I can’t believe I’ve been able to routinely forget to blog about these people. It’s good times. Good, life-threatening times. So, if any of you are familiar with Highway 17, you will understand just how ridiculous this is. A woman is driving … with no hands. Because she’s holding what look like Doritos and snacking on them one by one. Because she has to relish the chiptastic flavor, of course! And pretend it’s possible to drive around those curves at that speed WITH HER KNEES. Why did we take such notice of her? Because she veered into our lane as we were taking a turn. Yeah. My son was, of course, in the car.
Driving down Empire Grade after leaving the west entrance of campus, we realize that, though we’re going the speed limit, a car comes barreling down on us to the point that we both pretty much screamed, thinking he’d hit us. I turned around and was watching him because almost hitting us didn’t seem to phase him. He couldn’t have been more than a centimeter from our bumper because he and I were making eye contact. Seriously. When Josh didn’t speed up – why should we take the ticket for the homicidal maniac behind us! – the guy yanks his car into the other lane. Which is to say, towards oncoming traffic. The shock of this actually made Josh brake, certain this guy would need to get back into our lane and have to sideswipe us. Thankfully, not only did he veer back into the correct lane. And promptly started driving the speed limit. Hmm. So… he apparently just wanted to be in front of us that. much. Or he realized that he just put his life on the line for nothing. Yeah. One of those.
So, I’m asking my son questions I assume are pointless – as in he couldn’t possibly answer them – and he gives me the best possible response. We’re in the bath and he’s playing. I look at his superman curl and ask him, “What am I gonna do when you’re too big to hold?” To which, he looks at me and furrows his expressive brows, “But I love you, Mom.” “Yes, Ezra, but what am I going to do?” He sighs. “Mom. I just want you to hold me. But. I just want to get bigger!” Question answered. It’s selfish to want to keep him this way.
Today was a glorious day (…at 5:05, we’re calling it). Seriously. Aside from the very abrupt season change in Santa Cruz, wherein the upstairs of my house goes from being the only inhabitable location – what with the 40 degree temperatures in the lower half – to being sweltering. And…it’s still April. So, when I awoke this morning to rich sunbeams and a fully refreshed feeling (which quickly revealed itself to be part of the fading dream… in fact, Ezra had for much of the night been shoving his father and I to the far reaches of the bed and doing some sort of voodoo on my neck and lower back)… I assumed we were late. It was, however, 7 or so in the morning. Where the dawn went, yo? It went immediately to sun-baking! So, eventually we get prettified and go to 11 o’clock service – after getting breakfast at McDonald’s… the only thing anyone’s allowed to get from there. And these freakin’ adorable old guys (and I seriously mean like 80) were giving us the biggest grins ever! One was Asian and the other two were White and they were all wearing hats (one fishing, one Cal and another). So the one in the Cal hat with the palest blue eyes eventually starts telling me how charming and “entirely adorable” Ezzie is. Josh and I love old people so. It was pretty sweet.
So, after church, we decided to pack a lunch and get away from the sweltering living space in our place. “That rhymed, Marge, and you know it rhymed!” The problem was that we immediately remembered that Santa Cruz starts to get real itchy as soon as the sun comes out. Itchy like no personal space + lots of naked flesh = vomit in bag. First, we drive down W. Cliff (which feels delicious) and realize that because so many people are swarming at the Lighthouse and at the surfer look-out points, Natural Bridges might not actually be horrific. So we double-back to find that yes, yes, it is. It looks like a termite’s nest. I literally start begging Josh to drive away. I wish we’d had a sailboat or something. Enjoy the water and personal sanitation. Cheers!
Leaving NB, we decide to head farther north up Highway 1 and go to some beach across from a highway front “town” where we’ve never really had any company. Yeah, not so much today. Every possible turn-off on the way is populated by more than likely illegally parked cars. So we get to our spot and – aside from the fact that it’s 68 degrees here with an increasing windchill – we also see a rather rowdy 2 carloads of people heading down… with a hibachi… and a boombox. We’d already begun eating our picnic lunch in the back of the Explorer, which was quite nice and just cool enough. So… after that, we drove back to Santa Cruz. Hahaha. Never even went down. We had a loverly time though and even hung out on the porch (I writing, Daddy reading and Ezzie playing with the neighbor boy) for a while.
Well, now we’re inside and because Daddy asked Ezzie nicely to stop bothering him, Ezra just came and with flushed cheeks and doe eyes informed me that he’ll be “bozzah-ring” me. Hilarity. What else… well, Ezzie is taunting me by kissing the wall when I ask him for kisses. …. He gets it from his father. (I see the potential for French family jokes but I’m leaving it anyway.)
