Well, I’ve got that Dave Alvin song stuck in my head; that’s our neighborhood, right down to the Mexican kids running up and down the sidewalk with Roman candles.
Costa Mesa is one of the few places in Orange County where fireworks are legal. It’s a big controversy in the local paper; there are some folks — ahem — Wendy Leece – who want to outlaw fireworks in Costa Mesa. I grew up here, and I enjoy the comraderie. One day a year, everyone walks to the end of their driveways and actually has a conversation with their neighbors.
The Little Guy has been edgy all day, walking around with a clock, asking how much longer until we set off fireworks. We finally took all our accoutrements out to the curb around 7:30; a little early, but already Miss Baby’s bedtime. Miss Baby cuddled a toy fishy in her stroller, and the Little Guy jumped up and down. He’d wanted a flag to wave, but we didn’t have one handy, so I pulled out some red, white, and blue ribbons and attached them to the end of a stick. The only white ribbon I could find was Christmas ribbon, with “Peace on Earth” written on it. I decided that it wasn’t inappropriate. So he waved his ribbon-stick and jumped up and down.
Miss Baby enjoyed the fireworks; she gazed at them when they went off, and shuddered and hugged her fishy closer when they whistled and crackled especially loudly. She didn’t cry or insist on being taken away; she was having a good time. When one of the illegal rockets crackled overhead, she said, “Uh-oh.” Finally, my DH persuaded the Little Guy to light one of the fountains; he was apprehensive, but decided to be brave, and was very pleased with himself afterwards.
After we finished our fireworks, we took Miss Baby home and tucked her in, and the Little Guy and I walked around the neighhborhood, enjoying everyone else’s fireworks. We did see some illegal fireworks, but for the most part, everyone was well-behaved, having a nice time. Frankly, even most of the folks with the illegal fireworks were pretty mellow; I was more worried about the kids using legal fireworks in illegal ways.
At one point, the Little Guy was overwhelmed by nostalgia and became sad. “I’m going to miss the Norfolk Island Pine,” he said, referring to his favorite tree on our street. He’s been looking forward to the move, but he’s beginning to think about the ways that he’ll miss his hometown. It’s interesting that the 4th of July is what brings this on. We’ve done the same thing every 4th for the last six years — in his mind, the fireworks and ice cream and glow sticks and Costa Mesa are all bound up together in a happy little frenzy. He’ll get that all back again, just without Costa Mesa, but he doesn’t know that now. What he doesn’t know, is that he stands to lose it if we don’t leave town; this time next year, Costa Mesa might not permit him to stand on the curb and light a fountain with his daddy, trembling with excitement.
Filed under: mediaPosted: July / 4 / 2008
This little video from the Onion is hilarious. I can be patriotic tomorrow:
Bush Tours America To Survey Damage Caused By His Disastrous Presidency
Normally, my DH tends the Little People on Thursday, and I pack, or clean, or feel guilty about not packing and cleaning enough. But I swapped days with him, so he could work on a day when his clients were likely to be available by phone (as opposed to the imminent national holiday). So Miss Baby and I took the Little Guy to summer science school; she was interested in the new campus. We went home, and she trashed the place for a while.
My DH had planned to experimentally drug the cat today, so we took that job as well.
Let me ’splain. No. Is too much. Let me sum up.
The cat will be flying to North Carolina, accompanied by my DH and Miss Baby. The Vet gave us some drugs to relax him on the plane, but since we don’t know how much he can handle, and how it will affect him, we are doing a trial run. So today, I gave him a quarter of a little pink pill (with surprising ease, actually), and waited until his third eyelid appeared. Then we stuffed him into his travel case, and Miss Baby and I hauled him out to the car. Miss Baby was very amused to see the cat, outside, in a cage — she poked her fingers into the grate and laughed at him. I strapped the cat into the front seat, and Miss Baby was angry when I wouldn’t let her climb in on top of the cat box. We went for a drive. Miss Baby complained for a while, until we started singing. The cat did complain, but it wasn’t the usual constant siren-like wailing; just soft, low, quiet intermittent meows. So the drugs didn’t totally sedate him, but they mellowed him. While we were driving around, the phone rang, but I couldn’t untangle the handsfree contraption from the rearview in time to answer it.
I got home, released the cat, and discovered that the phone call had been from my Dad, who was in town for a few hours and wanted to eat lunch. So, my DH put a banana in her hand, and I put Miss Baby back in the car, and off we went to the Harbor House so Miss Baby could have lunch with her grandparents. Miss Baby was queen of the lunch table. She colored a little bit, then set to stacking the jelly packages. This is serious business, and she devoted much focus and energy and many hand flourishes to the project. We were there for a while, so my DH, who had picked up the Little Guy, brought him to join us. We swapped kids; Miss Baby went home to nap.
After lunch, the Little Guy and Grandpa and I marched to the beach; Grandma joined us later after she’d checked up on the dog. The Little Guy frolicked in the ocean and dug in the sand and amused himself and his grandparents.
