Izzy takes a tour through Whine Country...The Were-Woof begins to stir...

We were driving past our favourite field. You know which one I mean. It was particularly ripe, fresh manure spreading and then two weeks of oppressive humidity will tend to make anything hum with a stink like the ape house in a zoo.
Daddy: "Don't ea..."
Isobel: "Don't say it, Daddy."
Daddy: "Don't say what?"
Isobel: "You know what you were going to say."
Daddy: "No, what? What shouldn't I say?"
Isobel: "That Scottish word you always say when we drive by here."
Daddy: "Which one, piobaireachd?" (I knew what she meant but she seemed like she was actually trying to refrain from saying it)
Isobel: "No, that's not the one. What the hell does that even mean?"
Daddy: "OK, I won't say that then."
Isobel: "No Daddy. You know I mean don't say SHITE!..Oh ...crap. I tried, I can't do this."



It seems like yesterday that Isobel was born and a masked nurse called out 'Do you want to hold your daughter, Daddy?' and I actually looked around the room for the father...I didn't fully realize it was me until she physically placed the child in my arms. I was the Daddy. She was pink as bubble-gum and wrapped up like a papoose. She literally, fit in one hand and as I held her I told her all the things we would do together. We would take long walks together and have long, meaningful conversations about important things that fathers and daughters discuss. I would teach her to read and walk first, naturally but these were just minor details and attainable milestones on this amazing journey that was just beginning.
Isobel has leaped over an important milestone this month and kicked the creeping jesus out of it. Isobel has discovered that whining is just about the most unbearable sound that a child can make in the presence of an adult...any adult but most especially, an adult that happens to be your parent.
Every kid whines. I did it once. You did it once. (Yes you did.) Hell, I work with people that still do it and I bet you do too. I remember when The Boy was the age that Isobel is now, he had taken whining to a level that was nearly an art form. Ah but my sweet daughter has surpassed even the master.
I don't know what has happened of late but she seems to have ramped up the whining so she is well and truly incapable of speaking in anything but tones that border on tears. An example; "Would you pick up your plate and take it to the kitchen?" I asked in a non-confrontational way. "I can't pick it up, my leg hurts too much and I didn't put it there anyway. It's not mine." she blubbered. I could see tears welling up. Normally the tears would dissuade me from anything further but it was too hard to resist.
"Really?" I asked. "Who put it there if you didn't"
"I don't know."
The classic kid defense. 'I don't know' is really, the catch all phrase children use before they get older and start lobbing obscenities at you like ripe melons.
"You don't know?" I asked. "Who would know, The Boy? Maybe I'll ask him."
"No," she whined on." He'll be mean to me. Like your being mean to me. Everyone is so mean to me."
"I'm not being mean to you." I explained. "I asked you to pick up a plate. If I were mean I would have said pick up your plate and then go to bed."
"See!" she said.
There is something that shuts down in the adult brain when children start whining. Something vulgar and atavistic is turned on in it's place. I am certain that whining cave children were dealt with in a swift and terrible manner. I have seen television programs about the mummified children of the Andes. Whatever the ancient Incan equivalent of tuna casserole, I have no doubt it was whined about once too often and little Pahuac was suddenly blowing good-bye kisses at Machu Piccu on his way up the mountain. The worst I got was a cuff up the back of the head but the message was the same. Whining will turn your parents into animals who are no longer responsible for their behaviour. Your whinery did this to them and now you have to deal with what you hath wrought...
There is a book that has been floating around here for a while. I'm not certain if it belongs to Isobel or The Boy but in it is a line that goes something like '... from the time you are born, your parents want you walking and talking and as soon as you are, they want you to sit down and shut up...'
Absolutely god-damned right. Notice nowhere in that scenario does it say your parents want you to whine ad-nauseum about everything that is not candy or being lavished with useless trinkets and baubles...thankfully, Isobel has not discovered that whining, when expressed at certain frequencies, will actually cause the adult brain to shut down and agree to anything in order to defend itself from the aural assault.
Now some of you may say that this all seems a little harsh and perhaps a bit extreme. And after careful consideration I can only say that you are clearly not parents and have no idea what you are talking about. You are also likely the only offspring of a loveless marriage. Sit down and shut up...Or even worse, you are a grandparent and you are laughing yourself incontinent while you sit back and watch chicken after chicken come home to roost. 'When you grow up, I hope you have a kid just like you." It has become a mantra around here...



The crisp, clear light of the moon filters in through the window and plays upon the face of the sleeping man. Fangs begin to grow in his mouth and fur begins to weave itself in and amongst his hair. His eyes yellow and narrow search the room for his prey as a scowl twists itself across his face...the were-woof rises again!
OK, not really but it has been a rough couple of weeks in the sleeping department and the were-woof has been rattling the cage a little.
It being summer holidays, the kids are without too much regimentation and 'bedtimes' become more and more relaxed.And why not? But it can get a little hairy for two parents who still have to get up and bring home the bacon.
The Boy has been allowed to play video games in bed which keeps his brain active long after it should have wound down. This translates into rough sleep for him and with an already over active imagination, every single noise that he hears becomes terrifying and he comes into our room for comfort. When he does finally get to sleep, his brain will wake him occasionally (as happens to most of us) but he won't go back to sleep. He will come into our room and announce that he can't sleep. Although he has been asleep for some time. One night, it seemed as though he was coming in every hour on the hour. Mrs. Narrator would walk him back to bed and tell him to stay in bed. Every time she got up and got back into bed, I would wake up. It made for two very tired and grouchy adults the next day.
Isobel will wake up during the night but instead of going back to sleep, she will walk herself to our room and leap into our bed. Sometimes from the foot of the bed or sometimes over top of me. Really, the kid gets air...Again, Mrs. Narrator will dutifully walk Isobel back to bed and cuddle until she falls back to sleep. The other night we heard a resounding thump coming from Izzy's room. She trotted into our room and lay down the trump card. "I fell outta bed," she cried. How can you take her back to her own bed after it rejects her?
The last couple of days have remained quiet so far...fingers crossed. It won't be long before I start back on the night shift again and it'll be me crying and falling out of bed and hopefully not growling too much...