Izzo, My Wizzo

Fam, Friends, Loved Ones The World Over: 'Sup.

So here's something most of you didn't know about our so-beautiful, so-charming BabyToddler Princess Izzo.

The first time, the first-first time, I felt her dancing around in my tummy and realized I was feeling her dancing around in my tummy, I was laying awake in bed, early in the morning of Dec. 26, 2006, thinking about everything, including a lot about this ohmygod:baby growing in there, when, whoa, that. had. to. be. human! What had to be? That tap... tap... tap. Three little blips, in perfect tempo, that couldn't be, wouldn't be just my body creaking late into the night; couldn't be, wouldn't be just a little, uh, gas. Couldn't be, wouldn't be anything but a little person ... with rhythm? I'd been experiencing those mini, subtle blips for a week or so at that point, but I didn't think they were the baby because everyone told me that, oh, I'd know when it was the baby. And, well, I hadn't -- until I felt those perfectly timed, itsy, bitsy knocks, partying on the the night after Christmas, going tap... tap... tap.

And, because we -- Hamlet, the alchemist element and me -- happened to be mired in what would turn out to be a never-ending search for the perfect drummer for almost the entire duration of my pregnancy, that sort of informed my imagination about those first three, perfectly timed taps. I tried to keep it to a minimum, but I fantasized about having a little drummer boy and how much sense that would make, considering how obsessed his mom was with finding his dad a drummer the whole time he was living the tummy lifestyle. I mean, it would've been so perfect: "Here, Hamlet, here's the drummer for your band! He'd been with us all along! Might have to wait 16 years for him to actually join you on stage, but ..."

OK, so, we don't have a drummer boy. We have a drumming, pretend-piano playing, real-guitar playing, singing, dancing, dancing, dancing daughter.

And, who knows, I'm keeping my imagining to a minimum, but who knows, it might come up one day, the story about what Izzo did a day or two before she turned 21 months? (By the way, Abba, thanks again for the latest, sweet, commemorative birthday poster!)

Izzo went out to breakfast with Barnus and me at Foxy's, this humble, popular Glendale breakfast spot where, I must say, Susan and I have done a lot of living.

A lot in terms of the volume of coffee, eggs and biscuits we've consumed there, sure, but also in terms of the momentous conversations that have taken place on that patio, where we sit year-round because it's Southern California and we can. It's where we've talked about raises and promotions and job switches, where we first met significant others, including Hamlet, of whom Susan said, when he got up for a moment, "Oh, your children will have such beautiful eyes!" (Which threw me, initially, 'cause like, our children? You just met him? I just started hanging out with him! But, dude, she knew...) It's where I told Susan -- by turning down coffee -- about Izzo hiding out inside me. (Susan, that day, "Is there something you want to tell me?")

Someday, I'll write a story, or she'll make a movie, or we'll make a movie and use Foxy's as the prime place to propel the plot.

Anyway. Izzo's a fan, too.


She tags along almost all of the time and flirts with the fellow breakfasters, plays with the half-and-half containers and consumes -- no lie -- about half of whatever it is I order. And I love it! This was the case earlier this week, 'cause I worked late almost every night (which I'll get back to, hang on), we had time to go do Foxy's with Susan. I think it was Tuesday.

After breakfast, we went for the now-traditional walk that follows, this time across the street to the Americana, where we ended up at the busy-bee playground in front of Barnes and Noble. Let Izzo free to immerse herself in the other kids, none of whom play very well with each other, no matter what their age. The more playgrounds I hit, the more it feels like going to a basketball game instead, because it's all very competitive if you're in the game, or potentially stressful if you're a fan in the stands, which, at this point, Izzo is.

But like basketball, it's fun. She runs around with a great grin glued on her face, trying to mimic some of the kids, talking to whichever animals are part of the structure, thinking about climbing the jungle gym like everyone else, either keeping an eye on me or forgetting about me altogether, and, whenever two kids get into it, getting up close to watch. Serious. She gravitates toward the drama, not to join in, but to check it out, eyes wide, from as close an angle as she can safely get. Too bad/good thing there might not be journalism jobs available in 21 years.
So, yeah, to get to the point of this long-winded mess of words: This was what was going on Tuesday morning at the playground at the Americana, where Rick Caruso has incorporated a Disney-esque fountain system that dances along with music every half-hour. Every time this happens, the music already being piped into the extravagant outdoor shopping mall gets pumped up several notches. It can be startling, even if you've experienced it before. One minute Frank Sinatra is cooing politely somewhere in the background, the next Tom Jones is live and in concert.

So. Picture Izzo immersed in playland and Tom Jones' "It's Not Unusual," suddenly booming from every direction.

