Miss Isobel if you please...Chain reaction

It was my first night back on the graveyard shift and she was worried that I was going to be too tired to give her some cuddles before I left. When she realized that wouldn't change, she gave me an anatomy lesson.
Isobel: "You smell nice."
Daddy: "Thank-you, I just had a shower."
Isobel: "Did you wash your hair?" (Smelling my hair)
Daddy: "Uh-huh."
Isobel: (looking very intently at my hair) "Wow."
Daddy: "What?"
Isobel: "It's all the way in there."
Daddy: "What is?"
Isobel: "Your hair, it's all the way in your head."
Daddy: "And?"
Isobel: "No seriously, hair goes all the way through your head and that's why you get hairs caught in your throat."




It never ceases to amaze me just how alike Izzy and me are becoming. I imagine that it won't be long before she and I are sipping expensive scotch (that she will have brought over) and trying to out do each other with hot sauce. I already see things in her that trigger memories that I thought long gone...
My mother had brought over some Halloween type candy, the smaller candy bars in a bag...two bags. One for The Boy and one for Isobel. Izzy had naturally eaten most of hers within an hour and was on the prowl for more. She was trying every so quietly, to open the drawer to get the scissors and open one of the Boy's Kit Kat bars.
"Whatcha doin' Pick?" I asked.
(Whipping the candy bar behind her back) "Nothing, Daddy. I wasn't doing anything."
"Really? Do you know what happens to little girls who lie to their Fathers?"
"No, what happens to them." she asked, a little worried.
"They must surrender the candy they have behind their backs and give it to me!"
"What's surrender mean?" she asked
"Skip it, just gimme the Kit Kat, you."
"Hey! How did you know that I opened a Kit Kat?"
I demonstrated my highly attuned psychic powers by opening the cutlery drawer that Helen Keller could have heard from the next room. Izzy looked crest fallen and guilty. She changed the subject.
"Daddy," she began. "Kit Kat's are so good. I would eat all of them."
"You did eat all of them." I said.
"No," she continued "ALL of them. Like in the world all of them. In a bag in 102 days."

She was worried when I told her that I was going back to the night shift. Worried that The Were-woof might re-emerge and worried that I wouldn't get enough sleep and then fall asleep while I was driving. She was really worried about that one and every time I so much as blinked, she would yell at me to wake up. Finally bed time came and her worry had reached fever pitch.
"Daddy," she began. "I don't want you to fall asleep when you go to work."
"I won't Honey," I replied. " I'm a little tired but I'll be OK." I guess I blinked...
"Daddy! Wake up!" (slap slap) She slapped my face with both hands, one after the other. Left and right cheek.
"Oww!" I said. "What are you doing."
"When someone is tired," she started. "A good way to wake them up is to slap them in the face."
"I'm not that tired Pick." I said. "Where were we?"
We went back to the story we were reading and I let out a yawn.
"Daddy!" (slap slap).
"Pick! Really, I'm not that tired."
I read some more and like a lot of people, the more I read the more I yawned...and the more she slapped. She seemed not to be able to stop herself. They weren't hard slaps and I'm sure she thought she was doing me a favour by doing it. I got up and bent over to kiss her good night. As I leaned in she let fly with two more quick little slaps.
"Just in case." she said.

She decided the other night that she would read a story to me. She had read 'Roller Derby Revenge' to Mrs. Narrator before I came in and now it was my turn.
"Daddy, I'm going to tell you a story tonight. I just told Mummy a story now I can tell you one. Which do you want to hear? Bagpipe Revenge or Bagpipe tales or Bagpipe China?"
"Oh Bagpipe Revenge!" I exclaimed. "That one sounds quite exciting Isobel."
"Mmmm, no. Bagpipe Revenge isn't as good as it sounds. And Call me Miss Isobel."
"OK, how about Bagpipe tales, Miss Isobel?"
"No, not so good either." she said.
"What was the last one? Can I have that one?"
"Bagpipe China, what a good choice. That's one of my favourites."
She began the story by looking it up on her laptop., a broken portable DVD player that she had been dragging from room to room. "Here it is." she said.
"Once upon a time," she began. "There was this girl named China and she liked to play bagpipes all day. She played other music things but bagpipes was her favourite. One day her friends came and told her to stop playing bagpipes all day and she did. The End."
"Wait, what? The End? That's it?"
"Yep, that's it." she said. "You may go now."
"OK Pick." I said, though I made no attempt to move.
"No seriously, you can leave now."
"Oh...OK."
I bent to kiss her forehead as I was turning to leave. "You already kissed me goodnight." she said.
I knew bagpipes were a polarizing instrument but I didn't figure they could anger some one so much by just talking about them.. so there are still a few differences between us...




When I was in school, I wanted to write a thesis called 'Did cavemen find farts funny?' The short answer being of course, yes. To that end,(funny right?) I give further proof that Isobel is my daughter. Lock, stock and very loaded barrel.
I was reading her a story when dinner announced itself with rousing bottom burp.
"Daddy, you're really disgusting sometimes." she said in all seriousness.
"What?" I asked.
"You farted, it's gross and it smells. You're disgusting."
"You've been talking to you mother again I see." I said.
"Yeah, I talk to Mummy. Why?"
"She says the same things." I replied.
"Well it's true," she went on. "It's disgusting."
"I didn't realize you were so sensitive. I won't do it ever again." I said.
"OK." she replied. "Daddy can you tickle me? Just lightly though?"
I had only just lifted my hand toward her and she began giggling. Suddenly I heard a sound. Three distinct and loud pops. POP, POP, POP, that sounded remarkably like a five year old giggling and farting.
"What was that?" I asked. "I thought that was disgusting?"
'Giggle, giggle, giggle, pop, pop, pop...'
I tickled her more, which naturally caused more giggling and more farting.
'Giggle, giggle, giggle, pop, pop, pop...' "No wait, Daddy ..."pop, pop, pop, giggle giggle, giggle..."I can't ...no wait..." 'giggle, poot, pop, giggle scroon...'
The more laughter meant the more gas escaped from her. Physics really. All that gas inside and the pressure of abs contracting has to go somewhere...from the length of time it went on, I'll bet she was holding it in the whole time she lecturing me about how disgusting I am.
"I thought you said that was disgusting?"
"It is disgusting when you do it." she stated.
"Why is it disgusting for me but not you?" I puzzled.
"Mine don't stink." she said.