Snowblind...Blue By Spew...

I had gone outside and come back in sometime later and Izzy noticed I had come back in without a coat on.
Isobel: "Daddy, where is your coat? It is freezing outside. You need a coat on."
Daddy: "I was out snow-blowing the driveway. The coat I wear to do that stinks so I leave it in the garage so the whole house doesn't stink like gas."
Isobel: "Daddy, you still stink like ass."




It is that time of year again and we have recently had several dumpings of snow. I purposely held off blowing out the drive way until the snow was past my ankles. It makes for easier blowing and a much larger plume of snow to put over the neighbour's fence.
When we first got the snow blower, the boy would come outside with me and run along side me. Close enough to get doused with snowfall but far enough away to be out of any danger. He still likes to do it once in a while. Izzy was ecstatic at the prospect of being covered with snow.
"Izzy, it's totally fun. You get covered in snow and then we can come in and have hot chocolate." The Boy explained to her.
"Wee-Haw!" said Izzy.
And so I got suited up and went outside while Mrs. Narrator helped Izzy get trussed up like Scott of the Antarctic. It was cold out, yes but when does temperature negate the need for range of motion? I wore a snowsuit(a hand me down from my brother) when I was a kid that was so cumbersome I could not walk in it. I tripped once crossing the street and swear the truck bearing down on me missed my head by mere inches. In reality it was probably several hundred feet from me but the fear was not lost. I went home and tore the ass out of the snow suit with a steak knife and told my mother I got caught on the barbed wire fence around the Spence's field.
"OK Daddy, snow me down now." Izzy said.
"Wait until I blow out the drive way and then I'll blow the snow from the backyard at you so there's no stones in it or anything." I said.
She looked at little worried about the prospect of the snow blower covering her in the ugly white stuff but when I told her it wasn't much different than burying herself in the snow she seemed to lighten up a bit. Plus I think she honestly wanted to try what the Boy seemed to enjoy so much. She had heard him talk about it and saw how thoroughly he seemed to enjoy it.
And so after about an hour, the driveway was pretty clear(anyone who has ever been to our house know this is no exaggeration. An hour at it is just a quick once over) and it was off to cover the kids. Now I should state for the record that I am not a cruel man by nature. If I laugh, it is because something is funny. Not because i want to pour salt on a wound. Now that being said, I pointed the snow blower into the yard and headed for the kids.
"Oh crap, oh crap!" the Boy yelled, barely containing his excitement.
And with a giant FOOSH! he had disappeared in a cloud of soft white powder. If it hadn't been for the laughter, I wouldn't have known if he was still where he had been when we started.
"OK Pickle, are you ready?" I asked.
"Oh crap, oh crap..." she said not with the same relish as the Boy but still amused enough that I let out a laugh. "Oh crap, oh crap," she said again. The fear rising in her voice. "Oh crap, oh crap." she was now crying and running for the door.
"It's OK, Izzy. I won't cover you if you don't want me to." But the damage had already been done. I had left the snow blower running as I walked to her, which was the wrong thing to do.
"Oh crap...MUMMY! Oh crap...MUMMY!" The screen door was stuck(as usual) and she was pulling on it so hard that one of the spindles snapped in her hands. she threw it aside and shook the door as hard and meaningfully as she could. She was in the grips of something atavistic and terrifying and only getting inside was going to fix it.
Mrs. narrator finally came to the door and to the rescue and Isobel disappeared inside. I covered the boy a couple more times but the wind was out of both our sails and it was getting cold outside.
When I got inside Izzy was sitting in the toy room and I figured I better give her a wide berth. She already thought I was the snow blower beast or at least I could control it so I figured I'd let her come to me. Later, I was upstairs and she wandered into the bedroom.
"Hi Pick," I said. "Whatcha doin?"
"Seein' what you're doing." she said.
"Listen," I said. "You know I would never do anything on purpose to scare you right? Next time I'll know that you are scared of the snow blower and I'll keep it far away from you when you are outside."
"I'm not afraid of the snow blower Daddy." she said matter of factly.
"Why did you go running away and try so hard to get into the house if you weren't afraid?"
"I wanted to get in the house so bad because you laughed at me." She said.
The pony will be here in a few weeks.




If past experience has taught us anything, it is that Isobel's stomach and I are becoming mortal enemies. There is a vicious stomach flu going through Izzy's daycare and naturally got it. BUT some important lessons have been learned from it all. Firstly if we are going anywhere, one of the children will be stricken with something. It is unavoidable. Second Isobel becomes more and more insolent as the illness takes its toll. I mean she can be stubborn as a mule at the best of times but when she is fevering wildly she turns into Linda Blair. And thirdly and this really is the important one, vomit comes with no warning.
You would think an old hand like me (having been vomited in the mouth) would have picked up on some sort of chemical signal or something but no. We can be sitting and Izzy will be joking and laughing and sitting up and puking. Just like that. This time there was a bit of a difference. She didn't want to eat supper which we of course attempted to make her do, rather she went to lie down on the couch because she said her leg hurt. As if someone turned on a light switch she sat up and the house instantly became full with that acrid smell. You know the one I mean, there is no other smell like it. Grown-up or child, it all smells the same. The floor and the couch cushions and the coffee table and my arm and Mrs. Narrator's socks all fell before the onslaught.
As I carried away the couch cushions in order to remove the covers, I was struck by something odd and at the same time heard Mrs. Narrator exclaim,
"Oh my god, what did you eat? Oh my god, what did you eat?!!??"
As the vomit on the cushions was full of rubbery globs of what looked like silly putty and they were bright blue. The first thing that ran through my mind was poison control. Was it close by? Did I know the number? Is silly putty toxic? Did she eat blue paint? I fought hard not to panic but I could hear the worried tone in Mrs. Narrator's voice. As I rounded the corner expecting to see my child writhing in the throes of agony with her mother weeping and retching of her twisted little body, I heard my wife exclaim; "Oh right, you had jello for lunch."
It lasted a day or two and I am happy to report that Isobel and the couch cushions and the coffee table and the rug and even Mrs. Narrator's socks are all fine.