19 June 2014
I feel sad about my diary. My Record. My Dear.
I’ve been working on my book—what feels like a very long chapter about pre-trial motions, Evidence Code at my side, and probably making it almost as boring as real life.
Meanwhile, Enzo notes. Some of these are horribly old:
I asked Enzo if he’s ever had a pastry. I was thinking of a Danish. He must have said yes. I asked him what a pastry is. He said, “It has chocolate and cherries, but inside—octopus!”
I’m not sure what this is a list of. It sounds like drinks, but I don’t think it was that. Anyway the list: “Citrus Blast, Watermelon Hawaii, Tropical Mango Tango and Cherry Destroyer.”
I just asked Enzo what those things are.
“Slungies. That we can make at the park.”
“Or we can put them all over town, near my friends’ houses.” He lists his friends.
“Like a stand, to sell them?”
“What’s a Slungie?”
“Let me put it this way: shaved ice.”
Enzo told me he’d never join the Boy Scouts.
“How come?” I said.
“I like to learn by myself.”
“The only people I like to learn with is women.
“I vow never to even make a fist in front of a girl.”
We went to the zoo for a camping sleepover. Enzo and a girl named Alexis did an Identify Who Ate What quiz that one of the docents was putting on. Enzo whispered the answers to the girl who told them to the docent. She got them all right. Afterwards, Enzo said, “I’m fine to let her take all the glory.”
Enzo at the zoo, watching the lions. “These cats are pampered.”
Enzo at the zoo, not going to sleep: “I’m going to wake up really, really early. To work out.”
Enzo, singing: “I pledge my heart to you!”
Caden, a classmate of Enzo’s, to me about Enzo: “He’s a good kid.”
Enzo: “My favorite bacon is crispy and floppy, so I can choose. It’s hard to make. It’s only made by accident.”
Thinking of names for a friend’s soon-to-be baby girl. Enzo: “Marianne or Joe-sicca.”
“I think a walk by myself will make me grow up. I’m not a baby.”
Me: “What are you doing?”
Enzo: “Nothing, really.”
I got Enzo a big sponge and Olay Moisturizing Body Wash. He calls the sponge his polisher.
Me: “Here’s your polisher.”
Enzo (from inside the shower): “I have to look my shiniest.”
Me: “How come?”
Enzo: “Tomorrow is the last day of school. I have to look my best.”
“Have you noticed that when I fall asleep, I can fall into a pretty darn deep one? If I do fall asleep. Which is rare.”
Enzo had me cover him with just a sheet but leave a comforter and fleece blanket down at the foot of his bed. “So I can regulate my body temperature through the night.”
I explained a word to Enzo. “Did you already know that?”
“It’s considered—you’re insulting my intelligence.”