Daddy: "You're a big girl now, you don't need to be carried up the stairs.
Izzy: "But my legs hurt and my knees are sore. Every time I walk up the stairs, my knees are soaring really bad!"
Today was the first day of school for the boy and tomorrow Isobel goes for a short visit with some of her classmates and finally next week she begins full time school every other day(insert heavy sigh) and at the risk of descending into a screed of sentimental clap-trap, I am reminded that my little girl is not so little anymore.
I remember my first day of school clearly. Walking down the short path from the parking lot to the school sobbing gigantic tears while my mother tried to calm me down.
"What's the matter?" my Mother asked.
"I...I...I...don't want to go to school." tears now streaming down my cheeks.
"School isn't so bad," she went on. "You get to do lots of fun things, you'll meet some new friends and you only really have to go until you're about eighteen and then if you want to be done, you don't have to go anymore."
I went into the school after a reassuring kiss and a great big hug from my mother...and spent the rest of the day wondering if she would remember to pick me up when I turned eighteen...I don't want Izzy to have to go through all that, can't I just keep her home and teach her the ways of the world myself? Maybe, if one could make their way in world by way of half- assed writing and a decent knowledge of single malt scotch.
Ah but Izzy and I are very different children. I was chubby, at a time when fat kids were still picked on relentlessly, and I was painfully shy. She on the other hand is the belle of the ball, quite literally sometimes. There are children who share daycare with Izzy, children that are considerably older than her that light up when she walks into the room. She commands attention not unlike the movie stars of old. I have seen with my own eyes, children her age and older, gravitating to her as she holds court.
I sense there are going to be some power struggles in Izzy's immediate future as she begins to step into line with everyone else and get on the academic Tilt-a-Whirl. Not with the
other students, I think Izzy will be the centre of attention and the boss of the class in no time. It's the teacher that I am concerned with. Someone who is used to being in charge, supposed to be in charge...I wish her luck...Izzy is a leader, born to it and why not? Look where she comes from (can you hear the horn tooting? Should I toot it louder?) I have no doubt that Izzy will be running the playground in a matter of days and her cronies will make certain everyone knows just who's playground it is. It is the kind of popularity my little girl wields. It's her natural magnetism that makes people want to be with her and do things for her. I will likely have a hard time explaining to her mother that the extra coins of milk money she is coming home with are the tributes paid to Don Isobel for the privilege of being her friend but I won't be surprised. Being this popular has always been a profitable venture.There are few things about being a parent that stupefy me more than the sight specific injury...the mystery malady. That rarest of diseases that strikes down children in their prime at the precise moment that they are asked to clean up a mess.
Isobel, the poor dear is so riddled with afflictions at clean up time that its a wonder she is even able to function.
Daddy: "Izzy, it's time to clean up your toys."
Izzy: "Ooooh, I don't feel good."
Daddy: "Really, what's the matter?"
Izzy: "Oh my ear is so itchy."
Daddy: "If your ear is so itchy, why are you limping?"
Izzy: "My itchy ear made my leg hurt."
Even the boy has been struck down by this dastardly disease on occasion,
Daddy: "OK guys, bring your dishes to the kitchen."
The Boy: "Oh no, I feel sick. I think I am going to throw up."
Daddy: "The kitchen is on the way to the bathroom, bring me your plate and then go throw up."
My personal favourite and Isobel's tour de force,
Daddy: "Izzy, come and pick up this Lego."
Izzy : "Oh but I feel so bad for myself."
Daddy: "What? What do you mean?"
Izzy: "My belly is so hurt, I can't stand."
Daddy :"That is your neck you're holding, sweetie."
Izzy: "My everywhere is hurting just now."
Daddy: "Alright, just this once I'll clean up for you. You go sit down and take it easy."
At this point, she lit up and went over and actually started dancing and singing to her brother. My head snapped up and I was clearing my throat (in that parent tone that states "You clearly forgot I was still here and you are soooo busted.") before I really was aware that I was doing it.
Izzy: "Crap." she headed slowly up to her room and closed the door.
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