What's so cool about Izzo.

Hey, all of you! You, our beautiful loved ones who we love so much: Hey!

So, like, you know what's cool about Izzo, who is nearing 2 in a big hurry and sometimes loses her cool to remind us, but usually only for, at most, a minute at a time, as if to also remind us, you know, she's still kool-kid-kool Izzo?

What's so very cool about her other than the obvious stuff, like the whole learning-to-for-real-now talk thing, the actual, bona fide, real-thing, if very elementary conversations that are just starting to unfold? About big stuff, too. Big stuff like Doggies. And Cats. Who poop. And stink. Like Izzo. Poops. And stinks, too. It's not that she thinks she's a doggie, fam, it's that she's already got enough perspective on life to know, despite the ceaseless, never-ending compliments that cascade her way from me and everyone else she comes in contact with, that it's not as if her ish don't stink. (Maybe?) (Even so, I must say, I was flabbergasted when I realized, "Wait. THIS is our first real relatively complex conversation? About stinky poop? Really? ... Awesome!")

What's so fabulously cool, beside her insistence on helping me -- "Help! Help!" -- as Abba says toddlers do, and then sweeping alongside me with the little brush, or emptying a drawer in another room so the room I'm in looks neater, or offering to and then delivering on her promise lick CLEAN the bowl of cake mix?

What's so darn cool, in addition to her being, I think, among one of the most mellow kids at the park on most occasions, politely and clearly insistent that she prefers to take a long seat on the swing, not just so she can "Weeeee. Weeeee. Weeee..." all the day long, but so she can watch? So she can observe the action, study the other kids and their moms and dads and tatiks and papiks and uncles and abbas and grandpees and aunts and bobos and brothers and sisters ... So she can have an up-close and unobtrusive seat to do it, too, swinging back and forth a few feet from whoever the kid(s) next to her happen to be that day, that minute. ... 'Cause that's what she does up there in that toddler swing seat, she people-watches. And I join her.

I know I've said this 500 times already, and I'll tell you now: I'ma say it 500 more before I know it. But, yes, I love our park. On so many levels, I love our park.

Gave in and filled out a stupid facebook survey some days back, I don't even know why, and it asked me if to name the place I'd most like to be if I could be anywhere at all, and I didn't hesitate. The park. I'd be at the park with Izzo. I would've deliberated over that answer for longer than I should've two years ago. Paris? Amsterdam? Home with my mommy and daddy? Eugene, for a basketball game at MacCourt? The edge of the continent to watch the waves roll in? Somewhere I'd never been before but have always wanted to go, like Armenia or Australia or Italy or perhaps Sarajevo? Shoot, a year ago I'da toyed with that question for a while. But, now, no question, no doubt, I love me some park.

I love most, of course, how Izzo sits up, lights up and revs her engines as soon as we roll up. "Izzo, wanna go play?" "Yeah! Play!"

So it's hands-down the coolest place in the world, for that reason alone, but what's also cool about it is, well, its vibe. And it wasn't this cool a spot before they renovated it. But now it's got and manages to be maintaining that new-park smell; it's interactive, clean, colorful, perfect for so many ages. And for those reasons, it brings out all these wonderful people and all their wonderful little offspring, families who remind me how diverse L.A. is, stun me by how surprisingly so Glendale is.

It's like the U.N. over there, I'm telling you. There isn't a day we go that we don't meet, in addition to the usual cross-section of folks of Armenian, American or Korean descent, someone with an accent from somewhere else entirely. England. Russia. Wherever Naty's family is from (eastern Europe, I imagine, but ... someday, someday I'll find out.) Romania. India. Denmark. Pakistan. Japan. Spain. Ohio. Scotland. Seriously, we've met immigrant mothers and fathers from all of those places within the last month or two. I've chatted up a woman in a head scarf. I've giggled with a Korean woman who barely knew English. I've let Izzo accept cookies and strawberries from other kids' tatiks and papiks. And french fries from Luna's aunt, an outgoing gal who makes her living as a dancer, plans on starting a class for toddlers and has big plans for Izzo.

The park is, day by day, reinforcing, if not restoring my faith in humanity.

