Fam, friends, Planet Earth...
"Your mom busted in and said "WHAT'S THAT NOISE!?!?" Aww, mom your just jealous it's The Beastie Boys! You gotta fight, for your right, to paaaaaaaaaarty"
Yeah, anyway, so, we've more or less established, right, that if Izzo (who is 17 months old today!) had her way (and on one end, she does) she would go to bed every night sometime after 11 p.m. and sleep in till at least 9:30 a.m. Like Daddy, who's very much a stay-up-late, sleep-in-late kinda cat. As apparently Momom was when she was Izzo's age. So it's cool.
But that's not what we're getting at here.
In addition to her late-night shindiggings here at home, Izzo paaaaaaaaaaartayed for real this past week.
Last Sunday, we hiked up to Apple Valley to meet and celebrate Derek and Julie Woltil's lil' Addie, who'd been baptized that morning and was entertaining a nice, big crowd at her grandparent's house afterward. Addie was sooo cute in her adorable little brown dress, so cool with it all, so small, so precious, so oh-my-goodness-Izzo-was-that-itsy-bitsy-once? Once, as in just a little more than a year ago?
Everyone -- EVERYONE -- has been telling me, "Oh, you'll see. It goes FAST!"
And yeah, well. Yeah.
Then last night, Friday, Izzo went and celebrated Uncle Rob's 19th birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROB!!!! (I'll get to you in a second!) Momom had to work, but the post-party report I heard was that Izzo was A. a good girl and B. a big fan of the birds milk -- which if you don't know, you should.
Birds milk (aka "tsitiki kat") is quite possibly the most delicious cake on the planet -- there are some things you try on people you know, things that get mostly positive reviews and then there's birds milk, which has never gotten a review that's anything short of glowing in its life.
Kit -- or his girl, pastry chef Caitlyn -- could better describe it, but it's a souffle-ish chocolate deal. And it's exactly what it sounds like -- exquisite! delicate! rich! melt-in-your-mouth perfect! You know you want some. Come to Glendale.
But I haven't had a chance to ask Izzo about it yet! She was actually sleeping soundly by the time I got home, a bit past 11 p.m. I peeked at my sleeping beauty, slumbering happily away, curled on her side and taking up most of the crib mattress, and, for the 558th time or so, I went, Man! She's so big! And then I thought of little Adelaide (Addie), and I went, Man! She's SO big!
(Randomly, whenever Izzo gets to coughing at a meal, having sucked down her juice too quickly, or sucked it down the wrong pipe, we all go, "How big is Izzo!?" And she raises her arms above her head -- "Soooo big!" -- till she's not choked up anymore. I happen to love this functional tradition that started with Oma in Klamath Falls this summer... (Moms know everything. That's so much pressure.))
So, getting to Robert.
With Hamlet working his way through every waking hour of the weekend, Rob gamely agreed to spend most of his Sunday off as Izzo's chaperone up to Apple Valley.
I really wanted to head up there to celebrate and meet amazing little Addie, of course, but also to hang out and catch up a little with the wonderful Woltil family who I hear about relatively regularly but whom I hadn't seen in years again, already. Oh, and yes, I wanted to introduce them to Izzo. Which, fine, I'll admit, is another way of saying I kinda wanted to show off Izzo. (Is that bad?) Or, here, more politically correctly -- and truthfully, still -- I wanted to watch Izzo show off.
And she did, and I did. Got the biggest kick out of watching this little social creature of mine spread her wings and flutter from one person to the next, to the next, to the next, introducing herself, in Izzospeak, to them all, often tap-dancing between them, sometimes puppy-dog begging for chunks or watermelon or strawberry or pineapple or quiche, laughing at their laughing, and just staring up, up and up into the trees, fascinated by all the new faces and voices and, to her, friends.
And then the TOYS came out!
