Here is what happened: We were at my sister-in-law Sheree's "Eat Food and Occasionally Watch the Super Bowl Ads" party. Chancho overheard DJ telling some people what Chancho means in Spanish.
He was not pleased.
This whole time I thought he knew. We have told the tale of how he got his nickname so many times I assumed that he must have figured it out at some point, but I was grossly mistaken. I keep trying to sneak it into conversation like it was all just a bad dream, but he won't have it. I am very sad about this. My boy has outgrown his nickname.
Happier news: I ran this week! It was glorious and wonderful and every other sweeping, generic adjective that you can think of. I may regret this later in life when I have to have all of my foot bones fused together or something like that, but for now I am happy and blissful as an ignorant clam.
I love running so much, which is weird because I'm not that great at it. Consistent, yes, but not naturally talented. If we're ever faced with a zombie apocalypse situation my brain will be the first to be eaten since I'm so slow, but I persist. Yesterday I went for my morning trot and it was raining. The sun broke through the clouds and voila:
I stopped dead in my tracks on the trail and took a picture. Can you think of a better way to start your day? Until I can eat doughnuts again, I can't.
Lastly, here is a little something about the new Monopoly game piece and what is wrong with America. I figured it out, so you can rest easy.