Coronavirus Day 87 — Premier League

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On Friday afternoon I got an email from UK International announcing there were still spots left in their Arroyo Grande Safe Soccer Camp.  No marketing email in the history of marketing emails has ever proven such perfect attribution and immediate behavioral action.  I started signing my children up for any week remotely located within driving distance from our house.

The zombies seemed genuinely excited.  They willingly peeled themselves from the couch, applying their deodorant and deodorant stick sunscreen.  We packed lunches and instituted rules for the lunch hour without supervision in between morning and afternoon camp sessions.  I admit I was a little worried.  What if the little vampires went out into the sunshine and their Minecraft eyes were permanently blinded?  Or their skin shriveled and crumbled into an iPad covered in bone dust?  Was it possible their little YouTube legs would no longer be able to support their weight– three crooked steps across the grass and then buckling and collapsing beneath them?

James was in charge of drop-off and I was on pick-up.  I watched from my car for a few minutes as they wrapped-up the scrimmage.  Oh what joy it is to see little kids playing in the sunshine.  And being shouted at by young men with British accents.  It was fun to recognize Coach Kieran from our hosting experience last summer.

The boys have splotchy sunburns, a few small maladies, and empty lunchboxes.  I bet they’ll sleep well tonight.

One of the coaches told James this is the first sports camp in all of California to be granted a permit to operate.  All I can say is thank goodness for the Brits.

God save the queen!

Coronavirus Day 81 — Twins

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Ever since the new lawn went in I’ve been basking.  That basically looks like me stumbling out of the barn in the evening with the Zoom flu, and laying on the artificial grass, basking in the sun.  During the first week Jacob caught a lizard and then lulled it into stillness.  As I was basking I could just tell he was going to let it go and it was going to run straight up and across my chest and down the other side.  That’s exactly what happened.  Fortunately for him, nothing could pull me away from my basking.

Speaking of the lawn, the best thing ever happened yesterday morning.  We were all surrounding the breakfast table when I looked out to the front yard and saw a Mama deer and her two teeny tiny twin fawns.  They were super little with white spots, just dripping in darling.  And then as we watched, the little deer kicked-up their heels and bucked and jumped and frolicked around the new grass, taking turns testing the turf.

Bask and Frolic.

Coronavirus Day 77 — Camp

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Back in the days after Friday the 13th, the emails started.  School’s closed.  Work’s closed.  Life’s closed.  The hardest ones were the Camp’s closed.  Jacob was heart-broken when I had to break the news about the new and exciting virtual Cuesta College for Kids!  He wasn’t having it… though he’s come around.

Now we’re starting to get the opening emails.  Restaurants’re quasi-open.  Shop’s open.  Mac store’s open.

Camp?  Still unclear.  We’d had an amazing summer of camp’s scheduled— College camp.  Soccer camp.  Overnight camp.

James and I had a great laugh this week— we’ll take anything.  Labor camp.  Military camp.  Prison camp.

Sign ’em up.

Coronavirus Day 73 — Nate’s Nine

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My dearest Nate,

It’s that time of year where your birthday was 13 weeks ago and I’m just now getting around to writing my favorite letter of the year– your birthday letter.  The one where I do my best to capture just a little glimpse into who you are, what you represent, and your latest faves in potty talk.

So 2020.  We had your birthday party.  Our very first friend slumber party on Saturday, March seventh.  And then, as luck would have it, the lockdown descended upon the earth seven days later.  So this year isn’t so much what you’re like as a nine-year-old, but more like what you’re like as a nine-year-old under pandemic house arrest.

I also thought it might be fun to use Maestra Zatt’s template for your Mother’s Day poem and so, without further ado, an ode to Nate’s Nine:

You are living your best life.  Well, prior to lockdown.  Now you’re becoming one with the couch.

You love soccer.  And the dreaded video games.  Maestra Zatt says the Pacheco recess soccer games are as competitive as the Costa Rican Primera División.

You hope we get a president that is a girl.  At random times you tell me this is what we need.  I agree.

You see all of the wonders in the seafood case at the grocery store and want to buy them.  Crab legs?  Octopus?  Clams?  Giant fillets of halibut?  “Let’s get that.”

You hear what your body is telling you.  You listen to yourself.  You recently decided you don’t feel good when you eat bread, so you stopped.  Your stomach aches stopped.  You like “stackers” for lunch, or what I call cheese tacos– pickles and meat wrapped in a piece of cheese.

You feel too sensitive to music.  You love to dance.  You seem to know all the words to the songs on the radio.  Your latest fave is the “I got the mojo deals” song.

You dream about creepy monsters touching you.  When prompted with this question in various ways, you take it literally.  Every time.

You want ice cream.  From McConnell’s.  You appreciate quality ice cream.  Dog Burstein’s isn’t even worth it.  Double peanut butter chip is the best.  Eureka lemon marrionberry is second best.

You need grass.  And we finally have it.  You put it on your Christmas list.  And the turf guys finished installing it last Tuesday.  Now you need a full-sized goal.

You give things away easily.  A couple of weeks ago you cleaned up in a game of Monopoly.  You’re a flexible negotiator.  You empathize with the other side.  You cut me a break when I couldn’t pay.  You finished the game with “two death rows and 38 100 dollar bills.”

You would like to go to England for a Man City game.

I love my Nate because he is generous, smart, feisty, and funny.  I love my Nate because he is exactly who he is.  Who he is meant to be.

I love you Baba ganoush,

Mama

 

Coronavirus Day 71 — Living Daylights

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My blogging frequency has taken a hit ever since James implemented a new family TV night post dinner.  What we watch rotates.  And all “little screens” are banned.  Based on this new schedule we’ve dug up a few classics including Swiss Family Robinson.  Interspersed with several they made me watch called, Ready Player One, and Alita– Battle Angel.  Now I’m inclined to casually pepper the phrase Battle Angel into all of my conversations.