Addie's got an 8-year-old uncle, who happens to have a very respectable treasure trove of TOYS -- squishy dinosaurs, a full Cal Worthington sales lot of cars, action figurines from just about every age-appropriate movie and show known to little boys and girls. Wonderful TOYS that served to thoroughly entertain both Izzo and the other little tyke in the place, this sweet little blond boy whose name was a pair of sturdy initials that escape me now. And Robert. Who oversaw the play action when Momom disappeared into the next room to sit and talk with Marika and Derek and Janna.
It was lovely, seriously, to just sit and talk to old friends for a bit. Like, startlingly refreshing, actually. Made me feel, well, healthy. Made me realize that outside of work, I hadn't gone and just sat and talked for a while, considering I've gotten in the habit of bringing Izzo along everywhere, all the time. Because she loves to come and because my friends seem to love to see her...
And then there was that kicking back and conversing for a while with the Woltils was especially cool because, well, they're especially cool, and also because it was kind've like having adult conversation with kids your age. If that makes any sense?
Like, I'm always seeing women with children who, when I think about it, must be my age, but until I think about it, I have this skewed internal perspective telling my brain that that woman is older than I am. She's like a senior, and I'm a freshman, in my head, until I stop and realize, nope, we're both graduating this year.
I think Janna -- who is due to deliver a daughter of her own in December and who looked beautiful, as always! -- said something to this effect, but it's like I don't consider the Woltil kids I grew up knowing to be full-fledged adults, but people my age. And so that was super-fun, spending some time with them. Left me wishing for more. Hopefully soonish.
Meanwhile, Robert was Robert. Smiling and dutiful and dependable and so worth the XBox 360 we bought him for his birthday!
Really, how many almost-19-year-olds would voluntarily give up their whole weekend to watch closely over a little niece? (He'd also watched her Saturday, while both Hamlet and I worked.) So his weekend consisted of toddlerbabysitting, sitting in the backseat of my Honda for three hours, and homework, basically. And he didn't even consider complaining.
You heard/read it here first: Someday down the road this kid's gonna be a great dad himself.
.......
Other Izzo stuff.
... at Tatik's, Izzo apparently was thirsty one day this week. Thirsty and not yet capable of saying, in English or Armenian, "Tatik, can I please have some water?" Instead, she went straight for the water cooler in the kitchen, put her mouth on the spigot and pulled the lever. And, yes, got all the water she wanted.
... earlier at Tatik's, been meaning to mention, I dropped off Izzo one morning, and lugged some laundry, or her bag, or something up the stairs, expecting Tatik and Izzo to come up right behind me. But when I got to the top, they weren't there. They were still outside, Izzo standing so crazy-ultra pleased inside Tatik's grocery basket! You see these baskets all over Glendale, little wheeled pull baskets that folks bring to the store with them. And, apparently, this is Izzo's favorite ride in the world! The great grin on her face told me all I needed to know about her grocery basket tours around the condo complex there.
... Robert likes to tease me, tell me he thinks Izzo's got a case of OCD. Nonsense, I tell him, she just tries things over and over again because she's TRYING them. So I hope he's stopped reading already and doesn't learn that whenever, WHENEVER, Izzo and I make our way walking back down the driveway/alley/front yards of our apartment building, she HAS TO smack the metal mail boxes twice and only twice; wave an inverted hello to the fall scarecrow the sweet family in No. 1 has set out, and then, just once and only once, "soft" touch the scarecrow's hair; proceed to touch the the American flag sticker on the unit next to ours with her right and only her right index finger, even if it means letting go of Momom's hand, and then approach our front step from exactly the same position each and every time: from the side, never the front. Yes, I just gave you all sorts of mad props, but I don't wanna hear it, Rob.
..............
OK, and there's more and more and more. And more still.
But I'll close by updating the whoa-is-the-working-career-mom e-mail that so many people saw not so long ago. I was bemoaning the fact that I, as a Momomom, couldn't even consider campaigning to cover my dream beat when it surprisingly became available. I'm mostly over it now -- and here's the catch. I ended up at Lakers practice last week after all, in my new role as videographer. And then the unthinkable happened: Something went down that made me so glad I'd been there with a video camera and not a notepad.