One moment, Izzo was trailing a little girl who almost looked like her twin. The very next moment, Izzo had forgotten entirely about the girl and all the other little kids there -- because she'd broken into dance!

Doing the Izzo, her trademark little hiccupy, trot dance, complete with spins and arm waves, through and around the other children like it was choreographed, as if she'd been cued to begin, completely in her own little, real-life Tom Jones musical. Or perhaps inhabiting an episode of "Ally McBeal"?

As happy as she could've been playing the seconds before the song hit, she was in another, even better world entirely once the dancing started.

I watch her dance constantly at home. I've watched her learn how to turn on and turn up the CD player to get the optimum Mozart backing for her ballet. I know she'll dance on command, if someone mentions it to her, music or not. I love that she's taken to suggesting, nay, insisting that I get out there on the carpet at home with her sometimes now. BUT to see what the music did to her that morning at the playground, how it took her over, and brought her -- and only her -- to that other place, it was a little astounding.

And so, I thought, you know, perhaps this'll be one of those stories we're telling years from now, in some sort of context?

Otherwise...



Izzo (and Hamlet) visited the family last night in Granada Hills while I went to Irvine to shoot video of a high school girls water polo championship (hey, if you're bored and want to watch what I've been up to this week, here's a sampling: http://www.pe.com/video/sports-index.html?nvid=337135&shu=1; http://www.pe.com/video/sports-index.html?nvid=337006&shu=1; http://www.pe.com/video/sports-index.html?nvid=335741&shu=1.)

And yes, Izzo danced to the piano playing that went on, including Papik's very impressive Armenian jazz joint (Hamlet recorded for me with our camera!)



She also played with her cousin (or Hamlet's cousin's daughter?) Lizzy. And Izzo, apparently, had fun "jumping" with Smbat, who had to work double-duty, with Lizzy wanting in on the action too. Seemed like they all had a good time, Tatik and Hamlet both assuring me that "everyone loooooves Izzo."

Laughing later, Hamlet said he'd had a hard time explaining to relatives why I'd be working on a Saturday night in Irvine. To shoot video? Of a high schol girls water polo match? It's championship season? What???

Yeah, well, Hamlet had a similarly hard time explaining as much to Izzo all week, too.

Four nights this week I've been from Moreno Valley and Temecula to Santa Ana and, last night, Irvine, to do the video thing. And I've loved it -- except for one thing. Izzo, I hear, hated it.

Each night when I've call home to report that, "OK, game's over, I'm on my way back to edit," I've heard Izzo crying in the background and Hamlet plaintively telling me what's going on in the foreground: "She's been doing it again. All night long, she just stands pointing at the door and saying 'Momomom!' and bawling. We've tried everything, we put music on, we put Elmo on, we read to her, everything, and we can't distract her. She wants you."

Here's the thing: On those four days, she got me for huge chunks of daylight, which I loved. We ran errands together, played together, napped together so it felt, to me, like I'd gotten more of my cherished Izzo time than usual, but that might have served only to make it harder to say goodbye in the evening?

Sigh.

What else, what else?

-- Hamlet, bless him, taught Izzo who Manny Ramirez is. Which is especially heartbreaking considering what's going on this week with the Dodgers and ManRam. If you don't follow this stuff, the team and the player -- who happens to be one of the best hitters in the history of the game and the man responsible for almost single-handedly energizing baseball fans in L.A. last season -- are in a serious contract dispute. I won't get into the details, because they're tedious, but ... every morning (shoot, every five minutes) Hamlet was asking, "Have they signed Manny yet?" But, he's backed off, sadly, when it was reported the discussions apparently took a turn for the worse a couple days ago. That hasn't stopped Izzo, who never misses an opportunity to cheer her heart out: "Manny! Manny! Manny!" every time she sees a photo or image of the guy, which is a lot right about now. And so, great. Our sweet little baseball fan daughter is going to get shafted by a pro athlete for the first time before she turns 2. Nice job, Boras. (That's Manny's, and baseball's, most evil agent.)

-- Izzo still loves the binky. I don't give in most of the time, but that doesn't stop her from asking, begging, pleading and then throwing a fit ... before eventually moving on.


-- Izzo and Badu do story time now. Which is to say, Izzo finds a book, finds Badu, finds a seat near Badu, and reads to her. And Badu, Badu can't roll her eyes because she's a cat, but she would, if she could, just to make it look like she were really put off by the process ... but really, I know she's liking it. I can tell, because after a few minutes, she'll close her eyes and lay there and listen. (As opposed to snarling or running away.)

OK, there's more. There always is. But withIzzo trying to addher own two cents on this keyboard right now, I should let it go.

Lots and lots and lots of love.

The rhythm is gonna get cha.

Us