Last night we watched Big.  I had totally forgotten how unbelievable the kid-sized Lambos and Porsches had been at FAO Schwartz in New York.  Think of the foot traffic that could drive to the shop…

After the movie, I must have been a little on edge from that creepy Zoltar machine with its red deviled eyes and ventriloquist mouth opening and closing and mouth breathing.  I was in the kitchen filling up my water bottle in the fridge when there were multiple bangs on the dark window next to me.  I screamed and the boys came running.

“I think something’s outside, or in the cupboard.”  And then as we all watched, the cupboard door moved.  Clearly because a disembodied head with red deviled-eyes was tumbling from shelf to shelf.

Turned out to be a slow falling plastic bottle of ketchup, which has been mistaken for a decapitated head many a time.

A few minutes later, I’m standing by the glass door to the back deck talking to the boys.  James comes up behind me and bangs on the glass with two hands, causing another round of screams and startled fleeing.  Ha ha.  So funny.

Later Nate gives me a hug from behind and apologizes for scaring me.  “Did it take the light out of you, Mom?”

Yes, yes it did.  Took the light right out.

Coronavirus Day 64 — Crocs

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When the boys were little, their feet were square.  Pudgy blocks on the ends of pudgy blocks for legs.  It’s no wonder they couldn’t reliably stand.  Getting shoes on their fat little feet cubes was an effective alternative to going to the gym.

At some point their feet started growing into a recognizable foot shape and they began going through shoes like I can get through a bag of those organic high-end Late July Doritos.  Up until last year, we had a terrific record of maintaining shoe possession, except for the orange Croc incident of 2014.  Likely because I subscribed to Jill’s strategy of one pair of shoes at a time.  Which was reconfirmed last year, when, within the span of two weeks, Jake lost his PF Flyers while wearing soccer cleats, and Nate lost his new Vans while wearing soccer cleats.

Somehow during lockdown, we found Nate’s new Vans.  Now they’re too small.  Plus he’s outgrown his gray Crocs.  These are a daily staple and so James picked-up a new, bigger pair at Roxanne’s Birkenstock shop, owned by Kevin.  No one can tell me what happened to Roxanne.

James brought the new Crocs home, Jacob took one look and proclaimed Size 4 waaaay too big.  Till he put them on.

Apparently we’ve officially outgrown big kid sizes and, I’m not sure I’m ready to put this in print… have entered the world of…

Man Crocs.

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April 3, 2014

Coronavirus Day 57 — Mother’s Day

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Sometime last year the boys and I were in a dark movie theatre watching previews.  In between trailers there was a moment of silence, the screen turned midnight blue for two beats, and Jacob audibly groaned.  Followed by an immediate crescendo into the Frozen theme song.  I was stunned.  How did he know?  The boys have some kind of anti-Frozen sixth sense.  I’m surprised he didn’t turn to me with his usual index finger trailing down his face like a tear and sing forlornly, “Hello darkness, my old friend.”  Apparently it’s a meme spawned by a Simon and Garfunkel song.  All the kids do it.

Which is why I was shocked when they agreed to letting me pick Frozen II as our Mother’s Day family evening entertainment.  They actually suggested it.  I’m convinced they were secretly looking for a convenient excuse to watch it.

Leading up to my Disney Mother’s Day, I took Friday off, did the full Bob Jones, and then the boys and I had a joyful day eating sandwiches in the shade and frequenting our favorite Pacheco practice pastime.  On Saturday we had take-out tacos downtown, visited the shop, and swung past the plant store.  And on Sunday we had a beautiful breakfast of lemony hollandaise followed by another date with the Bob Jones.  Then we embarked on an exciting masked family expedition to California Fresh for supplies to… wait for it… make our own pickles.  We also made a big family-style seafood paella and washed it down with McConnell’s.

Finally, we cozied up to watch the much anticipated Frozen II.  We found out Nate “actually likes” Olaf, unlike me, who still isn’t over a bad personal experience with an Olaf.  And much like baby Nate who refused to sing in swimming lessons, big Nate still finds musical scenes excruciating.  Though we all easily agreed Kristoff’s solo should have been cut.

Meanwhile I’m generally inspired to belt out the latest Disney single mid-movie.  I really only need a bit of the hook and the basic melody to swirl around as my best Disney-princess self, my formal gowns and deceptively warm ice-skating ensembles billowing in the breeze surrounding our couch.

I’m especially drawn to Ana songs.  And was particularly proud of my improvisational music talents when I took the lyrics to The Next Right Thing and performed a mesmerizing version, including the line, “Hello, darkness, my old friend…”

I got an appreciative snort from Jacob.

And… scene.

Coronavirus Day 52 — Strike

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Today was just another Wednesday under SIP.  On Monday night, as a special anniversary dinner, we made a beautiful piece of halibut with mango salsa and chocolate lava cakes.  The salsa was one of my go-to recipes in high school.  Then last night for cinco de mayo, James recreated our favorite dish from Mountain View.  The second I came into the house I knew he was making camarones con salsa nueva.  Delithioso.

This evening we tried to rally the little zombies for a family walk on the Bob Jones.  Jake resisted mightily, till we left him at home and then he texted me endless regrets.  Meanwhile Nate made it, but got pretty grumpy partway down the trail and wouldn’t talk.  By the time we got home, the boys were both staging a hunger strike.

Look I get it.  The lockdown life isn’t for everyone.  It might not be for anyone.  James and I enjoyed a quiet, delicious dinner of juicy blackberries, pineapple bacon sausages, and salad with pickled red onions and an assortment of sweet and spicy mustards.

The hunger strike lasted fifteen minutes.