Because I'm single-parenting this week, I don't leave the house without a fruit leather in my pocket. That's just an idle observation that fits nowhere else in this post, which will be entirely absent of "gazing upon the wonder that is my son" rhetoric, even though I did that just last night. Actually, I went into his bedroom because he'd fallen asleep on his back, across his pillow, with his feet propped on the wall next to his bed. Also, he'd stuck his hand through the back crease of a small cardboard box. He'd obviously collapsed in the middle of some sort of important horseplay maneuver. He looked awfully cute, but this was no way to spend the night. I made the necessary adjustments, went into my own bedroom, and set my alarm for stun.

From the moment we dropped Regina off at the Burbank Airport at 7 AM, until about 15 minutes after sundown, Elijah and I didn't stop moving yesterday. He called it an "adventure," which meant I was doing something right, but I called it "not wanting to spend all day at home with a child who tries to flush towels down the toilet for fun." Highlights follow.

7:15 AM We breakfast at Bob's Big Boy in Burbank, marking the first time that Elijah has eaten at a place on the National Historic Register. He doesn't acknowledge the classic 1950s diner architecture, or the magnificently retro neon sign. And he certainly isn't impressed by the promise of dinnertime carhop service on the weekends. He does, however, like the three Big Boy statues, and also seems to more or less enjoy his teddy-bear pancake. Actually, his breakfast consists of two bits of pancake, two pieces of bacon, and about half a ball of whipped butter. Don't tell his mother.

10:30 AM. At the Farmer's Market in Montrose, a small town just to the north of us which a friend of mine calls "the whitest place in Los Angeles," Elijah, Hercules, and I meet Elijah's girlfriend Ariel, and Ariel's mother, who'd kept Ariel pacified that morning by showing her part 8 of a Beatles documentary from PBS. Ariel is obsessed with the Beatles like no little girl has been since 1966. Ariel and Elijah introduce me to a new supervillain from their Hot Man pantheon. His name is "Dr. Shrinky," and, yes, he shrinks people.

12:30 PM Home to watch the Suns beat the Lakers, and the Suns will win this series, oh blind Angelenos and ESPN halftime commentators. If the Lakers' "trick" gameplan is to give the ball to Luke Walton, then I think we should be in pretty good shape. I keep Elijah sedated by letting him watch Alice In Wonderland in our bedroom, and then in the 2nd half by jumping up and down with him like a maniac every time the Suns scored. That's what I would have been doing without him, too, but I still think he had fun.

4:00 PM After a delicious helping of gelato at a place in the middle of the Hollywood Boulevard tourist district, I take Elijah across the street to look at the freaks. He's confused by Pinhead from the Hellraiser movies, and was nonplussed by Darth Vader. However, he does enjoy the man in the felt top hat who, for one dollar, sings a rap that features the word "Elijah." Also, we both see the innate hilarity in the fact that Batman has to wait for the light to change at the crosswalk like the rest of us. "Some superheroes don't fly," Elijah points out. "But Hot Man does."

6:30 PM A friend invites me to a small cookout at a couple's house. The idea is that I will get along with the couple because they smoke pot and are also parents. I do happen to get along with them, but turn down their offer of some "Debbie" because, well, I don't smoke pot when I have to drive my kid somewhere. Isn't that responsible of me?

7:00 PM Elijah loudly announces that he has to pee, so I take him into the bathroom. My friend has informed me that the master of the house received a device for Christmas that is, for lack of a better description, a portable toilet seat with attached bidet and warmer. Elijah sits down and does his business, asking all the time what the buttons were for.

"Just wait," I say. "I'll show you."

I start the spray. Elijah's eyes shoot bolts of glee.

"Oooh!" he says. "There's a waterfall in my butt!"

"Seriously?" I say. "Let me try."

He stands and pulls up his pants. I sit and pull down mine. Sure enough, within seconds, there's a pleasing waterfall in my butt.

"This is an awesome toilet, daddy," says my son.

Our shared bidet experience is the kind of father and son moment that Elijah and I are destined to have for the rest of our lives. He's not going to enjoy baseball games very much, and neither one of us wants to go fly-fishing. Instead, we sit on bidets and eat shrimp heads. Life has never been so rich.

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