Your first Mother’s Day has come and gone. Needless to say, you rocked it. On Saturday night, you gave me permission to take your mother to the park to watch The Revenge of the Nerds and eat lobster rolls from a food truck. It was the perfect LA evening.
Then, today, you slept the whole way through brunch at an Argentinian restaurant. Two for two, Blue. Good job. Your mother was very happy, and to show her pleasure, she attempted to playfully stab your nana in the neck with a peppermint stick she sharpened with her teeth.
This is who she is, and I love her for it. You do, too. I can tell by the way you squeal with delight when she makes a funny face, or when you smile at her morning songs. She’s an adventure, that one. Always will be. Example, coming henceforth.
Back in 2010, we were out at the Griffith observatory, enjoying a starry night and figuring out how much we weigh on Jupiter, when your mother turned to me and said, “Hey, are you up for a trip?”
“Yeah. Sure,” I said, thinking we might make a run to Pinkberry or something.
“Let’s go to San Francisco. You’ve never been.”
“Yeah, that sounds good. We can go in a few weeks.”
“No. Tonight. Let’s go. Right now.”
Cue an Arcade Fire song. Cue a mischievous grin. Cue me somehow saying yes and hopping in the car. Instead of wearing flowers in our hair, we loaded up on Red Bulls.
It’s about 6 hours from LA to San Francisco. We left Friday night at 11pm. I had to work on Sunday. That gave us exactly one day to drive 12 hours, explore the city, and get back so that I could keep my job. To focus the itinerary, your mother decided the ultimate destination was the Palace of Fine Arts, which looks like King Triton’s undersea castle dragged up from the ocean and placed on a lake.
When we arrived back to LA on Saturday night at 8pm, we had seen the Palace of Fine Arts, walked across the Golden Gate Bridge and accidentally dropped a cup of Starbucks coffee into the bay, and ate a shrimp burrito in Santa Cruz while watching a marching band parade. Even if it was only for a few hours, I had now seen San Francisco.
That might seem like a stupid plan. After all, we spent more time on the road than we did visiting anything. When we got back, my back was numb, I smelled like pringles and I was wiped out for the next week. Any common sense would tell you that this is not a good recipe for a trip. Something funny happens on road trips, though. It’s the same thing that happens after labor, I think. You, kind of, forget the things that weren’t so fun and only remember the good things that came out of it. That’s why you should take every adventure you can, Blue. It’s not so foolish to drive 12 hours to see something you’ve never seen before. You will remember the experience long after the credit card bill is paid off.
It’s also not so foolish to spend a day visiting one of the most romantic cities in the world with a woman who might be the mother of your children.
Happy Mother’s Day, Blue. You got a good one. I chose well for you.