Lakers guard Sasha Vujacic, who is always, apparently, the last guy on the practice floor, decided to chuck up and almost make a 50-foot hook shot on his way off the court. I got this on tape, just like I got Sasha's next THIRTY-FIVE attempts on tape too. Even better, I got Kobe Bryant's reaction to each of them. Kobe, teasing, taunting, being the total teammate no one believes he is, telling Sasha, "My daughter throws harder than you." Telling Sasha, "This would make a great Snickers commercial!" (because it was taking so long.) Telling Sasha, "Just quit if you wanna quit." Asking me, "You got enough film in that camera for this?" Telling Sasha, "You know, you might not be mentally strong enough to make that."
And then, when the 36th such ridiculous shot finally and unbelievably swished through the net, I got Sasha turning to Kobe and shouting gleefully, "Take that, Kob! Take that! Take that!" And Kobe and him basically jumping into each other's arms, laughing their heads off, together yelling, "Take that! Take that!"
And then Kobe turning to me and, laughing, saying, "See, that's the shit I gotta deal with every day!" before saying goodbye and heading to the locker room.
I'd tried so hard to be quiet for the duration of the taping, but by the time it ended, I was giddy and laughing myself, and you can hear it on the tape. I was delighted. I couldn't believe what I'd just captured and would have an opportunity to edit and share with the world. I found myself cradling the camera on the way back to my car, feeling like I'd just found a golden egg or something crazy like that. It felt so good.
And that video? In less than a day, it had been viewed more times than all but two other videos in the history of our paper's Web site. (And it was closing in...) And now my boss is talking about sending me back to Lakers practice regularly...
So. We'll see. Not sure how long it'll be posted, but here's a link:
http://www.pe.com/video/sports-index.html?nvid=295673
See, Izzo, your Momom DOES (kinda) cover the Lakers...
And know that she (kinda) knows what that means, 'cause whenever she sees that purple and gold, she's like, "Lakers! Lakers!" Might not be able to explain thirsty, but our daughter knows hoops.
Love all.
Us
"Your mom busted in and said "WHAT'S THAT NOISE!?!?" Aww, mom your just jealous it's The Beastie Boys! You gotta fight, for your right, to paaaaaaaaaarty"
Yeah, anyway, so, we've more or less established, right, that if Izzo (who is 17 months old today!) had her way (and on one end, she does) she would go to bed every night sometime after 11 p.m. and sleep in till at least 9:30 a.m. Like Daddy, who's very much a stay-up-late, sleep-in-late kinda cat. As apparently Momom was when she was Izzo's age. So it's cool.
But that's not what we're getting at here.
In addition to her late-night shindiggings here at home, Izzo paaaaaaaaaaartayed for real this past week.
Last Sunday, we hiked up to Apple Valley to meet and celebrate Derek and Julie Woltil's lil' Addie, who'd been baptized that morning and was entertaining a nice, big crowd at her grandparent's house afterward. Addie was sooo cute in her adorable little brown dress, so cool with it all, so small, so precious, so oh-my-goodness-Izzo-was-that-itsy-bitsy-once? Once, as in just a little more than a year ago?
Everyone -- EVERYONE -- has been telling me, "Oh, you'll see. It goes FAST!"
And yeah, well. Yeah.
Then last night, Friday, Izzo went and celebrated Uncle Rob's 19th birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROB!!!! (I'll get to you in a second!) Momom had to work, but the post-party report I heard was that Izzo was A. a good girl and B. a big fan of the birds milk -- which if you don't know, you should.
Birds milk (aka "tsitiki kat") is quite possibly the most delicious cake on the planet -- there are some things you try on people you know, things that get mostly positive reviews and then there's birds milk, which has never gotten a review that's anything short of glowing in its life.
Kit -- or his girl, pastry chef Caitlyn -- could better describe it, but it's a souffle-ish chocolate deal. And it's exactly what it sounds like -- exquisite! delicate! rich! melt-in-your-mouth perfect! You know you want some. Come to Glendale.
