So Peter and I were talking today about what’s going on in La Mesa, CA. The bank we use was on fire in an article I found, the Postal Annex where I send my mail. And it didn’t bother me that it was so close to home. I have some friends and family that keep saying things like, “violence isn’t the answer,” and “rioting is just making things worse,” which is obviously a pretty hypocritical thing to say given the circumstances of how all of this started. And then Peter summed it up perfectly, as he tends to do. Many white people want the “violence” and rioting to stop because they want everything to go right back to the way things were. Comfortable, safe, convenient and free. But black people are TERRIFIED for things to go back to the way things were. Being treated like criminals, dying at rates far higher than whites, friends being followed by the police with their babies, many arrested often for NO reason. Their lives literally depend on things NOT going back to the “way things were.” So THAT is why people are getting violent. Because then YOU have to pay attention. So yea, one thing the girls have taught me living in the Middle East is that racism is taught. Most of their friends don’t look like them, and they’ve never noticed because we are all the same in the end. People just trying our best...just like the finger puppets who are missing eyes, limbs and especially the ducky who fell into the toilet today.
Meet Pompom. She has a very unhealthy codependent relationship with about 82643 stuff animals. This wouldn’t normally be a problem, except that every night at 2am, Pompom proceeds to collect all of her friends for the mass migration into her parents’ room. Inevitably, the microscopic finger puppet gets lost in the shuffle, leading to a Mach3 level meltdown. The parents try to talk Pompom out of her grenade laden hysteria, which (obviously) never EVER works. So in order to avoid the neighbors calling the police, they send out a search party for the aforementioned finger puppet puppy with a missing eye, which last night, led to its discovery in Pompom’s matted hair. I’m sure you’re not judging us, but like, you’re judging us. It’s fine. Can someone please recommend a family therapist?
Weekly recap, by Aniston. Quarantine day #whothehellknows! The best part of the week was when I spiked a 39 degree fever randomly after mom has spent the last 30-something days Cloroxing the shit out of everything in the apartment (including dad). I’m fine now, but it was fun to spice things up a bit. Pompom discretely discovered that mom has a mustache, which she then announced to our downstairs neighbors (and her teacher this morning while on Zoom). Mom randomly spent the next 45 minutes researching “at home waxing options.” Also, in an attempt to stifle her boredom with online shopping, mom *almost* purchased a horse on Facebook. Thankfully, she came to her senses when dad and her trainer reminded her she is NOT, in fact, a royal princess. But #thatsdebatable. To feel better, we all played dress up with the one nice piece of clothing mom owns, her #sadutunic. She paired it with her 23-day old stained sweat pants while playing unicorn mice with Pompom. Oh, and then she Googled cafes in Paris with @desperatediplowife because they decided they’re going to bounce the minute they can, and spend all the money they just saved by not going out for coffee. So yea, we’re all healthy, our thighs are a little thicker than last week, but things could be infinitely worse!! (No, but really, how do you get rid of a mustache?) #quarantinekkqueen #sadugoesglobal #sendwine #orponies
Um, Pompom, what are your animals doing? “Nothing. Just riding on a zip line.” What happens when the TV remote goes missing and the parents are too lazy to rip the couch apart to find it.
31 days. That is how long it takes for a family of four in a three bedroom apartment with no access to outdoor space/sunshine (other than a very small balcony) to lose their EVER-LOVING shit on each other. Hopefully this means we had a good ole reset and can last another 31 days! Cheers!
Organic recycled orange peel surfboards, the staple of any true hippie Californian art. (I think I may have about .027% of her creativity!) Please note, as evidenced by the cut orange peels, we ARE actually feeding our children healthy snacks while Peter and I hoard the cookies, brownies, Doritos, etc. We don’t actually let them play with knives (most days). Also, I’m over homeschool, and personally think life skills (like dreaming about San Diego surf) is far more valuable than math. Well, that’s only if she can sell her art. Also, Pompom refuses to put on pants or eat anything else other than yogurt. Send help.
