It's our thirteenth anniversary today, which we're handling in a pretty low-key way. I went to work while J. took Isaac to get a backpack for summer camp (we're calling it the "Rescue Pack," a la Diego), and then to the Exploratorium. Later, they picked me up at work and we went to grab a pizza and sit outside in the uncharacteristically balmy spring air, watching the fancy dogs, the hipsters and sometimes, most amusingly, their befuddled parents, grasping for something familiar among the crazy quilt that is my city. Isaac easily read "Pizzeria Delfina San Francisco" off the box, and spilled enough tomato sauce on himself that he looked like he'd gotten the worst in a barroom brawl.
Afterwards, we drove home and Isaac and I walked ahead as J. closed the garage. Lately, he likes to run ahead a bit and then dash back into my arms, tickling me and smiling in that impish way he has. We held hands, looked both ways and crossed the street together. Suddenly, a car came over the hill, slowed when it saw us, and then sped up, sure it could make it across before we did. "Hey!" I yelled, pulling Isaac back, and then, under my breath, "You moron."
And I heard a little voice pipe up next to me: "Those cars are STUPID!" "Yep, pal, they sure are," I replied, and we walked the half-block toward home.