It suddenly dawned on me last night that this time next year Zoey will be 5 years old which, as we all know, is just a few short milestones away from being able to rent your own car, drive to Vegas and stay up all night high on men and maybe.
When my parents drove me to college in San Diego, my mother rode in my car with me and cried the entire 8 hours down 5, "Phantom of the Opera" blasting on the stereo, singing as if she, too, were a disfigured musical genius. Grasp it! Sense it, tremulous and tender... Every now and then she'd grab my wrist to point out a crop, as if she couldn't possibly let go of me until I knew the difference between an almond and a pistachio tree. I thought she was nuts, but now I get it, I do.
4 years old is a slippery slope to 5, and 5 is a very long highway in the direction of Notme, population: why? Before I get any schmaltzier and start singing Andrew Lloyd Weber tunes, here is a video of another kind of mother's love, another kind of nut, live from the vault of the 1950's to distract us all from the passing of time...
What the Fuck. Happy Monday.