So let’s recap the week. According to Google Translate, mom got a stern email lecture by a teacher because she was not properly uploading the 92643 coloring pages required to further French education. We have not brushed our hair in weeks, as evidenced by pretzel crumbs and hard boiled egg bits. Dad cried and fell into a deep depression over a cancelled elliptical delivery. He quelled his emotional outburst by baking sourdough bread. Mom and dad got into a fight over where the hypothetical groceries were left by the hypothetical delivery guy. The piles of wrinkled shirts are still wrinkled, meaning their excuse for “not having time” is a complete lie. Everyone has gained at least 5kg in the last 7 days. We assume our average step count is 100 steps per day...combined. We’ve all worn pants at least twice this week. So I’d say we’re pretty much owning this whole “quarantine” business because this is pretty much our typical reality. Any fun stories to share about your week?
Pompom woke up today, came in to our bedroom and declared that she FEELS different now that she’s officially five. Her birthday will consist of grocery store toys (an Elsa hairbrush and a Hello Kitty piggy bank), cupcakes with sprinkles, and Pringles (her guilty pleasure snack). Let’s be honest, it would be the same even if there wasn’t a global pandemic happening, only I would have probably ordered something from the Cheesecake Factory. So today we celebrate Brooklyn being a whole hand, and the fact that we’ve all survived our first week of homeschool without any scars (physical anyway, emotionally, who knows). Oh, and if you’d like to send her a video saying hi and happy birthday, she’d LOVE that. She absolutely adores being the center of attention (much like her dad). 📸 @desperatediplowife #quarantinebirthday
I’m supposed to be landing in San Diego in a few hours. I should be totally exhausted trying to figure out how I’m going to pack in seeing all my friends and family in my eight days at home. Seeing my sweet grandma, and laughing over tea in her nursing home. Hugging my parents, sister and niece. The week would be filled with eating 826362 rolled tacos, photography, and meeting a sweet new baby. Boy, things changed, huh? I’ve cried a few times this week, unjustifiably yelled at Peter over not following my package decontamination protocol, and then felt really hopeful that the human race will emerge different, better and most importantly, more aware. Viral mood swings are real! But right this second, I’m happy because I’m home with the people I love playing an endless (read: painful) game of Monopoly. We’ll find happiness in randomly harassing our upstairs neighbors and trying not to burn the apartment to the ground with our attempted cooking experiments. And life will continue. It will look different for sure, but maybe in the best ways. We’re in this together, ALL of us. (But mostly with the upstairs neighbors, who I feel really bad for because Peter is RELENTLESS when it comes to socializing.) Love you guys! Hope you all are safe and hiding out!
I now have been reminded of why adults don’t compete as freely as children in sporting activities! Because why the hell would ANY sane adult CHOOSE to have anxiety when we are living a peaceful life that revolves around calm grown-up responsibilities, work, and going to bed at 9pm? For some unknown reason (which sounded SO sporty at the time), I decided it would be a fab idea to enter a jumping competition exactly one month after my first jumping lesson...with mostly teenagers I think, which is inconveniently adding to the extreme feeling of needing to poop in my pants. However, I do feel the odd level of conflicting patriotism because I’m prooobably the only semi-redneck American cowgirl wannabe in the bunch...and we instinctively don’t back down from a good ole’ bar/horse fight. (I worked at a country western establishment in my 20s, so I think that counts as being kinda redneck. Oh, and I dated a rodeo clown once.) My back hurts from SLEEPING, you guys, so I’m guessing this ain’t gonna end well. I’ve already had to see a chiropractor this week. Please send thoughts, prayers, Prozac, and muscle relaxers, because why not embrace ALL of my American roots? Also, please forward any and all meditations that will aid in keeping my intestines calm and energetically centered tomorrow morning. Update: I got 8th place out of 10! Totally disappointing, but I’ll be back in the next competition to redeem myself! (Or get the 9th place ribbon which is pretty rad too!) Thanks, y’all! 📸 @desperatediplowife