But I haven't had a chance to ask Izzo about it yet! She was actually sleeping soundly by the time I got home, a bit past 11 p.m. I peeked at my sleeping beauty, slumbering happily away, curled on her side and taking up most of the crib mattress, and, for the 558th time or so, I went, Man! She's so big! And then I thought of little Adelaide (Addie), and I went, Man! She's SO big!
(Randomly, whenever Izzo gets to coughing at a meal, having sucked down her juice too quickly, or sucked it down the wrong pipe, we all go, "How big is Izzo!?" And she raises her arms above her head -- "Soooo big!" -- till she's not choked up anymore. I happen to love this functional tradition that started with Oma in Klamath Falls this summer... (Moms know everything. That's so much pressure.))
So, getting to Robert.
With Hamlet working his way through every waking hour of the weekend, Rob gamely agreed to spend most of his Sunday off as Izzo's chaperone up to Apple Valley.
I really wanted to head up there to celebrate and meet amazing little Addie, of course, but also to hang out and catch up a little with the wonderful Woltil family who I hear about relatively regularly but whom I hadn't seen in years again, already. Oh, and yes, I wanted to introduce them to Izzo. Which, fine, I'll admit, is another way of saying I kinda wanted to show off Izzo. (Is that bad?) Or, here, more politically correctly -- and truthfully, still -- I wanted to watch Izzo show off.
And she did, and I did. Got the biggest kick out of watching this little social creature of mine spread her wings and flutter from one person to the next, to the next, to the next, introducing herself, in Izzospeak, to them all, often tap-dancing between them, sometimes puppy-dog begging for chunks or watermelon or strawberry or pineapple or quiche, laughing at their laughing, and just staring up, up and up into the trees, fascinated by all the new faces and voices and, to her, friends.
And then the TOYS came out!
Addie's got an 8-year-old uncle, who happens to have a very respectable treasure trove of TOYS -- squishy dinosaurs, a full Cal Worthington sales lot of cars, action figurines from just about every age-appropriate movie and show known to little boys and girls. Wonderful TOYS that served to thoroughly entertain both Izzo and the other little tyke in the place, this sweet little blond boy whose name was a pair of sturdy initials that escape me now. And Robert. Who oversaw the play action when Momom disappeared into the next room to sit and talk with Marika and Derek and Janna.
It was lovely, seriously, to just sit and talk to old friends for a bit. Like, startlingly refreshing, actually. Made me feel, well, healthy. Made me realize that outside of work, I hadn't gone and just sat and talked for a while, considering I've gotten in the habit of bringing Izzo along everywhere, all the time. Because she loves to come and because my friends seem to love to see her...
And then there was that kicking back and conversing for a while with the Woltils was especially cool because, well, they're especially cool, and also because it was kind've like having adult conversation with kids your age. If that makes any sense?
Like, I'm always seeing women with children who, when I think about it, must be my age, but until I think about it, I have this skewed internal perspective telling my brain that that woman is older than I am. She's like a senior, and I'm a freshman, in my head, until I stop and realize, nope, we're both graduating this year.
I think Janna -- who is due to deliver a daughter of her own in December and who looked beautiful, as always! -- said something to this effect, but it's like I don't consider the Woltil kids I grew up knowing to be full-fledged adults, but people my age. And so that was super-fun, spending some time with them. Left me wishing for more. Hopefully soonish.
Meanwhile, Robert was Robert. Smiling and dutiful and dependable and so worth the XBox 360 we bought him for his birthday!
Really, how many almost-19-year-olds would voluntarily give up their whole weekend to watch closely over a little niece? (He'd also watched her Saturday, while both Hamlet and I worked.) So his weekend consisted of toddlerbabysitting, sitting in the backseat of my Honda for three hours, and homework, basically. And he didn't even consider complaining.
You heard/read it here first: Someday down the road this kid's gonna be a great dad himself.
.......
Other Izzo stuff.
