Luuuuuv Ya, Izzo

(Izzo now mugs for the camera.)

Fam, Friends, Homeys and Peeps.

I'd like to go for sweeping Camus-esque, Gary Smith-esque, Mommy-caliber perspective here in describing this particular past week, but I don't know that I'll be able sufficiently dig far enough out of the moment to do it. Plus, it's really 8:07 in the morning, not 9:07, and I've had a couple of late nights editing, so I might make less sense than usual, which would be none at all, I'm so sorry. Hang in there as I address Izzo, in the future. You know, five years from now.

"Hey, Izzo."

"What Momom?"

"Did you know I used to work for a newspaper?"

"Yeah, I know."

"No, like a newsPAPER."

"Yeah, I know. Like theonerealremaningnewsorganization.com, theothersortalegitnewsorganizationleft.com ..."

"No, Pookie--"

"Momom, are you ever going to stop calling me that?!?!?"

"Oh, sorry. I just can't help it, Monster."

"Arrrgh."

"Anyway, a real newsPAPER. The news was printed paper. People got it delivered to their homes, or in our case, under someone's car in our apartment complex's driveway. Or you could buy copies, out of stands, like in front of Starbucks ... and, once upon a time, there were a lot of papers around. In fact, it used to be that you didn't get all your news about the Lakers from TV or the 653 Lakers fan blogs, but from newspapers. It was pretty cool."

"But, why?"

"Why? What do you mean why? Because you had trained reporters doing their best give fair reports and analysis and insight into the organization, with editors to guide them and a copy desk to make sure they got all their theirs and there's right."

"And that was fun to read?"

"Yes! And, way back when, every pro team had several papers assign reporters to the beat, so you'd get different angles, and papers would compete to break news first."

"But Momom, there's something I don't understand."

"What, Poo-- Izzo?"

"News? Sports? Like, what news could there possibly be to break when it comes to the Lakers ... ?"



OK, so, I'm being melodramatic.

Izzo will always love being called Pookie.

But anyway, this week would've been so absolutely lovely, if it hadn't been so completely rotten.

THE LOVELY:

Izzo successfully went pee-pee on the potty!

Twice!

A week ago, exactly, last Sunday, this happened. It hasn't happened since. But IT HAPPENED!

Just back from shopping-shopping! for a warm-weather wardrobe for Izzo at Target (an activity I happen to love more than I would've ever thought possible), Izzo on the changing table, diaper off, when she goes, "Pee-pee?"

I'm like, "Pee pee?"

Izzo, again, because I didn't get it the first time: "Pee. Pee."

"You want to go pee-pee?"

She gives me a trademark, punchy and enthusiastic, "Yeah!"

And so, bare-bottomed, Izzo walks herself to the Elmo potty in the bathroom and takes a seat for a few seconds before standing back up.

"No, Izzo," I say. "Neste, sit down, try to go psssssssssss."

Izzo sits again, for a moment, and stands again, before I convince her to sit again. After a few minutes of this, I'm more or less done with the charade, and afraid the diaper-less princess will make a mess of herself if I let it continue too much longer. So I go, "Ohhhkay, Izzo. Nice try. Let's go put your diaper on..."

Only to find the container in the potty FULL of pee!

I rejoice, naturally. Hoot and holler and hug. And Izzo stands there lookin' proud-like, and accomplished, and almost embarassed by Momom's over-the-top celebrating, exactly as I hoped she might look, and so, we head back to try again, at my suggestion this time, later that night. And again, after watching the sitting-standing-sitting-standing routine for a few minutes, and being not-so-fast on the pickup, I call off the show, tell her we're gonna go reapply the diaper -- only to find the container full again, which leads, again, to the hup! hup! hup!, hooting, hollering and hugging for peeing princesses, which I hope Izzo wants to get used to.

I was astounded, though. Because I'd only made half-hearted attempts to get Izzo into potty training mode. One of those things that gets a little tougher for working moms, I'd think. I'm not home enough to launch a serious routine, or even to know what Izzo's schedule is exactly from week to week. (Sorry, Izzo, for addressing such intimate details with your public.) And, really, even though I've been reading about it, it still didn't make total sense to me, how to train a person on how to utilize the restroom. It seemed like such a departure from what she's used to, and how does one EXPLAIN the have-to-go-potty sensation to a not-quite-2-year-old who speaks not-quite-language. It's not, as my friend Suzie put it, "like you can just take them and shove their noses in it."

But last Sunday, Izzo went and told me. And then took me up on my suggestion. And so, I know, all things are possible.

Hopefully again today. Or someday soon. Or someday again. Hopefully.

