Perks of Quarantine

1)Do not have to get up in the morning

2)More time spent with kids.

3)Biggest FOMO is not being able to watch Tiger King

4)Not feeling as much stress about not getting writing done.

 

Downfalls of Quarantine

1)Not getting up in the morning

2)More time spent with kids

3)Caring far too much about missing Tiger King

4)Not getting any writing done.

 

April 27th, 2020…

Today, I don’t know if it was because I read something that said to prepare to social distance this summer, but I really felt kicked in the chest. I couldn’t face another day of cooking three meals and cleaning after said three meals in between trying to entertain a six-year old with home schooling. My free time being spent vying for fleeting delivery spots on Amazon Fresh.

I feel bad complaining.  I’m not sick.  I’m not starving.  I’m not alone, although, if I was I’d be able to drink tequila and binge-watch Netflix.

But today felt hard. Today has been one of those days I didn’t want to get out of bed. I didn’t want to move or function or help or clean or anything. I just want to leave my house. I’ve never been a homebody.  I miss the company of strangers. I miss making small talk with the barrista at Pete’s Coffee and hearing about the dating life of Elle, the divorcee next to me in dance class.

My dad is like me, or I am like him except his motivations are different.

My dad does the marketing for my parents several times a week. He doesn’t go because he has to (I have offered more than once). He goes because he cannot handle being home alone in the condo with my mom. Well, that and he has coupons that could expire.

Dad called while I lay in motionless in bed.

“Hey, what do you think about eye drops?” he asked.

“They’re great if you have dry eye?  I’m not sure what you mean,” I said. “Do you have an eye condition?”

“Sort of. I’ve got this coupon…forty percent off eye drops. But it’s a pack of ten. Forty percent off though is pretty good though. I thought maybe you’d buy one off me too. I could pass on some of the discount,”

“How generous of you,” I started before thinking this through, “Wait, let me get this straight, you want to leave your condo, a 77 year old man, who lives with his 87 year old asthmatic wife to go to CVS pharmacy…probably the most high risk place of all ..to get eye drops you don’t need because you have a coupon?”

“It’s 40% off,” repeated my Dad.

“I’ve got to go,” I said.

That night we had zoom call scheduled for a friend’s b-day. This is a woman who’s managed to stay upbeat through cancer, one kid with anorexia and another with possible schizophrenia and suicidal tendencies. In short, she’s a hero.

When I’m feeling self-pitying, nothing makes me feel worse than a hero, except perhaps a modest hero…whom she was, ON HER BIRTHDAY. Seriously, friend?  She actually said her problems were…and I quote “relatively speaking, not worse than anyone else’s”.  Really?  Because while I get what you’re saying and yeah, I was pretty upset when Forma ran out of Branzino when we called for delivery (I was really looking forward to that fish…because how much fish can one get when quarantined?) And yes, I may have cried about it…and yes, if someone who didn’t know me happened to be casing my house and saw me crying, they might have thought someone close to me died…when in reality I had to choose between calamari and chicken. But in fairness I’d had a lot of chicken lately so was there really a choice? I’d have to say yes, dear birthday friend, yes you are a better person than I.  But that’s good.  That’s okay.  It gives me something to strive for..and feel guilty about…it basically fills up a lot of brain space during quarantine which could be a good thing (or bad…depending)

4/28/2020

I woke up lethargic. I never knew malaise weighed so much. (Or perhaps it was the nightly Haagan Daz I was eating because of the malaise) either way, getting out bed was hard. Walking to the kitchen was hard. Even making Top Ramen was hard, and really anyone can make Top Ramen.

Last night I decided I’m done with cooking and cleaning after. The family can choose…either I cook or I clean, not both. I don’t mean to be a prima donna, but the truth is…I am a prima donna… That and I’m old, not super old, but my joints are like Forever 21 clothing…they fall apart after very little use. The arthritis in my hands is flaring up badly from scrubbing so much. (My OCD tends to veer it’s productive head when my cast iron pan’s been charred) I’ve burned and cut myself in enough places that my biggest fear about catching the virus is going out without ball length gloves on to my armpits lest Corona creep into one of the rips in my flesh. But more than the pain, what’s getting to me is how my physical deterioration puts my aging right in my face. And who wants to feel like they are passing their prime (er..the tail end of prime) right in the middle of quarantine?  I’d always thought I’d be able to prolong what little prime I had left in me…hold out till for another year or two. Now I’ve hastened my demise into that nebulous age where women are no longer considered attractive by anyone except perhaps their children (when they want something) and the older demographic of Bernie supporters.

Everything I’m experiencing seems to magnify the inescapability that I am becoming my mother, whose fingers are permanently misshapen and gnarled with arthritis, whose arms are peppered with scars and splotches both from age and years of wok frying with hot oil. My mom, who cannot bear to walk on stone floors without shoes because the foot pads are now borderline non-existent? My mom or should I say #me, the frizzy haired Asian elder with two inches of grey roots wearing stained flood length sweat pants.

I had to stop cooking.