If Izzo really likes people-watching, then she gets it from me, and for me, watching people and their children, whether it's a collection of stay-at-home-mama friends who've met up there or a dad just back from work, like me, trying to soak in a little playtime before dinnertime with his kid, there's something about it that is especially, remarkably, honestly beautiful.

Something just so beautifully cool about watching people be so outwardly and totally in love.

Like I am, of course.

I don't want to be all melodramatic -- because I wanted to save all THAT for Izzo's birthday in a few weeks, brace yourselves -- but it's been one of those weeks where, if you're paying attention to what's been happening in the world, with the earthquake in Italy, the drunk-driver-caused car crash that claimed the life of the young, up-and-coming Angels pitcher and his friends here in SoCal, the nonstop violence in the Mideast, etc., etc., you can't help but appreciate, really, really appreciate, what it is you are so lucky to have.

And so I guess that's another thing that makes Izzo so perfectly cool, how she's shot me right in the heart with that powerful, vigorous sense of appreciation and love that any reasonable parent must carry with them everywhere.

But what's cool, too, I must say, is how much attention Izzo attracts at the park. Part of the reason I get to interact with so many of these worldly folk is because they want to come meet Izzo. If you think I'm kidding, I'm not. People want their kids to play with Izzo. If I had a dollar for every time I've heard, "Come, let's play with the pretty girl," I could go buy Izzo a, uh, bike right now. (But I won't, because I hear someone else might be planning on it.) People come up and want to know who we are. And where Izzo got those eyes! It's bizarre, a bit, but almost all of the folks I mentioned above assumed, for some reason, that I am European, which I kind of am, except that I'm not, and so, they all want to know, What is Izzo?

Know what else is amusing cool? How many Armenians have exhaled and gone, "Ahhh. That's why she's so beautiful! Mixed Armenian babies are always the most beautiful." Mixed Armenian babies? Huh? OK. But, sure. I won't argue.

You know what's way cool about Izzo, in addition to the fact that every day, after we've met up with our new buddy Daniella and her mommy, Katrina, that Izzo walks 'round going, "Wowwww. Wowwww"? Wowww, because that's what Daniella, who's about 14 months, says all the time. It's like hearing Angelie say "fool" all the time growing up on Tokay, and then saying it all the time myself (and still saying it, sometimes) without meaning to.

What's so colorfully cool, better even than the scene yesterday at Daniella's house around the corner, where Izzo behaved herself like a champ as she and three other shorties (with the help of three mommies) successfully dyed the first batch of this year's Easter eggs, winning over a few new fans and, as is now customary, enjoying the heck out of Daniella's fun, fun toy collection?

What's impressively cool, beyond the fact that Izzo is such a full-fledged and devoted Lakers fan, able to recognize the Lakers logo, most of the Lakers players, and now the Clippers logo, the NBA logo, the Blazers logo, is that now, perhaps most importantly, she knows the "Boston Sucks!" logo? (We're either horrible parents or great parents on this one... and I'm going with the latter.)

What's clearly cool, in addition to the fact that she has gotten so good at brushing her full set of kiddie teeth that I have to only give it a quick once-over to make sure she's gotten everything anymore?

What's dearly cool, above Izzo's eagerness to feed Badu treats and Badu's near-affection in return? Or, to allow for a tentative truce, at the least?

What's wonderfully cool, beside waking up in bed in the middle of the night and finding Izzo curled up, cuddled tight next to me, warm and peaceful and oh-so-very-very lovely, without knowing how she got there, especially when, the next morning, Hamlet claims, swears he wasn't he one who brought her over?

What's so cool, beyond the fact that Izzo's devotion to Sia hasn't wavered, even slightly?

That Izzo's taken to cheering every time we announce a car ride, half-requesting, half-celebrating: "Music! See! Listen! Car! Music! See! Listen! Car!" And then, once the music starts, every time one of those 14 songs gets another play, I'm astonished to hear the little girl in the backseat singing along, sometimes word by word, mostly melody by melody, she's absolutely learning these tunes.