... at Tatik's, Izzo apparently was thirsty one day this week. Thirsty and not yet capable of saying, in English or Armenian, "Tatik, can I please have some water?" Instead, she went straight for the water cooler in the kitchen, put her mouth on the spigot and pulled the lever. And, yes, got all the water she wanted.
... earlier at Tatik's, been meaning to mention, I dropped off Izzo one morning, and lugged some laundry, or her bag, or something up the stairs, expecting Tatik and Izzo to come up right behind me. But when I got to the top, they weren't there. They were still outside, Izzo standing so crazy-ultra pleased inside Tatik's grocery basket! You see these baskets all over Glendale, little wheeled pull baskets that folks bring to the store with them. And, apparently, this is Izzo's favorite ride in the world! The great grin on her face told me all I needed to know about her grocery basket tours around the condo complex there.
... Robert likes to tease me, tell me he thinks Izzo's got a case of OCD. Nonsense, I tell him, she just tries things over and over again because she's TRYING them. So I hope he's stopped reading already and doesn't learn that whenever, WHENEVER, Izzo and I make our way walking back down the driveway/alley/front yards of our apartment building, she HAS TO smack the metal mail boxes twice and only twice; wave an inverted hello to the fall scarecrow the sweet family in No. 1 has set out, and then, just once and only once, "soft" touch the scarecrow's hair; proceed to touch the the American flag sticker on the unit next to ours with her right and only her right index finger, even if it means letting go of Momom's hand, and then approach our front step from exactly the same position each and every time: from the side, never the front. Yes, I just gave you all sorts of mad props, but I don't wanna hear it, Rob.
..............
OK, and there's more and more and more. And more still.
But I'll close by updating the whoa-is-the-working-career-mom e-mail that so many people saw not so long ago. I was bemoaning the fact that I, as a Momomom, couldn't even consider campaigning to cover my dream beat when it surprisingly became available. I'm mostly over it now -- and here's the catch. I ended up at Lakers practice last week after all, in my new role as videographer. And then the unthinkable happened: Something went down that made me so glad I'd been there with a video camera and not a notepad.
Lakers guard Sasha Vujacic, who is always, apparently, the last guy on the practice floor, decided to chuck up and almost make a 50-foot hook shot on his way off the court. I got this on tape, just like I got Sasha's next THIRTY-FIVE attempts on tape too. Even better, I got Kobe Bryant's reaction to each of them. Kobe, teasing, taunting, being the total teammate no one believes he is, telling Sasha, "My daughter throws harder than you." Telling Sasha, "This would make a great Snickers commercial!" (because it was taking so long.) Telling Sasha, "Just quit if you wanna quit." Asking me, "You got enough film in that camera for this?" Telling Sasha, "You know, you might not be mentally strong enough to make that."
And then, when the 36th such ridiculous shot finally and unbelievably swished through the net, I got Sasha turning to Kobe and shouting gleefully, "Take that, Kob! Take that! Take that!" And Kobe and him basically jumping into each other's arms, laughing their heads off, together yelling, "Take that! Take that!"
And then Kobe turning to me and, laughing, saying, "See, that's the shit I gotta deal with every day!" before saying goodbye and heading to the locker room.
I'd tried so hard to be quiet for the duration of the taping, but by the time it ended, I was giddy and laughing myself, and you can hear it on the tape. I was delighted. I couldn't believe what I'd just captured and would have an opportunity to edit and share with the world. I found myself cradling the camera on the way back to my car, feeling like I'd just found a golden egg or something crazy like that. It felt so good.
And that video? In less than a day, it had been viewed more times than all but two other videos in the history of our paper's Web site. (And it was closing in...) And now my boss is talking about sending me back to Lakers practice regularly...
So. We'll see. Not sure how long it'll be posted, but here's a link:
http://www.pe.com/video/sports-index.html?nvid=295673
See, Izzo, your Momom DOES (kinda) cover the Lakers...
And know that she (kinda) knows what that means, 'cause whenever she sees that purple and gold, she's like, "Lakers! Lakers!" Might not be able to explain thirsty, but our daughter knows hoops.
Love all.
Us
No comments:
Post a Comment