Isobel gets all warm and fuzzy...Jammin' on Raspberries...

It finally looks as though winter might be on the way out and the warm weather seems imminent. Along with shorts and tank tops and bathing suits comes the greasing of the children with sun screen. Covering the children completely has become a sport around here, not unlike wrestling a greased pig only not as easy as that. It takes me back to the last time we were in Mexico.
She had put on her bathing suit and was walking around the swimming pool.
Daddy: "Izzy, if you're going to stay out here, you need more sunscreen on."
Isobel: "I don't want it on me, no."
Daddy: "At least let me put more on your face."
Isobel: "I don't want sunscreen on me. I don't like it on me. It feels like shit on my cheeks."
Daddy: "What? What did you say?"
Isobel: (singing) "On my cheeks!"

From very early on, Izzy was Daddy's little girl. I don't remember a time when she wasn't interested in being with me in one way or another. when she was very young of course I was handed her by a very tired Mrs. Narrator the second I got home from work and held her for nearly every waking moment between feedings. I can remember reading an article about deepening the bond between parents and children (yes fathers too) with skin to skin contact.
I confess I felt a little odd about it but I grew up in a house that was not very close or emotionally available and I was bound and determined that I would do what I could to have a close relationship with my baby. So I walked around every now and again, shirtless and carrying her. I don't know that it made us any closer then we would have been had I not taken the crunchy granola laden path but I do understand now why old ladies are driven wild by baby skin. Why they find it irresistible and in spite of what the world would tell them about how wrong it is to touch another person's child, they are powerless and must pinch and coo and sniff. Like a Dad with a new car, they are drawn to it...new baby smell...oooohhhh.....but I'm wandering.
As she got older, Izzy would follow me around. She was my shadow and insisted on knowing my every movement.
"Going?" she would ask. (This roughly translated to 'Oh Father light of my life, from whose loins I sprang, where are you going and what are you doing? It must surely be important as your steely brow is furrowed with concentration and a clear sense of purpose and I wish to inquire if I might join you in these tasks?') I might be paraphrasing a little...She was my sidekick. When I ate, she ate. When she napped, I napped. If there I was, she wasn't far behind...my pal.
But then something changed and Dad became Persona non Grata. Not only did she not want to be my shadow anymore, she went through a period of not listening to me even if I was saying something good. I am told this sort of thing is normal and children go through episodes of liking Mommy best and then back to liking Daddy best. Normal it may be but it didn't make it sting any less when she didn't want to have tea parties of come out to the garage and muck around with me.
From time to time, I would get little glimpses of 'Old Izzy' and my pal would try to come to the surface.
"Daddy!" she shouted as she leaped across the room at me.(This is no lie, she actually caught air before I caught her) but she would quickly reign herself back in and was back to treating me with cool distance. This went on for a while and I actually thought of asking somebody what I should do to win back my little girl. (Who in the hell would I ask?)
In the last few weeks, I have seen a change and she will insist on my cuddling with her at bedtime. Even when I get home from band practice, after nine most nights, if she is still awake then I am expected to go give her a cuddle before she will go to bed. I have her back...for now...
I inadvertently stumbled on a pattern. When Izzy listens to Rock and Roll, Daddy rules and she can't love me enough. When it is Justin Bieber and his ilk she doesn't want anything to do with me. Now I don't want to draw any conclusions between bad behavior and the tousle haired moppet from Stratford but if I ever meet him face to face we're gonna have words...
A few nights ago I was instructed by Mrs. Narrator to go in and give her a cuddle. I was all aglow and headed into Isobel's' bedroom. She lay there with half a dozen books around her which I started moving so as to get into the bed beside her.
"Whoa, whoa, wait." she said.
"I'm not going to spend a lot of time cuddling you if you aren't going to move the books." I replied.
She blurted out "I told Mummy that I wanted a hug from you, not a snuggle."
"Oh," I said. "O.K." and bent down to give her a hug and a kiss good night."
As I bent down, she rose up and we ended up bumping heads.
"Hey watch the head, will ya?" she said.
I came in before I went to work and found her fast asleep with all of the books in her arms...reading in bed makes me sleepy too...





Isobel has a skill like no one I have ever scene. She came into it early on in her life and has developed her expertise in it steadily ever since. Isobel can blow raspberries.
Now I know what you're thinking, everybody can blow raspberries, even babies can blow a raspberry and that is true. So I want you sitting there, reading this to blow a raspberry...go ahead no one is looking...make a circle with your lips, puff out your cheeks, stick your tongue out just a little and blow until you get that familiar 'ppffhhzzzt' sound. Simple right?
Now, put your top teeth over your bottom lip, as though you were pretending to have really buck teeth, and blow...that is how my daughter makes the sound of a raspberry. I have been and remain baffled by how she can do this. She is flawless using this technique and can repeat it time after time.
I remember when she first did it, we were at the kitchen table when I saw her do it and actually asked her out loud, "How the hell are you doing that?" Mrs. Narrator didn't think it such a big deal until she too saw the way she was doing it. The Boy was flabbergasted by this performance as well and soon the three of us were attempting to mimic Isobel. Sadly all that came out of it were three wet chins and not a single Bronx cheer save the ones coming out of Izzy's mouth.
She has become so adept at it that she can make it wet (by sound or actual moisture) louder, softer, different pitch and timber. Sometimes you could swear there is a smell to them. I figure that if she keeps going at it there will not be a style of bottom-burp that she will not be able to imitate...and then I'm going to take her for a ride...on a crowded elevator...