The Teachings of a Two-Year-Old Genius

Having had a few days to unwind after my two-year-old nephew, Mr. Marcus, took Arizona by storm (one of those unwind days spent battling food poisoning), it didn't take me long to realize how much I missed the little redhead. No real surprise there I suppose, but as I reflected more on my week-long visit with Marcus, I started to think of the small takeaways this two-year old bundle of energy left with me. Now, more than ever, I'm certain of his genius status.

A few do's and don'ts from the experience of an unexperienced "Aunt Bekah"(yes, this abbreviated version of my name seems to be putting down roots despite my best efforts):

Do
   Go running with him in the wee hours of the morning. When spotting a large group of disease-ridden, disorderly, head-bobbing, idiot pigeons in a plaza, acknowledge Marcus' shrills of excitement by searching deep within yourself, pointing the running stroller in the proper direction and charging straight ahead into the lot.

Two-Year-Old Takeaway: Conquer your fears; it ends up being fun[ish]. Pictured below: post-pigeon conquering, a still frazzled Aunt Bekah, and accomplished and seemingly erudite, Marcus.

Do
   Make dance parties, playtime, nap time, bedtime and bath time a priority every day.

Two-Year-Old Takeaway: Amidst a busy and unpredictable day, pencil in time for yourself. And bathe.

Don't 
   Attempt a diaper change without being armed with quality distractions. Helpful interferences can range from long hair to plastic zoo animals to engaging in conversation. "Who else likes their diaper changed, Marcus?" The answer is nearly always, "Unca Beau!"

Two-Year-Old Takeaway: My 30-year-old brother wears diapers.

Do
   Take him on his first Arizona hike, armed with water, sunscreen and high expectations of just how far he'll make it.

Don't 
   Be let down when the rocks along the trail are much, much more interesting and we come to a staggering halt three minutes up the trail to instead take a seat and watch everybody else hike past.

Two-Year-Old Takeaway: Placing exceedingly high (in this case, olympic baby) expectations on a person can sometimes prove unsatisfactory.
   
Don't
   Expect things to be on a schedule, in order or even slightly clean and put together. Don't expect your clothes to remain clean, and against your best OCD impulses, don't pick up the child by his hands in an attempt to put him in the sink, rinse off his oatmeal-stained self and avoid getting it on yourself. Ultimately, the oatmeal/cottage cheese/avocado will conquer.

Two-Year-Old Takeaway: Stop being such a neat-freak.

Do
   Wear monkey pajamas to sleep, play with plastic monkeys during the day and visit live monkeys at the zoo.

Two-Year-Old Takeaway: Don't take yourself too seriously. Also, monkeys are pretty awesome.

Do
   Turn everyday activities into song, theatre and/or some sort of an attempted foreign accent. For example, while purchasing Bandaids at Target, the mere incorporation of a British accent while informing Marcus, "Iii gooooot Bandaids!" was top-notch, entertainment gold the entire shopping experience.




Two-Year-Old Takeaway: Have fun. Speak in an accent. Sing (or whistle) whenever appropriate.

Don't
   Be afraid to toss negotiation into the mix. One more bite of green beans, and you can have a yogurt puff. Put Bear and Gorilla away and we can go for a walk outside. If you can count to three, I will turn on Neil Diamond and start a dance party.


Two-Year-Old-Takeaway: Two-year-olds are no different than adults. Our lives are filled with choices... including the "choice" of dressing in matching outfits below. The picture is a bit blurry, but that's only because we couldn't be bothered to pause the fun.

I really could keep going, since as is quite obvious, I took away more than just adorable pictures from this visit. Hard to say whether Marcus is old enough to bring these memories back with him, but I'll pretend he somehow will.

Oh yeah, did I mention his mom (my sister) and dad also came to visit? Oh well - it's the Marcus show. Until next time, my two-year-old source of wisdom. Muah.
   

Leaving La-La Land - Part One

It’s been an eventful weekend in the City of Angels, and as I scan the frightfully reminiscent Terminal 1 in LAX - and curse them for not having Wifi - I’m also a bit sad to be leaving Los Angeles. This is not a feeling I’m accustomed to while in, or even near LAX, the most despised and badmouthed airport in Possum Hunting history. But, here I am.

The weekend was supposed to be eventful, really. I came to catch up with an old buddy from Arizona I hadn’t seen in over a year – Miss Lizzy - and we had ourselves booked solid. The game plan included beach-side brunches, live TV tapings, deep sea fishing, Disneyland and a marathon of beer drinking in between. That left for little down time, which is precisely the way I like to spend my days.

We were greeted Friday by a gorgeous day and a sunny drive up the PCH to meet a friend for brunch in Malibu. It just sounds so glamorous, and it was, which in my life typically means I’ll find some way to bring things back to the comfort level of a poolside barbecue. We spent most of the meal talking about the eerie scratching noise I’ve been hearing in my attic, speculating how much stand-in actors’ annual salary could be and the idea of consuming possum sandwiches on Fear Factor. It was glorious.

We were met with even more glory later that evening, as we pounded through the alley behind Hollywood Boulevard to access the backstage area of the Jimmy Kimmel Show. Yes – I’m awesome, and a nerd, and couldn’t have been more amped for our passes to the Green Room. The only appropriate attire, I felt, was skin-tight black leggings, a black top and leopard heels; I was like cat woman.  And the show had my mind thoroughly blown. Yes, this was the guy I see on TV and he’s actually kind of fine, and wait wait waitttt… he’s…he’s going off of a script! I mean, I knew the show wasn’t entirely impromptu, but he’s actually reading word for word on a teleprompter in his monologue.  

Whatever. I wasn’t going to do the dwelling thing, and despite feeling duped and like a naïve idiot (similar to the time I went to a live comedy show and fell in love with the comedian, only to YouTube him later and find him telling the very jokes he amused me with to an audience in California) we were several free drinks in, and charged ahead (quite literally, you might imagine). Amazing sushi, really great conversation, an attempted drunken email deployment to an ex followed by an interception of said drunken email by my [AMAZING] friend before deploying, annnd… bed.

I woke up Saturday with a headache. And it was raining. Perfect. That meant no deep sea fishing and opened up the possibilities to bigger and better things, like Bloody Marys and brunch with an old coworker in town for the week on a TV shoot. Brunch turned into lunch of sorts, which led well into the afternoon. As the weather cleared up, we ventured to a patio nearby, situated ourselves under heating lamps, inundated ourselved with local brew [see accompanying image] and watched the sun slowly set. By dusk, my coworker’s college roommate had joined us; let’s call him Mr. Music Man. As has been the case lately, no afternoon of leisure such as this has slipped through my grasp without a little drama. Why break the trend? Some would regard Mr. Music Man a good deal older than me, but it’d been what seemed like years since I’d partaken in flirtation with a semi-stranger. And he was Southern, confident and conveniently seated to my left. Why not? The evening progressed to a local dive bar, rounds of whiskey, jukeboxes and ensuing demands for Neil Diamond and Rod Stewart. Mr. Music Man gave me a kiss on the forehead at the conclusion of the night, and I clambered down the LA streets with Lizzy towards home, completely satisfied. I still had it.

"Leaving La-La Land - Part Two" to follow.