There was more to celebrate this week, too. It was like almost everything went right.

Manny (or, as he's now referred to around here, "Manny! Manny Manny! Dodgers! Dodgers! Dodgers! Manny! Manny! Manny!") signed with the Dodgers after all! My girl, Megan Corkrey (who is going to cost me my critic's cred) advanced through the wild card round on American Idol! Both local basketball teams that I covered in championship games this week won, both times upsetting Southern California/national powerhouses to do it! Izzo's been walking around going, "Luuuuuuuv ya! Luuuuuuv ya!" And there were a pair of deliciously long plays at the park playground down the street...

... plus another dacing-filled, post-breakfast romp at the Americana playground (we'll get back to that later, in an upcoming e-mail***)!

My role generally at trips to the park these days is this: Keep an eye on Izzo. Make sure she doesn't venture too close to kicking feet on the swings. Make sure she doesn't get a chance to try and jump off the platforms like she sees the more rambunctious older kids doing. Stuff like that.

Well, duh, you say. But, recognize, Keeping An Eye on is a much different experience than whatever it is you'd call what you do with younger children. Before, Izzo would love to make the rounds, and want so badly to investigate other kids, but she couldn't walk yet, so she relied on me to help her stay on her feet, which was sort of awkward, letting my baby lead me toward children -- and adults -- who weren't necessarily always looking to interact with her. I was very much the dorky third wheel.

And then, when she better mastered walking on her own, she was still pretty wobbly, obviously, and so I'd have to follow close by, to keep her from eating it too hard at any point.

Now, she can propel herself pretty much wherever she desires, and so I can follow -- and I still do follow, best believe -- at a distance that allows me to just watch and enjoy! Enjoy seeing my daughter interact, watching her puh-lay, witnessing her light up from the experience, the fresh air, the exercise, the excitement of being.

And it lets me talk to other moms some, which I'll say I've been yearning to do. On Tuesday, met a cool Armenian-British woman with a beautiful just-turned-1 daughter named Daniella, who invited us for a playdate at some point. And then on Friday morning, chatted up the mom of Anthony, a 19-month-old little dude who goes to bed on time, loves to draw (on his tummy) and who followed Izzo's lead like any good man should.
It was so wonderful to talk with these other mommies, both of them appreciative stay-at-homers. But like I tell people, the working thing's gotten much easier this year. We've established a rhythm that feels pretty good. I do still get a pang of hurt whenever I walk away from Izzo in the morning, and often, at work, I still find myself looking out the window toward Glendale and thinking of her, but it's not a constant yearning, it's not distracting. I feel how excited Izzo is when I drop her off to see Gigi and Tata and Papik and, of course, Bobo, every day, and knowing that has made all the difference. Maybe it helps, too, that I'm not nursing and not quite as hyper-connected, biologically, any more? Or that Izzo seems to like me as much as she seems to like me, and so I'm not fretting the fact that being away so much will in any way hinder our relationship. And then there's that, in addition to liking who I work with, that I really like what I'm doing at work these days, with the video stuff.

Did I mention that I've always liked who I work with? Which isn't a given, in most workplaces. I totally dug working with preps editor Tim, who was so funny in such an understated way, and always in a good mood, which I appreciated all the more getting to work with him daily on prep video stuff. Consider Kevin, a college football writer and local colleges guy, a friend, as I do with Diamond, both guys who've come to Hamlet's shows. Dudes would be teasing Kevin a lot around the office, and I'd always find myself thinking about how good natured the guy was and saying to myself, and others, many times, "I like Kevin." Diamond, a coolly cynical straight-shooter, was just meant to be a baseball writer. Designer Dan was just cool, friendly; he always, always, always said Hi. Copy editor Jason was a nice guy, too. He and his wife had a baby about a year ago, and so we'd talk about that. I worked beside college football writer Dan only a few times, but he was as knowledgable as it comes.

Alas, after Thursday, I don't work with those guys anymore. Layoffs are happening everywhere, in every sector, around the globe, and we knew it was coming, and I'd been through it before, but not like that. I hadn't had so many people with whom I worked closely, and whom I was close with, snatched away so suddenly. Talented, hard-working, good people potentially knocked out of a game that's rapdily contracting because of the economy, because of technology, because of the times. Contracting and perhaps reinventing, though no one knows what the newfangled print journalism scene might look like down the road. It'll still matter, but it's a matter of it surviving first. And so I walked away from Thursday not as a journalist, but purely as a longtime fan of the medium, hit by how much I'll miss it. And my friends who are so good at it.

Good thing for parks and playgrounds and toddlerbabies who beg for "moremoremoremoremore" waffles, as mine now is.

Love. Us.