We came home, and the Little Guy and I tossed little foam airplanes around in the front yard. It was pleasant and cool, and everything went well, even after one of the planes went into the street and was run over by a car. It flew just as well as ever. Miss Baby woke up from her nap and came out to the lawn and spent some time imitating her brother. He threw his plane, she threw hers. He ran in a circle, she ran in a circle. He rolled on the grass, she rolled on the grass.
Then we all went out and bought fireworks and pizza.
Such a summer’s day. My poor DH got almost no work done, but it was all quite pleasant for the rest of us.
For a while now, I’ve enjoyed the good work by the boys at Stuff on my Cat; lately, though, I’ve been looking at I can has Cheezburger, too. Both amusing, in different ways, and nothing says “dominion over the earth” like humiliating one’s housepets.
Sometimes I check out the silly animals with the Little Guy, and he likes to read the captions, or have me read the captions to him. Here’s the problem. I can has Cheezburger engages in flagrant bad spelling. That’s in keeping with its general sensibility; good spelling would be almost too serious. But for the Little Guy, who is just learning to spell, it is interesting. Sometimes it is easier for him to read the misspellings; other times, he has trouble puzzling out what the words are supposed to be. We talk about the spelling (he thinks “hooman” is funny), but I worry about the phone call from the teacher: “When I corrected his spelling, he told me they spell it “fud” on some website so it was OK.”
Today, in preparation for moving, I sorted out my jewelry box. I untangled all the necklaces (I have them, but I never wear them, because they are always snared), matched up all the earrings, put everything in little zippy bags. Now they don’t all fit back in the box, but they will travel well, and perhaps I can arrange things better on the other end of the trip.
At any rate, the Little Guy wanted to help with this task, and he did a good job with it. He likes sorting, and he likes jewelry, and he likes it when I tell him stories about some of the pieces. At one point he came upon a sparkly marcasite pendant, and wanted to wear it. I fastened it around his neck, thinking, “This is what he’ll remember when he tells his therapist that his mother dressed him like a girl.” He admired himself in the mirror and said, “I look like a pastor.” I offered him a cross pendant. “Then I would look even more like a pastor,” he said, and removed the one he was wearing. Then he put jewelry into bags, lifting his arm straight up and dropping the items in, saying, “I am a crane. I like cranes,” with all the appropriate noises. Then he dragged a necklace around the carpet: “I am pretending that this is a train.”
I think we’re OK on that whole gender identity thing with this one.
Miss Baby is a little behind on her vocabulary development. The doctor isn’t worried, but chalks it up to the series of ear infections that have impaired her hearing for the last few months. (That, and with her brother talking nonstop, she can’t get a word in edgewise anyway). She does some odd things, like use the word “Da-dee” for both parents. Yep, that’s right, I’m Daddy too. It’s better than nothing.
On the other hand, she very much enjoys pointing at letters — on a sign, on a t-shirt — and “saying” the letters: “A - E - I - A — OO.” So, she doesn’t talk much, but she’s working on her reading.
On a lark, my DH introduced the Little Guy to the Weird Al Show; evidently there was a point in history when some TV executives thought the Cal-Poly educated, accordion-playing polka parodist was a good person to host a children’s television show. The Little Guy watches it every night; half the time, Miss Baby watches too. She pays particular attention if there is singing, which happens rather frequently.
When I was pregnant, I hoped I would get geeky children. Be careful of what you wish for.
Today, I took the Little People to the Owie Kid’s playground. That’s how the Little Guy refers to handicapped children. Several years ago, when the city started talking about replacing the derelict playground at Tewinkle Park, one fellow in the community came up with the idea of an adaptive playground, with ramps, chair-swings, and the like. Back then, the Little Guy collected change during Advent one year, which we donated (it came up to about $50). The playground was finished last week, and we decided to visit finally.
It’s a very nice playground. There are nice shady canvas awnings over the play structures, a nice variety of slides and things, a very cool “rocking boat” in lieu of a teeter-totter, a nice sand play area with little scoopers. Tewinkle Park itself has other nice features, particularly a complicated lake with ducks. The park has languished for a few years, and this new playground has rather reinvigorated the place. There were folks there picknicking on their lunch breaks, wanderers from the bark park relaxing with their dogs, kids playing baseball, folks feeding ducks, and of course the playground was hopping. It was nice to see Costa Mesa be a pleasant little town again.
The Little People had a good time. Miss Baby ran up and down the ramps, and the Little Guy was actually quite proud of the place. He clearly felt a sense of ownership. Afterwards, we talked about how nice it was to have helped make it possible for all those kids to have so much fun. After we played on the playground, the Little Guy insisted that we walk around the pond and look at the waterfalls. Miss Baby enjoyed this, because it gave her the opportunity to chase ducks.
The Little Guy and I ran some errands this afternoon. As we approached the door to leave our apartment, the Little Guy stopped me: “The crossing guard is down!” He began making the appropriate “ding-ding” sound, and we had to wait until the imaginary train to pass in front of our front door. We stood there for several minutes.
This is not as infrequent an event as you might imagine.