I decided to text my Dad to take my mind off my mother, me, Mom-Me.  (so that’s where it comes from…foreboding)

“Did you go to CVS?” I asked jokingly (via text so most likely the tinge of sarcasm didn’t translate)

“Yes, to get discount. Was 36 paid 15,” responded Dad.

“Did you get the eyedrops?” I asked.

“How did you know I went to CVS?” texted Dad.

“Seriously?” I texted back.  (My dad while 77, is still teaching all grades at Los Angeles Unified School district)

“Who is this???” my dad texted.

I had to give my phone a look. I’ve been texting my dad from the same number for 24 years. Yet, I could feel the paranoia in his three question marks. He probably feared I was some stalker, following my dad around Ralphs and CVS where perhaps a government snitch was checking off the number of times he undoubtedly shifted his mask to scratch his nose.

At the same time, my mom started texting from her phone.

“How you know Daddy go to CVS?”

Mom, a passionate Trump supporter, is always up for good conspiracy.

I called to avoid a snowball of stress. After explaining how he had called me and we had a conversation about it yesterday morning, he was able to relax and gloat.

“Yeah, these eyedrops are supposed to be just as good as the prescription ones, but man are they expensive. Unless you have a coupon that is,” said Dad.

I have to say this whole interaction cheered me up immensely.  Though I’m not exactly sure why.

4/29/20

I got another text from my dad.

For those of you that have been wondering if the Lysol comment Trump made has affected the feelings of his base…I got word from his front line today…

No.

“Your mom’s been calling the White House,” my dad texted me.

I decided to Facetime Mom.

Mom answered Facetime the same way she always did, in her acrylic red sweater, her thin grey hair, flatter from no washing.  She held her iPad tilted upward in the most unflattering position possible. Behind her, a stone statuette of Quan Yin, Chinese Goddess of Mercy stood gazing benevolently down from her Chinese red wood shrine.

“Hi, I so ugly. So old. So depress. How you?” said mom in a chipper voice smiling her wide, tea stained tooth smile.

“Dad said you needed to get in touch with the white house. What’s going on that’s so urgent?” I asked.

Mom’s smile fell, “I got to help President. People so mean. So stupid. I call, but no one pick up so I write a letter.”

“That sounds productive,” I said, excited for potential entertainment, “Can I hear it?”

“I just say,‘Dear President, Please do not let press ask you the stupid question.  They always make the hostile comment next day. Is not necessary to let people ask question.”

I laughed, but quickly covered my mouth and added a cough.

“You okay?” asked Mom.

“Just a cough, but not a corona cough, a pepper cough. Please continue.”

Mom looked at me suspiciously but continued reading.

“Those question not important.  No need let them ask. Then I tell him he the best president. They (the press) should not be hostile. They have nothing talk about but how bad he is. That not fair. I not stupid person. I know how hard is to deal supply for big country. He (Trump) cannot control.

Mom shook her head, frustrated.

“That was short”, I said. Mom generally liked to draw out her letters.

“Of course I tell him I love him too…but not like-a-you know. I love him like a president. Not just because he handsome. He work so hard for this country. Then I tell him I immigrant from Taiwan.”

My dad walked in sans toupee. Long grey sideburns sticking out giving his thin face some width.

“Yeah, he works so hard tweeting his bullshit all day,” said Dad gritting his teeth.

“Your daddy so stupid,” said Mom, “I even tell him, if he stop watch CNN, CNBC maybe I can love him.  Maybe even let him hug me,”

“Maybe you both should stop watching the news,” I said to them, “and love each other instead.”

They both laughed.

“I hardly watch news. He the one with problem,” said Mom.

“Yeah, she hardly watches. That’s where she gets all her wrong information,” said Dad.

“I even tell him I have sex with him he give up CNN”. She turned slightly to see if my dad reacted.

I looked behind myself in the kitchen. My kids and Rick were feet away.

“Grandma has S-E-X?” asked my 10 year old tween, Elyse

“I’ve got to go, Mom,” I said.

I turned back to Elyse.

“So, what are we cooking today?”

 

Sunday May 3, 2020

It was 10 PM and I was walking Serena upstairs to bed. She was skipping as usual, her butt length hair swishing back and forth over her bare tushy.

“Mommy, our family is different than other families,” said Serena.

“Because we love each other so much?” I asked rhetorically, squeezing her plump little six-year old hand in mine.

“No, mommy.  Every family loves each other,” Serena giggled, “But we watch grown up movies every day. We stay up waaay too late. We like to keep our house messy. We always have deserts. And a lot of the time we don’t wear clothes,”

We don’t wear clothes? We like the house messy? And Avengers Age of Ultron was Serena’s choice…(her number one choice after the Shaun the Sheep show and we’d seen quite a bit of Shaun the Sheep). Was it our fault Marvel movies run 2 hours and fifteen minutes long? Or 3 hours fifteen after 4 bathroom breaks, 2 desert breaks, and pausing to explain several scenes?

“That’s an interesting observation, sweety,” I said, “Let’s not tell our teachers about it.”