the smell of my desperation has become a stench

Burial Ground

Yesterday during intense house-cleaning festivities Jon used a wire hanger to grab one of Chuck’s lost tennis balls out from underneath the couch. Instead of a lost tennis ball, however, he discovered:

– 5 barely recognizable rawhide nubbins
– 2 whole rawhide bones
– 2 Kong chew toys
– 3 lost tennis balls
– 12 or more random pieces of stuffed squeaky toys (ears, whole feet, several tails)

At first it was really funny, like, I remember that foot! But Jon kept pulling out more and more detritus, and it was like, dude, we’ve stumbled across The Stash.

Chuck watched the whole thing in horror, like we were digging up dead bodies. He’d glance at the next piece pulled from the grave and then look at us like, my god, you people, that was there for a reason. Within three minutes he had systematically scooted everything back underneath the couch.

So Jon and I are like, okay. That’s his space. He can have his space. And I’m like, who wouldn’t give this precious little potato punkin bundle every inch of space in the whole wide world?

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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