I could title this post Spring Break 2015: Hollywood, Los Angeles Sports Tour, and I’m Going to Be a Grandma.
And you can see from that title that there is no clear cohesion of thought to this post. But then again, is there ever?
Not to mention that it’s Wednesday of Spring Break, and we’ve already been to LA and back, and it sort of feels like the week should be all over by now. Because a round trip to the west coast and Daylight Savings Time should not happen in the same timeframe.
But we live on the edge and all.
I momentarily daydreamed that our visit to LA was to film the first season of the Dalke Diaries (as if), but that wasn’t really it. My stepdaughter, Lauren, and her husband, Greg live in Venice, and our trip was about spending time with them.
Which brings me to the I’m Going To Be a Grandma part. (Because that’s what happens when you marry someone 20 years your senior.) Lauren is due in June, and they’re having a baby boy, which is all kinds of awesome. And if homes in California didn’t cost 53x as much as they do here in Houston, I would already be house-hunting.
(Or maybe I could just move in with them. I’m sure they would love that.)
So basically our trip to Tinseltown was all about family, and then we got a little Hollywood thrown in on the side. (Is it lame that every time I go to Los Angeles, I secretly hope that I spot Britney Spears at Starbucks?) (Is it also pitiful that I break into Miley Cyrus when I step off the plane at LAX, and again when I look to my right and see the Hollywood sign?) (These are probably things I shouldn’t say out loud.)
Greg drove us through Beverly Hills and Bel-Air on the way home from Dodgers stadium on Sunday, and this was especially fantastic because Luke spent the majority of that little jaunt singing the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song.
Friends, I hereby introduce you to the New Fresh Prince:
Incidentally, I pretty much consider Luke’s knowledge of those lyrics to be some kind of parental crown of accomplishment. I mean, if my kid grows up knowing Bible verses and 90’s television, I have done my job.
Aside from our afternoon trek down Sunset Blvd, the other 85% of our trip was totally sports-driven. We went to an LA Kings hockey game; an LA Clippers basketball game; played catch at Dodgers stadium; took batting practice at the cages; and made our mark on the putting green in Lauren and Greg’s backyard.
If we didn’t know it before, this trip will forever go down as the time we learned that Luke is most happy playing sports, or watching professionals play sports.
It will also go down as the time that I ate approximately 3.25 Wetzel’s Pretzels in a 3 day period. Because that’s what happens when you spend loads of time in a sports stadium. But YOLO or something like that.
Also, we thought this little trip would be a healthy separation for Luke and that dreadful recorder thing. I’ve since realized that I might need therapy before Luke grows out of this plastic musical instrument stage. (On that note, he also might need some if that phase outlives my own sanity.)
We had time to kill on Monday night before the Clippers game, so we took a quick walk through the market on Olivera Street. It was all delightful until Luke spotted a recorder for $1.25. My mind cried, “No-no-no-no-no,” as my voice calmly said, “Luke, set that down, and no one gets hurt.”
A couple of observations here:
- He has a recorder at home. To own two is like some kind of evil.
- It’s only $1.25, but the mental cost is expensive.
- If we bought it for him, when would he even play it? I mean, does he think that Hot Cross Buns will delight the Clippers fans sitting near us? (Hardly.)
Luke passionately argued that he would use his own money. Okay, still. I’m sorry.
No recorder for you, dude.
Thus, we had The Meltdown on Olivera Street in which Luke insisted that buying the recorder was the only thing he cared about, and that his life was practically ruined by the loss. He could not fathom why we would kill his musical career right there in the middle of the Mexican market.
Such is life, my friend.
Sure enough, we hadn’t been back home for 12 minutes last night when the recorder came back out to play.
I’m certain this all proves that our life is action-packed with exhilarating reality show material. Or maybe we need 18 more kids for something like that. Also, it may be helpful if I refrain from using outdated phrases like YOLO. (Because, seriously.)
p.s. Much to my chagrin, I didn’t run into Britney. Just in case you wondered.
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