Then a strange thing happened; Ethan started asking when we were going back to our old house, I would wake up on a Sunday morning thinking, "today would be a great day for Malibu," or, before I met a slew of hilarious and wonderful people here, I would spend the day pining for afternoons in the park with our LA friends. Husband & I found ourselves wistfully saying things like, "remember the time in LA when we...." It was a classic case of "don't know what you've got until it's gone," (oh, the cliche of it all!!) Holy hell, I missed LA! You might remember how I whined & cried like a big fat baby about having to move there. And here I am, missing it. Oh life, you crazy bitch, you.
This weekend, Husband, Ethan & I packed up the car & headed down to Los Angeles for a Magical Mystery Tour of nostalgia. I took some pictures with my wicked awesome hipstamatic iPhone app while we were driving.
I may be a bit obsessed with the concept of the rear view side mirror--the whole looking-back- as-you-move-forward symbolism makes me all warm & fuzzy. And because we drove through sunset, it was basically us & the trucks.
We were set to stay at the same hotel we stayed at two years ago before we first moved out there: see here. Note to self: you are too old (and your child is too young) to stay on the Sunset Strip. Just sayin'.
We arrived late in the evening, with a sleeping child draped over my shoulder and pulling our luggage behind us. Only to be told that because we were late (woohoo!), they had rebooked our room (probably to some young beautiful chippy who was at that moment across the street at the House of Blues having drinks purchased for her by guys hoping to score). Which sucked.
BUT, lucky us! They had a room at their sister hotel 1/2 a block away. And we could have it! For free! Just pile all that stuff (including sleeping child) back into the car. Is that a problem for you? (to be fair--it's a small price to pay for a free hotel room in LA, I know, but what with the fact that we'd booked a room in the hotel we were actually standing in--it kind of pissed my 10pm-been-on-the-road-for-six-hours self right off)
There is not. I have to pick him up & cart him back to the car. Awesome.
So off to the next hotel. The one with the free room. And the awake child. Because? Please. It's one thing to transfer a kid from a carseat to a hotel bed. It's another to take him from carseat to hotel lobby couch to carseat to hotel lobby to hotel bed.
Fortunately, though, Ethan was way out of it when he did wake up, so he didn't have any questions about the bedding or art in our new hotel room.
Ethan was more interested in the bag of freeze-dried mango than he was the endless legs above his head. Nor did he ask why he was lying on a giant zebra blanket. Good boy.
This? Is a personal canister of pure oxygen. You know; for all your oxygen needs. That aren't met by...breathing?
Soooo, not really the room we'd envisioned (because really? who could envision all that??!!) Fortunately sleeping is sleeping. And in spite of the provocative, um, decor, and the replenishing supply of oxygen, sleep is all we did. And woke the next morning, refreshed & ready to check into the hotel room across the street that was rightfully ours. We were greeted by groveling concierges who threw bottles of wine & free mini-bar provisions at us as they checked us in to our room.
After checking in, we were off to see friends. It took Ethan about 45 seconds to get reacquainted with his friend, Penny, and all the princess-y goodness that he enjoyed with her during their friendship in LA.
Then we headed off to one of our favorite old stomping grounds, The Americana.
someday these two will have their own show on Disney or something. I can feel it. There will be much singing and dancing. And general adorableness.
At the end of the day, we went back to our normal hotel room. The one with no boob art, oxygen tanks or bottles of aphrodisiacs on the nightstands (did I mention that? oh. yeah. They were there. The room was very disappointed it saw no action the night we were there, I assure you. We failed that room. So sad.) And I was so happy with my normal hotel room. Until I drew up the blinds and found, either etched or decal'd on my window, this:
Lesson here? There are no normal hotel rooms on Sunset Blvd. And given that it was the night of the NBA finals, game 7, I can only conclude that in California's case, "party" means lighting cars on fire and throwing things at cops.
We visited friends, revisited all our favorite old places and even walked past our old house on the way to the farmer's market this morning (where we crammed our faces with legendary breakfast burritos that we've been dreaming about for the past eight months--very farmer's market-y of us).
We embraced our old-ness this morning at 2am when we called hotel security to report a gaggle of drunk girls screaming in the hallway (there was a day when I might have been one of those girls, but last night? I was the angry old lady on the other side of the door and I was freaking tired.)
We headed back north this morning, happy to have seen our friends, but this time realizing that, as we watched the LA hills get smaller in the rearview mirror, we were driving towards home.