Jesus, son of Barack, once said, “The hardworking farmer should be the first to receive a share of crops.” And Lawd knows I have a family of five picky eaters to feed. So I took a temporary but honorable (i.e. underpaid) job advocating for California propositions 55, 56, and 57. The gig, along with my other contract job as overqualified marketing dude at a Native American clinic, kept me away from home from 7:30 a.m. to 9:30 p.m. most nights for five weeks. (Shout-out to my wife for her MVP performance while putting in insane hours with the boys.) This is a pictorial essay of what I missed.
A chupacabra in Grandma’s yard that the boys chased away:
Ca$$ius liquefying Amber:
A spot in my bed:
Fun activities with the hand dryer:
Ca$$ius meticulously arranging his superheros so they can maintain superior upper body strength:
A handsome fireman who better not bring his hose ’round my house unless he’s trying to catch these hands:
Nile dressing up for Halloween even though it wasn’t Halloween:
The crew with my first love (swine):
Nile in Amber’s stitched Chargers jersey, who, like us, are leaving San Diego
Amber and the boys at Mt. Laguna, from where I believe the chupacabra followed them back to Grandma’s
Well, the project is over and now I’m home most evenings, aside from late night strolls to Walmart. Even though orange-white supremacy won the big race, all of the propositions we favored passed, and Ca$$ius welcomed me back with a special dance.