The Coolest Thing Ever

I did the coolest thing ever today.

As my days of unemployment have evolved, I've figured out a way to still inject them with a sense of accomplishment. The secret is to plan something--anything--in the first half of the day (pre-nap) so that it carries over to the second, inevitably slow half (post nap). So I googled a bunch of free activities for kids located here in LA and started hitting them. One morning I took the kids to a place called "Travel Town" up in Griffith Park. Travel Town serves as a sort of homage to railroading. There were lots of old train cars and locomotives for the kids to climb and and inevitably impale themselves with. Not to mention they infested with huge spiders that could suck my two-year-old dry in seconds. Loads of fun. But free.

Today, though, was a stroke of genius. A few months ago I rented "E.T" for my daughter to watch for the very first time. She loved it. By the end of the movie she was bawling and couldn't stop talking about it for days. We were living in Orlando at the time, but I promised myself I'd take her to the actual house Elliot lived in if we ever came back to LA. Well, lo and behold, we're back in LA. And even better, Daddy has all the time in the world to go for the 41 mile drive (per Mapquest).

Of course 41 miles in Los Angeles translates into an hour and a half drive-time, which we spent listening to Radio Disney (you know, if it had traffic updates, I'd never switch off--that's how much I love High School Musical!) and discussing our favorite moments from "E.T." Finally, after some winding streets through shady areas, there it was: the "E.T." house.

As if the whole idea wasn't brilliant enough, I reminded my daughter to bring her E.T. picture book so that we could see how different the house looked now. Of course the second we got out of the car the homeowners start pulling down the driveway (remember, the long driveway--covered by the plastic tube in the movie?). So I start acting like we're just a family out for a walk and kneel down to tie my 2-year-old's shoe. Thank you, acting class.

Once the homeowners drive away, I plant the kids in the middle of the street and start snapping photos, praying to Christ they don't get mowed down by a minivan. My heart was racing the entire time--after all, this wasn't some silly morning trip, this was a pilgrimage.

Sure, neighbors probably thought we were idiots. But once we were done, I got chills--after all, we were standing at a site where modern American cinematic history was made...just me and my two children. After loading the kids up, I took a deep breath and one last look around to savor the moment then drove off.

Nothing else happened the rest of the day. Didn't matter. I'd already accomplished something.