NSJ

Niko and I headed down to LA for the weekend to visit Melodie and Reece. Since it was just us boys traveling, we only brought a change of underwear and an iPhone full of Pixar movies. Meaning, among other things, we didn’t bring a camera. Fortunately, Melodie had a camera and took some pictures. When Jul read about the poorly executed standing diaper change I heard her mutter, “I am so glad I don’t know what goes on when you are with him alone.” Ain’t that the truth.

LA feels oddly a bit like home. I realize “homey” is not how many would describe LA, but bear with me on this one. When my parents were married, my mother moved from LA to Detroit [1]. My mother, who was raised on authentic Mexican food, was forced to make due with tortillas from a can for decades before even average Mexican food made it to the mid-west. Needless to say, we spent a lot of our summers in LA with my Grandparents, if anything just for the Mexican food. I have vivid memories of the gigantic highways and how they seemed to have more lanes than was physically possible. I was fascinated with the fly-overs that were covered in vines. No vine could make that kind of progress in Michigan before getting relentlessly beaten back by a Michigan winter. But of everything I remember about our summers in LA, the beaches were the highlight. Beaches are just a part of everyday life in LA, which seemed strange to a Midwesterner. People didn’t just go to the beach on vacation, they stopped by the beach on a Tuesday at 4pm. My summers were a mix of sand, waves, and watching old ladies hand make tortillas at a local restaurant.

True to these memories, we were at the beach within 20 minutes of landing in LA. Watching Niko run on the beach was nostalgic in a “oh my god that was me” kind of way. There was a stark contrast between Reece, who sat nicely and played with the sand, and my son, who never stopped running for more than three seconds. Niko and I slept in the same room (thanks Bethany) which gave me insight into Niko’s night activities. Turns out he doesn’t stop moving even when he sleeps. So now I can say, “my son never stops moving” and not feel like I’m exaggerating. That and he seems to wake at 5am and sing for an hour before jumping up to plan his escape. Hearing a little voice at the foot of the bed say, “Oh, hello dad-ee” breaks my heart in a way that bleeds into instant forgiveness for the 6am wake up call. I’m pretty sure that is Darwin at work.

We got on the plane on Sunday with sand still in our clothing and bellies full of Mexican food. “Hello co-pilot,” Niko said as the pilot handed him a Southwest pin and I flashed back to collecting airline pins on our trips to LA. As we made our way to our seat and Niko talked about waves, I realized we were starting to collect Niko’s memories. While I want them to be his own, I also want them to resemble mine or at least have the same texture. LA, sand, waves, Mexican food, and great friends are a fantastic start. Thanks Melodie.

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[1] This is kind of insane to me because I love my wife but I would never move from California to…oh wait, never mind.