Isobel discovers her gift...The Mall always brings out the best in the children...

It was supper time and Izzy was getting hungry.
Isobel: "What's for supper?"
Daddy: "Noodles and beef and other stuff you like."
Isobel: "I don't like that stuff. What else is there?"
Daddy: "Look in the pot."
Isobel: (looking into pot) "Oh boy, my favourite! Chicken Pox!"






I don't know what has happened to Isobel over the last week or so but she has become an old man. A walking, grousing three foot two inch bag of wind...literally. Now we are all no strangers to the workings of the human body around here, specifically what happens after consumption of food. It has become downright symphonic some nights but It was always me and the boy and the boy seldom revels in it in the same way I do...
Maybe it was my own naivety or thinking that little girls weren't like that. Snips and snails and all that. Little girls don't do that sort of thing. I can remember somebody saying that and me thinking that little girls must explode when they hit old age. But then again, this is my kid we are talking about.
At any rate, lately Isobel has been all about the fart. Farting preacher videos on my ipod, fart noises to and from and at the dinner table. Fart jokes, fart word substitutions ("Hello Mrs. Fart, would you be interested in smelling my fart?") Blaming farts on the cat and everything that I am absolutely certain that little girls have no interest in doing (I wish I could remember who told me little girls don't do that sort of thing so I could introduce them to Isobel)
So we were in her bed at story time and a look came across her face that must be the face of someone who has found inner peace. The sound was like the pop of bubble wrap in a half full plastic orange juice jug. The look on her face had become more intense.
"If you push too hard, you'll crap your pants." I said.
She giggled a little which set of a chain reaction of giggling and farting and half talking: "Hehehe...phhht....Daddy wait...hehehehe...poot...I just wann...hehehe...ffzzzt...no wait, I.....scroon...ahahahah...
It seemed to go on forever and it got to the point where even I was having a hard time stopping the laughter. It was becoming a full on contagious case of the giggles. Izzy called them "The Gilgas"
Later on that night, Mrs. Narrator asked what the two of us were howling with laughter about. I tried to mentally articulate it before I said anything but didn't figure I could do it justice and so just said that Isobel is a funny kid....she doesn't know the half of it...




I was flipping through the channels one day and I honestly don't know why I stopped where I did (I'm certain many will read more into this than there actually is) but I stopped on a religious program. Not a hellfire and damnation and "Demons come out!" kind of program but not a legitimate "Mass for Shut-Ins" kind of show either. Both of us sat there, mesmerized not saying a word. There was much talk of god and the devil and of Jesus Christ, you know a Sunday morning kind of show. I figured there would be some questions coming and when they didn't, I put it out of my mind...Fool that I am...
It was a week or so later and the kids and I were at the mall-our new favorite restaurant. O.K so it's not a restaurant but everybody gets what they want and nobody argues about who got to choose where we ate last time AND we usually do a little shopping afterward. Even if it is only window shopping, everybody leaves happy...So we had finally gotten all of our food and proceeded to sit down in the Friday night crowded food court. More families than teenagers which I found a little surprising until I noticed very few children were arguing with each other and very few parents telling their children to just stop.
There is a particular buzz to the food court that one only really notices when it changes or disappears. Like it changes when a five year old girl begins a conversation by taking a big bite of an A & W cheese burger and saying (in a voice louder than one would think possible with a mouthful of A & W cheese burger) "Daddy, I need to ask you one thing."
"You can ask me anything , honey." I said feeling very fathery at the impending sharing of wisdom with my progeny.
"Daddy, who the hell IS Jesus Christ anyway?"
The movies are rife with scenes such as these, scenes where the level of discomfort in the main participant begins to multiply exponentially. I know that it goes that way because I have been involved in it many times. I played in greasy haired rock and roll bands and toured the deep south where, despite the fact that you looked like Elvis, you were still a god-damned weirdo and people needed to stop what they were doing and have a gawk at you.
I swear I could actually hear people spitting out their lo mein as the din of the food court came to an abrupt halt with the screech of an unseen needle across some ghastly record.
"Well, it's never too good to be too full." I said, looking around for the quickest route of escape.
I looked around and caught a few of the eyes that were now glued on us and the adults around us all seemed to be waiting for a response. I'm sure they were waiting to see how I would dig my way out of this sectarian nightmare. The Boy put his head in his hands and tried disappear under the table. "Izzy..." he gasped.
Thankfully a family of Indians sat down beside us and began happily munching away on KFC. Isobel is getting to the age now where using my smart-assery is going to get her into more trouble than her own smart-assery and cuteness can get her out of. I opted for a non committal answer.
"It depends what you believe, honey. Eat your fruit roll up."
I just hope that Col. Sanders and Polytheism are still around when Izzy needs them again ...