Father's Day...Santa, Jesus Christ and Everybody else...

She has taken to talking into the T.V remote like a cell phone again. She has done this virtually since she could talk. I don't recall anyone ever demonstrating this to her, she just sort of picked it up.
Isobel: (into T.V. remote) "So anyway, I was just downstairs with my Daddy and we were...wait, just hold on...(to me) yes?"
Daddy: "What do you want to drink?"
Isobel: "Hold on a minute, I have to take this call. (Back to T.V. remote) "So like I was saying, I was just downstairs with my Daddy and my Daddy is going to take me fishing but I'm scared because my brother is allergic to worms."



A friend of mine had given Isobel a Barbie suitcase complete with a collapsible handle and wheels at the bottom. She was beside herself with excitement.
"It's just like Mummy's suitcase that she takes to Mexico.
"That's right."
"I'm going to take this to the Mexico house when we go. Where did I get this suitcase?"
"My boss gave it to you, he has a little girl who is older than you and doesn't play with it anymore. He thought you might like to have it."
"Really?'
"Yep. Open it up."
She opened it and you'd have thought she was looking into the briefcase from Pulp Fiction.
" "Oh my god Daddy. It's full Barbie stuff! Look.
And it was full of Barbie stuff. Dolls and clothing, pets and appliances. Stuff she didn't have and stuff she liked.
"Look at this doll Daddy, I didn't even know I wanted this!"
Then she pulled out a toy washing machine, identical to one she had been given sometime ago by one of the other generous parents of girls that are out growing their little girl toys.
"Oh my god Daddy, look." she held up the machine for me to see.
"Oh look, another washing machine. Now you can do twice as much laundry." I said
"That's not funny Daddy...really... not funny."
We were driving along, Izzy, The Boy and me. I'm not sure how the conversation came around to the subject it did but from out of nowhere, Izzy asked "Daddy, is this the holy crap handle?"
I spit my diet Dr. Pepper all over the steering wheel and asked her to repeat herself,which she gladly did.
"Is this the holy crap handle? D says this handle is called the Holy crap handle. Is it?"
"I've always called it that." I answered.
"Really, Daddy? You said crap not shit?"
There are time when being lax with your children about the uses of vulgar language can reach up and bite you on the ass. This was spiralling into one of them rapidly."
"Well I might have called it that word too." I said.
"What word Daddy," she asked me. "Shit?"
Now I can't swear as to her intentions but from where I was sitting and the tone of her voice, I would swear she was goading me into saying it.
"What?" she asked in an indignant tone. "You don't care if I say shit."
"Well I said that but I didn't exactly mean..."
I am amazed that I didn't slide off my seat there and then as my ass had clearly been bitten completely away at that exact moment.
"Let's just talk about something else." I said.
"O.K." she asked hopefully. "What should we talk about now?"
"Well we could ..."
"Look Daddy!" she shouted. "A Jesus Christ cross!"
"A what?" I asked.
"A Jesus Christ cross. You know... Jesus Christ?" She closed her eyes, stretched out her arms to the side and wiggled her hands around. More like Jesus Fosse but I got the gist of what she meant.
"Ummm yeah?" I said.
"D says that Jesus Christ is real. Is he real, Daddy?"
"Well," I began. "The Romans were very good about keeping records and they say that..."
"And D says that Jesus came here to save soap."
"Soap?" I asked.
"Soap." she said. "If you love Jesus then he will save you and your soap."

For those of you who regularly read this little blurb, you will be happy to know that Isobel and Santa have mended there relationship and are friends once more. To those of you unfamiliar, Santa is an electronic dancing and singing Christmas decoration that Isobel has a love hate relationship with.
We were in our usual after school positions, I on the treadmill and Izzy playing with the treasures in the basement. I noticed she was carrying Santa around and cooing at him in a very motherly way.
"I see you and Santa have patched things up." I said.
"What?" she asked.
"The last time you played with Santa, you weren't very happy with him." I reminded her.
"Oh," she said. "I like him again and I don't really have anybody else to play with. Also he finally learned how to listen to what I tell him."
He new favourite song came on my ipod (Hocus Pocus by Focus. She likes the yodelling guy) and she was singing and dancing with Santa. Telling him to rock out and pounding his fist in the air. Once the song ended, they took their bows and went back to playing. She set him down on an uneven surface and told him to stay there. When Santa started to shift she turned on him.
"Stay there I said." you could hear the venom rising in her voice.
He slid even further and she drilled a plastic cup at him. Had he been real his eyes would be watering like a tap.
"I said stay there, god-dammit!"
I wish strength and patience to whatever boy Isobel decides is going to be her husband. He's going to need it...and maybe a crash helmet...





Ah another Father's day is nearly upon us. That time when we celebrate all of those things that Father's do for us, like cutting the lawn, raking the lawn, bagging up the clippings, washing the deck. So we get Dad a little something to let him know how much we appreciate him and then we let him get on with cutting the lawn, raking the lawn, bagging the clippings, washing the deck...
Here's how Mother's day usually goes around our house...most houses I suspect. Mrs. Narrator gets up later and the kids give her flowers and cards and then she goes off to roller derby for practice and I look after the kids because it's her day and that's what she wants to do on her day. And why not? She's earned it, right? On Father's day, Mrs. narrator gets up later (more than six hours in bed and my back is buggered for the rest of the day. Really) I cut the lawn and then she goes to roller derby and I look after the kids. Did you see the difference there? No flowers AND I get to cut the lawn!
Seriously though, I really don't much care about Father's day. It's a silly thing to celebrate your parents just because they're your parents. Birthdays I get. It's saying 'you've made it another year and we're glad, here's some cake.' When you get older it's saying 'holy shit you're still alive and we're all amazed, here's some cake.' But to celebrate the instinct to reproduce seems a little contrived and Hallmarkish to me. But the kids love to make all the school made gifts that they just know you're going to love and like the giant light up Hawaiian ties I keep hoping for and never receiving (not that I have an office job to wear them to) you can't say no to them.
Mrs. Narrator asked me a while ago, one of my first Father's days, what I wanted on MY day. I had to think about it. I could have come up with a whopper of a selfish bastard of a thing to do and likely would have gotten away with it because it was my day. The first thing that came to mind is still on record as one of the best Father's days I have ever spent. I took the boy to See the Incredible Hulk (the one with Edward Norton, not the one with the Australian guy. A good film but the Norton one was a little less convoluted...I digress) It was his first movie in Dolby stereo and the first really loud scene that kicked in scared the holy Jesus out of him and he shot most of his popcorn into the seats in front of us. I will always remember this day.
So for Father's day this year, The kids and I are hanging a sign on the door, packing a lunch and going fishing. It'll be Izzy's first time drowning worms and The Boy is fast becoming an Angling legend. It is going to be chaos and madness and arguing and who gets to go first and shouting and yelling and tears and laughter and maybe even a fish or two...and it's mine, all mine...
Happy Father's day from all of us at Fuzzy Blue Chair to all of my fellow Dads. Have a cold one and put your feet up but not for too long, that grass isn't going to cut itself.