These tunes and another important tune, too: "A, B, C, D, E, F, G, A, S, T, S, A, B, C, X, Z, meeeeeeeeeeeeee!" That's what Izzo's got of that classic. She's had A-E for a while now, but a few mornings back, on the changing table after waking up, Izzo ripped the nighttime binky out of her mouth, exploding with this urge to tell me, like she couldn't believe she hadn't told me yet: "abcde-EFFF-GEEEEEE!" Like, Momom, check THIS OUT! I'm up to F-G, yo! Can I get a Heck Yeah!?!?!

Heck Yeah!

And that's another cool thing, that "Heck Yeah," somehow and for some reason, has become our little inside joke. And I do mean joke. 'Cause it's the easiest, best button in the world. It's like tickling. It's so automatic. Izzo upset, Izzo sad, Izzo unhappy, Izzo anything but smiles and basically all I gotta do these days is whisper in her ear: "Heck Yeah!" and she's laughing. Hee-hee-hee, ha-ha-ha, and then giving me her patented, sugar-sweet "Oh, Mommmm" look. And I, naturally, am melting.

Heck yeah to THAT.

What's real cool, about Izzo, beside the fact that she loves shopping -- "shopping! shopping!" -- with me, loves cheese, loves milk and juice and corn, loves a walk, loves the idea of "kids!," and loves this cartoon I've never seen but Daddy seems to catch with her all the time called "Kiley" (sp?) in which, according to Hamlet, "a Chinese girl teaches Chinese," including using a phrase that sounds like "tooshie," which now has become Daddy and Izzo's version of "heck yeah"?

What I'm finding so unexpectedly cool about Izzo, is how FUNNY she is.

In a good way, I wasn't the least bit prepared for how Izzo would bowl me over emotionally. And while I knew that ahead of time, still, I really had NO idea. I also wasn't prepared, though, for how entertaining she would be.

Had a conversation with a Scottish mom and her 3-and-a-half-year-old daughter this week, and at one point, when I was cracking up at one of the utterly adroit observations made by Charlie (aka Charlotte, the 3-year-old), her mom made a comment along the lines of what I had to look forward to yet, and how her girl so often had her in tears, she'd be laughing so hard. "It's like living with a professional comedian," she said.

No joke.

Good girl Izzo was next to me on the couch a few evenings ago, leaning in and following along with the second of her bedtime bookies, Sandra Boynton's "Going To Bed Book," which ends -- betcha can't guess -- with everyone going to bed. And right before we get to this point in the story, a story Izzo's heard a few more than a ton of times by now, she starts making snoring noises!

These throaty, nasal growls delivered in a very recognizable breathing pattern just like that belonging to the handsome, hard-working fellow seated on the couch next to us (working incessantly away on the winning redesign for his paper).

For a moment, I was like, Izzo, what are you doing? But only for a moment, because that's all it took for me to recognize the great snores as a spot-on impression of Hamlet! Izzo saw that I was entertained and she kept going, breaking it up every now and then to explain, "Sleep. Sleep Snnnnrrreeggggghghghgrrrrr, snnrrrgggghghgrrrhr, snggrrrrhhhgghghgrrr! Sleep, sleep!"

"Hamlet! Hamlet!" I managed to say through my laughter, "She's doing an impression of you!"

Hamlet smiled, and he was probably impressed, but he didn't laugh nearly as long or hard as I did, especially after I asked Izzo, "And what does Momom sound like when she sleeps?"

To this, Izzo replied with a few seconds of deep breathing, but NO snoring noises.

So I asked again, to make sure, "What does Daddy sound like when he sleeps?"

"Gnnnrrreeggggghghghgrrrrr, snnrrrgggghghgrrrhr, snggrrrrhhhgghghgrrr!"

"What does Mommy sound like?"

"Hhhhaaaah, hhhhaaaaah, hhaaaahhhhh."

"Daddy?"

"GGGrreeggggghghghgrrrrr, snnrrrgggghghgrrrhr, snggrrrrhhhgghghgrrr!"

And there you have it. Our perceptive, pleasing, pretty, pretty cool daughter at work, lighting up our lives every moment, of every day.

Oh, how I love her, love her, love her!

And youall.



BE WELL.

Us

p.s. I'll write up a full-blown Easter report (oh yeah, good times!) soon as I have the time -- 'n energy. Till then. Love.