And a Little child Shall Lead Them...I pledge Allegiance to the Fajita Republic...

We were getting ready to go to the beach and she was sitting in her bar chair, finishing her breakfast. As she swung back and forth, I leaned in to hug her and pattted her back as I did. I continued this routine for laugh but I'm not certain for whom.
Izzy: "Daddy?"
Daddy: "Yes?"
Izzy: "Can I have a hug?"
Daddy: "of course you can, Pick." (hug, hug, hug, pat, pat, pat.)
Izzy: "Thanks, I ..."
Daddy: (hug, hug, hug, pat, pat, pat.)
Izzy: "OK, Daddy. Thanks for..."
Daddy: (hug, hug, hug, pat, pat, pat.)
Izzy: "Daddy..."
Daddy: (hug, hug, hug, pat, pat, pat.)
Izzy: "This is awkward..."
Daddy: "What?"
Izzy: (whispering) "Awkward..."


We have been coming to the Mexico house for four years now and if we have learned anything, it is that being a pedestrian here is a sport. It's not as if the drivers don't give a flying shit about the people walking across the streets,(and they don't. Young, old, healthy or infirm, they will speed along and flatten you just the same) it's the the system they drive within. I asked Ronaldo, the fine fellow who mans the gate to our spacious villa and was informed that the big red octagon signs here that bear the word ALTO don't actually mean stop as one might assume. No, in fact, Alto around here means slow down enough that nothing will stick to the tires if it should fall under wheel.
It's a scary and real hazard anywhere in Mexico and I think we all have just grown accustomed to it. That is until my daughter came to town...
We had come back from the beach as we had so many times before and Isobel andI were preparing to cross the street. We waited for the traffic to disappear (you will note that I didn't say wait until the traffic stopped, it doesn't. Not ever.) It was clear and we crossed to the little island of grass between the two sides of the road. Again we waited for the all clear and headed across the street. I began to notice that she was making sounds. It could have been speech, I guess or it could have been pretend language. Tough to tell with an imagination as active as hers. I thought it was best to err on the side of caution...
"What's the matter, Pick?"
"This is stupid, Mexico sucks!"
"What do you mean?" I asked. "Why would you say that?"
"The cars never stop when we want to cross the street. Don't they know it's dangerous for people trying to cross?"
"I think they do Honey, I just don't think they care. They think where they are going is more important than where we are going so they don't care about anyone else."
She mumbled something I couldn't quite understand but I knew something was stuck in her craw...it was a dangerous place for the world to be. My daughter is six years old but has the pedigree several hundreds of generations of strong and willful women behind her. Coupled with a look that can wither flowers (courtesy of my Grandmother and her sister Auntie Peggy) a pissed of Isobel is bane to all that is crooked and wrong in the universe and a force to be reckoned with. She went to sleep that night without incident but she was distant. Not sullen or trying to avoid anyone, just wanting to be on her own. Perhaps to work something out in her own head. We have learned from past experiences, it is best to let her have these little moments to herself. I am not casting aspersions but what if Napoleon's folks had given him a little more breathing room when he was having an off day when he was a lad?
The next day we went to the beach as always. And waited for the traffic. As always. On both sides of the island...as always. And I guess Isobel had reached that point that all of us reach when we have had enough and throw our hands to the heavens and say 'No More!'
On our way back, as we crossed the street, Isobel stuck her hand out in a half traffic cop stop/half Jedi force hand motion...and the traffic stopped.
OK, first off I know what you're thinking. The traffic stopped because who wants to be the driver who mowed down a seriously mean looking little girl and her, equally mean looking but considerably slower moving, tattooed father? Sure, in the regular world you could ask that question. but not here. This is Old Mexico and if you were paying attention from before, you will remember that the drivers don't give a romping Rhinocerous shit about you or me or Isobel...no matter how fast you are or how many tattoos I have. Which is more than five, by the way. No as far as I am concerned, my little girl willed the traffic to stop. As far as she is concerned too.
And it has happened a hand full of times now. Her stopping the traffic. Today she made note of it.
"Daddy, the cars stop for me you know."
"I know baby," I said. "Why do you think that is?"
"I tried to think about that," she replied. "And I thought cars are stopping because I look at them in a scary way."
"You look like Auntie Peggy." I said.
"Yes," she agreed, not really knowing who in the hell Auntie Peggy was. "And then I thought maybe they stopped because the cars in the front were worried about hitting me and you and then they stopped and the cars behind them were worried about hitting the cars in front and the cars behind them were worried about hitting the cars in front of them until there were no more cars to run into other cars."
"Wow Pick," I said. "That's really smart."
I was honestly impressed by her insight into how the world works and how the souls of humans, in spite of all the evil and wrong doing that surrounds us every day, are basically good.
"But then I thought," she went on. "No, it's me. I am really stopping the cars. The cars are really afraid to get near me."
We're a little afraid too...maybe...



Normally this little screed is about my/our life with the kids. Specifically Isobel but once in a while the life of Mrs. Narrator and I slips in there too. Tonight we went for a meal, the six of us. (Me, Mrs. Narrator Isobel, The Boy and Mrs. Narrator's folks. Got all that? Good because I shant repeat it)
We went to a place called the Fajita Republic and therin they have a little drinky called the New Age Margarita. First off, it is about two and a half shots of Tequila in a glass that they dip in rock salt and then wave a bottle of lime juice over top of it. Then when they bring it to your table, they stick a lime wedge on the side of the glass and dump another shot of Tequila in it for good measure. After one of these beauties the kids understand that Mummy and Daddy are in a really good mood and dinner isn't even at the table yet. After two of them, the kids are thinking that Mummy and Daddy are holding hands and feeding each other and offering food off of their plates to anyone that comes withing two feet of the table and after three of them, the kids are wondering why Mum and Dad are holding hands and singing songs that were on the radio in the '80s. Between us we had eight or nine.
Sometimes vacations are really good for the kids...sometimes vacations are really good for the adults...and sometimes the heavens open (as well as the bottle of Quervo Especiale) and everyone but the crocodiles leaves full and happy....keep your stick on the ice and we'll see you back in Canada next Tuesday.