I don’t know why we didn’t get the memo. But 75 degrees in Santa Cruz means men don’t wear shirts to the supermarket. …. Hang on, please. *barfs in bucket* Tasty. Yeah, so I’d say it was a nice day. A really nice day. The great thing about this place is that it’s only “hot” in direct sunlight. Which is all the more reason the nudity confounded me. That and the girls who wear those itty-bitty “sports” shorts… I see the knee-pads. I see you’re pretending to be athletic and such. But the fact that there’s a whole pack of you. And you’re giggling. And your cheeks are coming out of the bottom. Makes me think you’ve cleverly created a parent-approved way to show your buttocks. And, while diversity is great, I’m at least partially a product of my socialization. Equating to my disgust at seeing the … full-figured girl of the bunch wear the same size “sports” shorts. … Stop it.
Secondly (’cause these are totally related), most universities don’t allow you to defer acceptance. Let alone… for ever. In 2005, I was accepted to the U of York in England – this is when we were living in Wales – and we made the family decision to come back Stateside for Josh’s degree. How’s about the fact that I got an email from them today, letting me know that we’re still wanted. Hah! Lovely. Because I would love to do the taught coursework – back to Forensic Psych – I’m not at all interested in doing the dissertation work and intend instead to “finish” my academic career in Sociology – the mothership – after squaring a few other things away. I just can’t believe an acceptance in 2005 still stands in 2008. God save the queen.
Lastly, Ezra is going through a – thankfully transparent – transition between three and four. He’s very verbally capable (read: he corrects other children who drop their “g”s and such…come on, he’s Bethany’s son) and he’s learning what is appropriate to say and what he’s not allowed to say (in spite of other children’s horrible attitudes and the substandard parenting of others). It’s a very exhausting process, apparently, and he’s usually tearing up when learning a new thing he shouldn’t say to us or a tone he can’t use. But when he says, “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m just very sorry.” …. I’ll admit: I break.
I heart French people. Er, the French family is to whom I was referring, though I am an admitted francophile. But since it’s 12:35pm, I can’t express all of that overwhelming, primarily inappropriate love right this minute. Just that it’s never not a good time and I can’t not speak in double negationness. Osity. Ment.
Um, here’s a picture and I’ll tell you more later, mkay? It’s gonna be one of me and my nephew-son, Zephyr Zain, who is the lovin’-est lovalump evah! I’ve only now discovered the profoundness of having nephews/nieces. Seriously, I knew there was that retarded obsessive love that can’t be described between yourself and your own biological child. But – and this is because Ethan’s birth overlapped Ezzie’s and was therefore overshadowed in this sense by my realizing the profoundness of child-rearing – I never appreciated why people were so obsessed with their seemingly unspectacular nieces/nephews. I can’t really relate because mine are spectacular but! I cannot believe how obsessed I am with Zain. He’s like a little version of my sister and brother (obviously, I don’t mean one of my biological brothers, that’d be gross) that I hold and see myself in and it’s like this overwhelming and tangible feeling that I had no idea would be so close to how I feel about Ezra. Now that Ezzie’s older, it’s even stronger. It’s another baby that I would be with 100% of the time if I could and who has a part of me within him. I…could probably go on and on since I’m totally aware of just how much is lost in translation. If you don’t get what I’m saying, there’s nothing I could say to make you get it. Yet here we are. Still talking.
Okay, but seriously, I’ll tell more about the actual visit. Until then, you can visit Andrew H. Mortimer’s memory.
Soon, I shall regale you with the stories of our weekend-after-Easter trip to visit family. Until then, here’s a picture(s) of Ezra celebrating Easter and being the prince.
And a story of this morning: Ezra got up with Bama, which means at around five am. When Josh and I got up four hours later, we were told by Bama – with a tone of voice that completely misled us – how Ezra had asked for a cookie as soon as he woke up! As in, can you believe that?? And we were like, yeah, funny stuff. Then she told us how, because it was five in the morning…..she only let him have one.
Usually, you can’t figure out/remember when your child grew out of something or learned something. There’s usually not a distinct moment in time where you realize he’s done something for the first time. But yesterday, I realized his accent was completely different. He was using a really hard “r” sound where he’d usually used an “ah”! It wasn’t until today that I realized how he’d come by it.
Yeah. Ni hao to you, too, Kai-lan. Now that you’re teaching my son to say “snow” in Chinese, he’s got a weird Chinese kid speaking English accent when he uses any word with an “r”. What the hell. First Wales. Then Dora. (Who basically for all her effort only taught him that if he said something we couldn’t understand, he should just say it was Spanish.) Now Kai-lan. Stupid diversity. Making my son sound all delicious.
