I’ve vastly improved. I mean, at least I graduated to real wrapping paper.)

The other day, Chooch was like, “Mommy, you do such a great job wrapping presents.” I thought Henry was going to choke to death.

Marcy was all, “Go ahead, you can pretend I wrapped that. But everyone knows even I would do a better job.”

Henry was going to wrap all of Chooch’s presents at his office this weekend but I threw a gigantic fit because I want to help too.

“Oh please! We both know you’re not going to do shit to help!” Henry yelled. But guess who decided to wrap them at home tonight after all? HAHAHA another victory!

Pretty much the highlight of the week for me!

And it’s always awesome when Chooch is making wild accusations in line about Santa being a serial killer. I’m sure the other parents were amused.