The Piano...Jack Lalane sucks...

We are coming into a period in Isobel's life that is fast becoming my favourite. Isobel is in SK now which means an ever increasing ability to read and write. I promise I will do a whole column on the things she is writing but for now, we were in bed at story time and Isobel was reading to me for a change.
Isobel: "Water can be cold."
Daddy: "Yup."
Isobel: "Water can be hot."
Daddy: "Very good."
Isobel: "Daddy, what is that?" (pointing to the water can be hot picture)
Daddy: `That is called a geyser. Water gets heated under the ground and then it erupts out of the ground and shoots up into the air.
Isobel: "Wow, that`s cool."
Daddy: "Huh?"
Isobel: "No, seriously that's cool."
Daddy: "That's it? That's all you have to say. Nothing else to add?"
Isobel: "That's it, I can't be random anymore today."


For the record, Isobel has not lost a finger nor has she been swept off her feet by Harvey Keitel dressed as a Maori. (wait, what?)
We were trying to remember when it was that the piano came to us and I think the consensus was that it was a gift for her first birthday. It was definitely my mother that gave it to her and it was the kind of gift that a mother gives. Not because she believes the child will be some kind of musical prodigy but because she swore she would get even with you for all the years of heart ache and unbridled, frustration fueled rage that you yourself put her through. If you were a particularly horrid child, you can count on a drum set being given to one or all of your children... But Izzy got a piano and not a very loud one at that.
At first she would use it as a source of ready made music, like the playschool wind up radios we had as kids. It has songs programmed into it and she would play them ad nauseum...to all of our delights. Soon after, she discovered that placing one's hands upon the keys of the piano caused sounds the weren't altogether unpleasant to emanate from the smiley piano and from then on the house was filled with the constant 'plink, plunk' of someone who hasn't a clue how to play a piano...even a toy one...that is more or less a player piano.
But she loved it, she had taken the bench from her make-up table(also a gift from my mother) and began to use it as a piano bench. I do remember that she seemed to have a knack for plink-plunking at the worst possible times. I would be watching T.V. in the room with her and the piano and she would give an impromptu recital just at the climax of what I happened to be watching...intently...with all my attention.
"Obi-wan never told you what happened to your father?"
"He told me enough, he told me you killed him."
"No, I...(Plink Plink Plink...PLLLUUUNNNKKK!)
OK, so I knew how that one turned out anyway but you get the idea.
But like all her things, the piano was replaced by something newer and flashier and it eventually ended up in the basement. Once in a while when she would come downstairs and play while I ran on the treadmill, she would see her piano and plink plunk away on it and giggle at the odd sounds it would make because the batteries were wearing out. Eventually, the batteries died outright and the piano was forgotten. Soon Izzy stopped coming downstairs with me and I subconsciously put the piano into the pile of toys to be donated if I ever get around to cleaning the basement.
Now, for the last week or two Isobel has been coming downstairs with me again and the other day she noticed her piano.
"Hey, it's my piano." she said.
"Yep." I replied.
"Hey, there are numbers written on it and numbers written in the book." Isobel exclaimed.
"Yep." I replied.
"Daddy, are these the songs? Is this how you play the songs?" she bubbled.
"Yep." I replied.
The batteries were dead and so no music for that day but we eventually got some batteries and she set about the piano straight way. She went first into the other room so she could practice and not be embarrassed. (I'm guessing...maybe she just didn't want an audience) It took a little effort but in a relatively short time the winsome strains of 'Twinkle, twinkle little star' and 'Baa-baa, black sheep' were coming out of my progeny's fingers.
I walked as quietly into the room as I could, to get a better listen and to call her to supper. She was playing away and talking to the minions.
"Holy crap," she said. "This is easier than I thought. No seriously, I am rocking this piano."
See, knowledge is power...just ask Liberace. I`ll bet he started the same way.



Isobel has begun to come downstairs with me again. Only now
she has decided that rather than play, she will exercise too. She put her summer jammies on ( shorts and a matching spaghetti strap tank top) and sweat pants and a sweater over top of that. On her feet were blue flowered flip-flops. A vision of health and vitality!
Her workout began with some simple stretches and right into jumping jacks. From there she went into stomach crunches and some dumbbell work. all of this happened over the course of about twenty minutes with no break.
"Daddy?" she began. "I'm getting sore."
"Take a break then." OI said. "You need to go slowly and build up your stamina. You can't go all out all at once."
She took a little breather and then was right back at it. I'd like to say that she was a natural at aerobic exercise...I'd like to say that but sadly, it was closer to striper-cise than it was to exercise. Lots of grinding on the floor and pelvic thrusting...too many Whitesnake videos would be my first guess.
She tried a kind of bizarre jumping jack where upon she leaped into the air while trying to touch her hand to the opposite foot...I think. She fell flat on her bottom and I quickly turned away so she wouldn't be embarrassed.
"Being healthy sucks." she said and stomped upstairs.
You don't need to be healthy to be a rockstar anyway...