So, usually Josh works at Natural Bridges but this past Saturday, they sent him over to Wilder Ranch, to which we’d never been. Auntie Annie, Ana and Ethan were visiting so we all decided to visit Joshie at work and see the “new” park. Um, it was amazing. Aaaand I’ll never go to NB again.
Wilder Ranch is a preserved family ranch dating back to the mid 1800s. Miraculously, the state kept developers from making it into a shopping center and kept the barns, the coops, the Victorian main house, etc. All of which is amazing. I could seriously spend hours there. Things for which I don’t have pictures (which is very upsetting): the seriously designer style roosters, the tree that I can’t even identify and which was Ezra’s first tree-climbing experience!, the Victorian house including the crawl space that goes from just beside the front door into the formal dining room (which Ezzie and Thanos crawled through to my surprise). The only slight irritation that day was the mucho-gusto docent (an old woman who made her Victorian costume herself and showed us all of it…right up to the bloomers) who needed all of our attention and needed to assume that children would naturally be bad. Meaning she basically barked at my child as soon as he appeared instead of (A) waiting to see what temperament he actually had or (B) letting his mother ask him to do something. Apparently, three year olds should just instinctively know where she wants them to stand. Stupid. She almost got yelled at by the end of the day when my son was actually putting all of the shop toys back into their bins and accidentally put something in the wrong spot. As his hand was going back in to correct his mistake, she interjects, “You’re not mixing everything up, are you!” and reaches down. Mmkay, (1) Ezra goes to work with Josh constantly at NB and has never once needed instruction on putting things back exactly where he got them. (2) Josh would be the one to reorganize. Not Crazy McBloomer-flashing. Who, again, … is a volunteer. Go somewhere. Anyway, our day was freakin’ awesome so she can just go straighten her eye liner (for the love of God)!
Let us gaze upon the glory:
Well…that’s probably all the pictures you need. Seeing as those of you I know have already seen them anyway. *shrug*
Hey, Friday, what’s up. What it do. I’m so happy you mean virtually nothing in my life.
Oh, the arbitrary things one can obsess over on one’s child. His heels. Are. Delicious. I’m not being funny; I honestly think they’re the cutest things ever. Or how hard he works on that lisp. His literally pushes his tongue so far between his teeth while talking (or ending a word, rather) that I am forced to smother him with kisses. Especially when he’s being really serious and his brows are furrowed.
I’m gonna be that parent (who completely makes sense to me now, btw) who is constantly talking about things their child did that no one remembers or witnessed but them. Yes, I refuse to get over it. It’s a miracle and a gift and I’m keeping it. Thank you.
UPDATE: The three year old who buses his own table comes over to me – moving markedly slower at 8:15pm than he was at 8 o’clock – and notices a bowl sitting on the floor beside my seat (worry not, homemakers, it’s hardwood). Rubbing his tummy with furrowed brows, he says, “Is that you-ahs?”
“Yes, honey,” continues typing.
“Ah you done?”
“Is it on dah flow-ah?”
“Yes, honey, it’s okay. I’m not going to finish it.” (Thinking he finds the food “on the floor” yucky.)
“Oh.” Breathing loudly. “Can I put dat on dah tay-ble?”
This scene needs to be written. But writing’s not the boss of me. And to prove it, here I am procrastinating. I might even go wash my hair. Ahhhh. That tainted sort of satisfaction that you know doesn’t compare to actually being free of the thing about which you’re procrastinating. Couple more rounds of spider solitaire and then maybe I’ll think about…having lunch. Mmm. Lunch sounds good. Plus I – unlike most 25 year olds – have only 228 songs on my laptop. That’s pretty bad. Especially when I don’t wanna listen to classical (not like that happens much)… ’cause that’s pretty much all there is. Too bad about that time my other laptop got yoinked. *looks around the ceiling, blowing spit bubbles*
You know who dances better than Ezra? *Logs away forty-seventh time that band name has escaped lips since Ezra’s birth* No one, that’s who. People totally forget to use their faces when they dance. Or they don’t and they look like Ben Stiller. No, but when Ezra’s mouth hangs open while he throws his head around and dangles his arms like he’s lost the use of them… it’s magic. Made better by the fact that he’s wearing Spiderman slippers (blue slippers with huge Spiderman heads on the toe) and a diaper. I’m mildly obsessed, I think.
The outside is calling to me again. But I know – like yesterday – I’ll go out there and not be able to find somewhere to actually be productive. But I could just go outside to see it. It’s not my fault I can’t make the outside comfortable and inspiring. I guess writing’ll have to wait.
Now playing: Le Moulin – Yann Tiersen