The Uncanny X-children...The Boy lines up for a Pony of his Own...Isobels Psychic Connection...

Isobel recently learned how to snap her fingers.
Isobel: "Daddy, listen." (snaps fingers)
Daddy: Wow, very good."
Isobel: "Daddy, you snap your fingers now."
Daddy: (snaps fingers) "How's that?"
Isobel: Daddy, when you snap your fingers, it sounds like the F word."
Daddy: "What?"
Isobel: "It sounds like the F word. Try it."
Daddy: (snaps fingers.)
Isobel: "See?"
Daddy: "You snap your fingers."
Isobel: (snaps fingers)
Daddy: "Now that sounds like the F word."
Isobel: "No, when I snap my fingers it sounds more like the D word."
Daddy: " The D word?"
Isobel: "Yes, Bitch."
Daddy: "But that starts with B"
Isobel: "Oh right. I meant shit."


My children are gifted. I don't mean that facetiously, they are seriously gifted. Their powers and mastery of time and space are beyond belief, bordering on the super human. If I didn't live in the same house with them, I would scarcely believe it myself. Yes true believers it is time again for the Adventures of Thirty-Five seconds in the Past Boy and My Ass is Glued To The Couch Girl.
I walked into the kitchen to make myself an ice cream cone (the perfect food incidentally) and asked if anyone else wanted one. No takers? Ahh, Dad has a taste treat all unto himself. So chuffed, I made my cone and sat down at the computer. Thirty five seconds later..."Oh hey Sid," asked The Boy. "can I have an ice cream cone too?"...It was supper time and Mrs. Narrator had a meeting and so would not be joining us at the table. I put supper on the table and asked the kids what they wanted. "Water." says Isobel. I am met by silence from The Boy. I ask again and I am met with silence again. Naturally I sit down and raise a fork full of cheese sausage to my waiting maw. Just thirty five seconds later..."Oh hey Sid, can I have some Rolo Milk?" This episode will see me walk into the kitchen to make breakfast which will be eaten and the dishes will be cleared away but tune in thirty five seconds later to hear The Boy ask; "Oh hey Sid, can I have another English muffin."
And as a special double feature...See Isobel become fastened to the Couch.
"Isobel, can you pick up your dirty laundry?"
"But Daddy, I can't get off the couch. I'm so tired."
Watch as Malevolent phantom pains render her helpless and force her to remain on The Couch
"Isobel, come and clean up your room."
"Daddy, my legs hurt so much, I just can't get up right now."
Observe as The Couch and the girl begin to meld into one fluffy and disobedient being...
"Isobel, come and brush your teeth."
"I just need to finish watching this show for a minute. I'm just sitting on the couch for now."
Hear Isobel fall victim to the siren song of six inches of corduroy covered foam...
"Isobel, it's time for supper. Isobel...Iso..." (she lay fast asleep)
I expect Professor X will be calling on us any day now...

Everybody has their thing...that thing that still gets inside your head or your guts and twists the knife around. It may start in childhood and may diminish with age but it never really goes away. Lurking behind locked doors and corners in your psyche, just waiting for you to relax a bit before it jumps out and reminds you that you are descendant of a timid hairy little ape and it is a vicious snarling animal that will drive you up the nearest tree and wait for you to make a mistake.
I used to think the Exorcist was my thing...it affected me on a level far beyond knee jerk reactions. It did that but it still bothers me in a way that almost defies description. I saw it censored when I was quite young and even with most of the really terrifying bits out of it, it still managed to scare the bejesus out of me. I saw the unedited version a little later and I am to this very day, still incredibly bothered by some of the images I saw.
But if any one thing altered me incredibly...indefinitely, it was seeing Jaws. I used to think I was foolish for feeling the way I did but I have met countless people who have been affected by it as I have. I don't mean that I have been so affected by the movie that I can't go in the water. I go in the water often. BUT after seeing that movie, a fear was awakened in me. Something atavistic, nameless and faceless but very, very real and very, very permanent.
We go to Mexico often, well as often as finances allow and though I swim, I don't go under the water for any length of time and I feel uneasy doing it. But the uneasiness is not limited to the ocean. I have used scuba equipment in lakes and ponds and though being able to see most of my surroundings is some comfort the fear is always there. It's not a fear of being attacked by a shark, that would be unreasonable and just silly. I have a greater chance of being struck by lightning so they say. But there is no logic in fear, that is why it has such power over us...everybody has their thing.
The Boy's thing is his own brain. I have mentioned before I'm sure that The Boy has ADD. And though he is on meds for it and these meds help immeasurably, the meds do wear off. They do not turn his brain off when they leave however. In fact his brain goes into high gear and every sound, every move and every creak and groan is amplified to the enth degree. Now bearing all of that in mind, put a ten year old boy with a very active imagination and a house that is well over one hundred years old together and see what happens. Unfortunately these episodes like fear itself, are random and unpredictable and there isn't much to be done about them.
This past Sunday night was such a night and The Boy came into our room every hour on the hour it seemed. Two parents who need to get up at ungodly hours will quickly lose sight of fears, no matter how real they are and their patience will disappear in the blink of a tired eye as the night wears on and exhaustion begins to take hold of their senses.
Threats were made and punishments given and increased in multiples and stacks were blown and tempers were raging...and this time it wasn't me. Mrs. Narrator flew off the handle as all parents do at some point and yet The Boy kept coming back to our room hour after hour. The last time I looked at the clock it was 2:00 a.m. I'd like to say that good sense and understanding were with me at that moment but they weren't anywhere near my side of the bed either and I was also becoming irate. Finally Mrs. narrator gave in and went and slept in The Boy's bed with him and all was quiet from then on...Everybody has their own nameless, faceless thing...a horrible cross we all must bear...
What if anything did we learn from all of this? That fear defies logic even in a brain that tells a body to stay in bed or risk further and more severe punishment? Or that in the event of this happening again, that Mrs. Narrator may just go sleep in his room from the get go or let him sleep in our bed? No what we learned is that Mrs. Narrator becomes so overwhelmed with guilt when she yells at the kids that she too will lavish them with gifts just like I do. The purchase of an X-Box to assuage said guilt has been bandied about...I have since been warming up the T.V. and plying the kids with coffee...



The band reunion was this past weekend and as I suspected, in spite of age affecting us all, (my god, I wore glasses on stage) it rocked. Much fun was had and too much alcohol was consumed and too many grey hairs multiplied as a result of the aforementioned activities.
Two years ago when we held the previous reunion, I felt a let down after it was all over. A sense of loss and a hollowness that it was the last time I would do anything like this and that my rock and roll days were over and what ever talents I had were waning and would die with me.
The Boy wants to play an instrument but he is very like his mother and doesn't possess a great deal of patience. He tends to want instant success and perfection. That is not a judgement of his character, nor is it necessarily a bad thing but it may prove to be a hindrance when it comes to learning an instrument. He wants to do it, rather than learn it. And to his credit, if he really wants to learn, I will teach him as best as I can.
Isobel on the other hand, has aped guitar and rock stardom virtually since she left the womb. Even the anesthesiologist said we should check her for tattoos to make sure we got the right baby. After this weekend, I have no doubt she is my kid.
I know Isobel knew I went to New York to see some of my old friends but I don't know if she knew the friends I went to see were also the friends I used to play in a band with. At any rate there was a video (which I just can't seem to post ) and a couple of photographs waiting for me when I got home...