Daddy: "Aww, thanks. That was very nice of you."
Isobel: "You're welcome. Daddy, let me see your hand.
She took my hand again and looked at it intently, as though she expected weasels to come crawling out of it. O.K. maybe not weasels but she was looking at it very hard.
Daddy: "What's the matter, what are you looking at?"
Isobel: Daddy?"
Daddy:"Yes?"
Isobel: "Daddy, when I get bigger, will my hands look all old like yours?"
When there are two parents that have social activities outside the home, the day to day duties must often be shared and Isobel's Sunday bath time has fallen to me. It's not a chore, in fact it has become kind of a game. Let's see just how much water can be displaced from the tub onto the tile surround and the floor before the entire bathtub ends up in the downstairs kitchen.
It used to be you had to sit on the edge of the tub with her and quick pull her head up when she decided she could swim and discovered she really couldn't and then wash her up when she had had enough. Now you don't need to be so much of a life guard with her though she still drinks her fair share of tub water and still needs help to wash her ' back of ' parts.
Cleanliness is important, we all know this and there are things that all parents must teach their children about being clean. There are also things that as a father, I am woefully ill equipped to give any meaningful help with. If the Boy came to me in confidence and said he was having an issue with either the 'frank' or the 'beans', I would know with most certainty that I would be able to offer some assistance. Even Mrs. narrator will send inquiries of this nature my way. I am a guy, I have the parts, I've read the manual. And even way back when, when It was Izzy referred to it as her 'pee-er' or 'wee-wee', I didn't have too much trouble giving a once over and trying to determine the issue...nine out of ten times it was still a version of diaper rash and what parent hasn't dealt with that?
This past weekend however, things changed...
I was in the room next door folding laundry and she called out to me,
"Daddy, I have a rash come and look at it."
"Where is the rash?" I asked as I walked through the door.
"On my vagina." she said.
"Wait, what?... Where?"
"On my..."
"Jeez Izzy, don't say that." I said.
"Why?" she asked. "That's what it' called you know."
"I know what it's called, I just didn't expect you to call it that for a while."
I was surprised that I had become squeamish at her calling parts of her anatomy by their proper name. I should have been quite proud at her maturity.
"Girls have a vagina and boys have a penis, which is also called a crotch." she went on.
"Very thorough," I said. "Show me this rash."
Now I must interject here that unless you are a very bad person who tries to take bad things to other bad people in foreign countries, at no time should the following pose be demonstrated by any member of your household...ever.
"Look," she said. "see I have a rash."
She had bent forward until her forehead was touching her knees and was holding onto her butt cheeks with both hands. Not spreading or moving anything just holding onto them. It was like a scene from a bad crazy drug movie and Izzy was some kind of smuggler. I wasn't about to play the guard.
"Is there a rash Daddy?"
"Nope, nope!" I said.
"You're not even looking." Isobel said.
"You're right." I replied. "Go get dressed...in your snow pants."
This week was the scene of a monumentous happening as The Boy has had a piece of his art work put on display in a local museum. A pretty damned big deal and more than I can say ever happened to me at ten.
We of course decided to take a trip to the gallery to have a look at his and all the other works of art and Izzy was beside herself. Much talking to friends on her toy cell phone and hours of haranguing and wrangling her minions so that they behaved in the proper manner when we got there.
It was a smaller display than we thought but full of prestige none the less ad lo and behold there was The Boy's masterpiece on the wall with work by some of his classmates. A snappy blue and green number that reminded me of an Escher painting. it was very well done and we were all proud of him. He was modest and felt it wasn't his best work. he is well on his way to becoming an artist.
As we walked around Isobel and I came across a piece that was like a 3 d picture of a doll with hair made out of string and real flowers in it's hand. Written on the board it
was drawn on was "A Child's Garden of Verse." by Robert Louis Stevenson."Izzy," I said. "look at this. Isn't it nice?"
She looked at it thoughtfully and said to me, "Oh god. What the hell is that?"
Pray she doesn't start working the art reviews for the AGO...
While we were out at the gallery, something strange happened that I have never noticed before. The grandparents met us there and Both Izzy and The Boy rushed into the waiting arms of Opa but when it came time to give Oma a hug Izzy backed away and then ran over to Mrs. narrator and wouldn't budge. Normally she will go to either of the grandparents with ease...often preferentially over Mrs. Narrator or me. Try what we could, Isobel would not give her a hug.
I asked her about it at bedtime that night.
"Why didn't you want to give Oma a hug tonight?"
"I bumped my face and then she kinda freaked me out."
Grandmothers can be a little overwhelming sometimes...
Love has come knocking on our door...earlier than any of us expected but here none the less. The Boy has gotten himself a bona fide girlfriend. I'm not sure what acronym applies here, he claims they are BFF's but he also called her his GF or was it his BGF?
He has been dutifully checking his email everyday to see he latest dispatch from her and told me walking home with her makes him feel 'very happy, like so happy I feel like I'm gonna blow up.'
I didn't have the heart to tell him this is only the beginning and that it's o
nly going to get worse from her. Instead, I shook his hand and welcomed him to the club. No sense spoiling the surprise for him right out of the gate...
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