Ezra the Ezra-iest

It was a very Ezra weekend around here, and yes, I AM using his name as an adjective in and of itself. That's so Ezra. What an Ezra shirt you're wearing. This soup tastes Ezra-y. EZRA!

First, on Friday, Ezra randomly decided that NOW, THAT MINUTE, he was ready to do karate like Noah. We've done this song-and-dance before, and it's always ended with us showing up to the class, only to have Ezra suffer from an Attack of the Shys and refuse to set foot on the mat or participate at all. (Followed by a spectacular meltdown later in the car, when he would ask where his karate uniform was and learn the bitter truth that we didn't sign him up because he refused to set foot on the mat or participate at all we are terrible monsters of the cruelest order.)

TA-DA! He did great and he loved it. So congratulations! You now officially get to spend even more of all of your money on goddamned karate classes. Blark. 

On the other hand:

TINY KARATE PANTS. Size triple-zero. For your household's most fearsome peanut.

On Saturday, we had some friends and their children over for dinner, so it was time for a minor costume change.

Complete with the revolutionary accessories of the day:

Several hours later, Jason and I struck upon what seemed like a great game for motivating the end-of-the-night playroom cleanup: The Zombies Are Coming To Eat All The Toys On The Floor. I did a pretty convincing zombie shuffle and moaning bit when I went downstairs to check on their progress, as most of the kids shrieked and laughed and frantically hurled toys back into baskets as I approached. 

MOST of them, that is, except for poor Ezra, who I found hiding under the wooden train table, wailing in abject terror. Win, you guys. Am such an ass.

I think I made it up to him on Sunday, he and I attended a classmate's birthday party at Build-a-Bear, which I did not know was a thing you could even do, like oh my God, why not just have your party right in Disneyworld, or in a candy store on the moon? 

(I am turning 36 this year. Please RSVP if you would like to attend my birthday party. It will be at Build-a-Bear.)

The whole way over to the party, Ezra was adamant that he didn't WANT to build a bear, he wanted to build a rabbit. Being mostly unfamiliar with the Build-a-Bear party parameters, I tried to prepare him for the possibility that a rabbit would not be one of the choices, and also: DUDE. YOU SCORED AN INVITE TO A PARTY AT BUILD-A-BEAR. DIAL BACK THE DEMANDS, OKAY?

When we arrived, it turned out a rabbit was an option. 

So naturally he chose a bear. 

The kids were also allowed to choose an outfit, because WHY NOT, LATER WE'LL MAKE IT RAIN BUBBLEGUM FOR Y'ALL TOO. The party host held up a karate uniform with a variety of belt colors, which made me irrationally excited because it was so tiny and cute and guadruple-zero and gaaaaahhhhh wantwant. Wantwantwant. 

So naturally he chose the football uniform, despite never 1) playing football or 2) watching football or 3) being at all aware of football's existence prior to that moment. 

Whatever, everybody knows the best part of Build-a-Bear (besides EVERYTHING) is the box you get to take your toy home in. 

In conclusion, here is Ezra doing his best Maru impression:

Which is just about the most Ezra thing he's ever Ezra'd. 

P.S. After hitting "publish" and checking out this entry live on the site, I realize that there are Build-a-Bear ads showing up in the sidebar. Those are just network ads tied to any keywords that get detected (or possibly browser history and/or dark magic, I don't fully understand how it all works). But I now feel the need to clarify that this post was NOT sponsored, AT ALL, and that I received no money or free tiny karate pants from the Build-a-Bear people. SWEARSIES, carry on, etc.