try being this emotionally available all day.

 

Another chilly morning under the blanket.  My soul is made for coastal sunshine and ocean breezes, not dew-covered grass and Midwest fog. Still, I make it work. I’m adaptable. Dashing. Resilient. But mostly—cold.    What would life be without blankets? Cold. Just... cold. I am not designed for this weather. Half Mexican, half German, and 100% U.S. citizen, thank you very much. Let’s not forget—Mexico owned California.   Yes, I know history.  Let’s be honest: I watch more Netflix than she does. She lasts fifteen minutes, tops, then snoozes like someone tranquilized her. I stay up for the whole episode. I’m invested. I’m a media consumer with taste, and an opinion. I could run a whole review blog: “Peanut’s Picks.” Coming soon.

Anyway—yesterday. I supervised Emma’s gardening like I always do, from the front stoop. Regal. Watchful. Leashed to the Adirondack chair like the majestic beast that I am. It’s for their safety, not mine. You never know who’ll try to mess with Emma. Squirrel? Package guy? Rando running down the street with evil eyes? I have to be restrained. I’m a problem. A lovable, furry problem.

She mowed the back lawn, too, and I gave that two tail wags of approval. When the grass gets long, it tickles my belly. Not in a fun way—in an unacceptable way. I like a well-groomed lawn. I know a lot about lawns. My hotel chain in California—Peanut’s Pacific Resorts—has award-winning landscaping.

Emma went to Mr. Leal’s party. I was not invited. Rude. I’m sure I would’ve been a hit. Everyone loves a little Peanut. A bit of sass. A bit of culture. I would’ve brought the vibes. But instead, I stayed home. She came back smelling like chicken tamales, and I don’t mean metaphorically. She had tamale energy. Unforgivable.

We went on two walks, and that helped. On one of them, we passed The Stump. Now that’s a saga. It used to be the community’s little art project. Decorated for every season. People left tiny pumpkins, fairy lights, spring eggs. Then came the Grinch who stripped it bare and taped up a sign: “Do not decorate.” Oh, honey. Try telling me what not to do. 

Someone snuck new décor on. Then it vanished again. Then came more. The stump is a battleground of the soul. And let me tell you: I am Team Decorate. Team Joy. Team Glittered Resistance.  There were new decorations yesterday.  Tiny ones. I wonder if they will multiply.

She’s got a long to-do list today—towels, toilets, rice, apples, planning. I helped by emotionally supporting her from under my blanket. If you think that’s not work, try being this emotionally available all day.

Tonight, she’s got guests. Katelyn and Carla. I might bark at them. I might not. I’m mysterious like that.

Anyway, time for me to burrow back under the blanket. The Midwest morning is no joke. But don’t worry—I’m still watching everything. I’m her shadow, her sass, her TV critic, her therapist, her security system, and her reason to laugh. Always on duty.

Even when I nap.

— Peanut 🐾
President of Blanket Lovers Anonymous
Head of Lawn Quality Control