Can I Just Have a Minute...Izzy's salon...

Izzy is getting to that age when she spends an inordinate amount of time on the phone. I might remind you that that age is six. I shudder to think how much time the phone will be glued to the side of her head as her teenage years approach. The phone rang one Saturday and I answered.
Daddy: "Hello?"
Caller: "Hello, could I speak to Isobel?"
Daddy: "Just a minute."
Caller: "Isn't she there?"
Daddy: "She's here, yes. Just not right by the phone. Izzy, you're wanted on the phone."
Isobel: (from upstairs) "Coming."
Daddy: "She's coming just now."
Isobel: "Who is it?"
Daddy: "I don't know."
Isobel: "Ask who it is."
Daddy: "Who's calling?"
Caller: "Pardon?"
Daddy: "Who's calling please?"
Caller: "Umm...me?"

In the normal run of things, my kids don't generally give a flying shit what I am doing. There is no rule that says 'when Daddy is (insert activity here) we must never disturb him.' I may get grumpy about a thing or two when interrupted but by and large there is nothing that I insist on having privacy for. This column thing comes close but even then , I don't really get into the meat of it until after they have gone to bed. So that being said, I am pretty much left to my own devices and can get whatever I want or think I need to do done.
I grabbed my bagpipes and headed out to the garage. It was a warm night for March and I figured I could get a decent practice in. Isobel was outside too. No reason for her to stay in when the weather was so warm and unseasonably dry. I had just tuned up when she walked in covering her ears.
"Daddy?...Daddy?...DADDY!!?"
"Yes?" I responded.
"Daddy, can you hold the rope or the swing part while I climb the rope?"
"Can I do what now?" I asked.
"Can you hold the rope? While I climb it? The rope?"
"OK," I said. "But then I am playing, OK? That's what I came out for."
Ropes were held and not at all climbed, swings moved erratically and bottoms were fallen on. Giggles rang out and I headed back to the garage. I picked up my pipes again and settled into some of the tunes I play to warm up...well a half of a bar anyway.
"Daddy?...Daddy?...DADDY!!!?"
"Yes, my darling child?"
"Daddy, can I play in your car?" she asked.
"Yes, you can. Can I practice my bagpipes now, would that be OK with you?" I asked, the question stinking of sarcasm that she didn't get.
"Ummm...OK, you can practice." she said.
She went off to play in my car and again I struck up. 'These new pipes are one of the best purchases I have ever made.' I thought to myself. 'Easy to tune and when the get there, they lock right...'
"Daddy?...Daddy?...DADDY!!?!!"
Have you ever heard what a well tuned bagpipe sounds like when you don't actually cut off playing, rather you just sort of stop playing? It sounds like a tom cat that has just been swiftly kicked in the testicles and then dropped into a well.
"Daddy, can I play on your car?"
"My brightest flower, you can play on my car until the very cows come home." I said.
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"Yes, you can play on my car." I said trying not to sound annoyed.
Off she went and I blew up yet again. At least I was getting a lot of practice for a good strike in, competition season is just around the corner.
Soon the garage was filled with the haunting sounds of Piobaireachd. For those you keeping score at home, Piobaireachd is the music that was written specifically for the bagpipe. It is ancient and rather like classical music. It is also repetitive and boring to those that don't like it. Mrs. Narrator hates it. I love it, it is one of those things that when you play it, it completely takes...
"Daddy?...Daddy?...DADDY!!!?
"Yes Isobel?" I said through teeth that were beginning to grit.
"Daddy, can I play on your car like it was a slide?" she asked.
"Short of driving my car into town to pick up boys, I don't care how or what you play on it in it or around it."
I figured that would be that. What other possible questions could she ask? I covered all automotive play bases, hadn't I. I actually peered through the garage window trying not to be seen lest another question pop into her head. She was happily playing away. Here was my chance. I struck up and felt myself get lost in what I was playing. My mind drifted in and out of the music and my fingers seemed to move unconsciously, without effort. I had made it through the variations and was heading back to the theme. I had nearly made it through the tune.
"Daddy?...Daddy?...DADDY!!!?!"
"Yes, Isobel?" I said, clearly sounding annoyed.
"Daddy I'm going inside, I don't want to hear your bagpipes anymore."


When Izzy was very young and I was out of work, we would have tea parties. Now that she is older, the tea parties have been replaced by make up and hairstyling. I figure there is going to be a time, not too long from now when she is going to do nothing but yell and slam doors...wait she does that now...OK she'll yell and slam doors and really mean it. So if she wants to spend that kinda time with me, I should take it while I can right?
"Daddy, would you like to wear some make up?" she asked.
"What are you on, glue?" I replied lovingly.
"Huh?" she asked.
"Skip it," I said. "Last time it didn't wash off too well and I had it on a little longer than I wanted."
"How about just your hair then?" she asked.
"Sure." I answered.
She stood beside where I was sitting on the couch, pink Barbie brush in hand.
"Daddy, you really need me today. Your hair looks like the Devil."
"Do you mean to say my hair looks like hell?" I asked thinking she was worried about swearing.
"No I mean the devil," she said. "No, seriously. Your hair looks like you have horns."
She soon set about giving me a bad girl beauty make over. I would like to say it was invigorating, refreshing...I will not be plagued with dandruff. At least not until the scabs heal. The Barbie brush must have come with the Barbie Big Inquisition play set complete with spike tyned brushes and junior Torquemada costume...honest to god, a more gruesome bit of hardware I have not experienced and they claim it is a toy It's no wonder the cats flee in terror when they see flashes of pink.
There was a lot of combing and a lot of cooing and fawning.
"We'll just have to move your glasses for a minute." she said.
"I'll hold those," I said. "They're brand new. I would hate to see them get scratched by the Pink Barbie Brush of Confession."
"Oh just a minute!" she said. her voice sounding ominously excited.
She returned with a mirror and held it up triumphantly. I looked the work over, humming and hawing like I would at my own barber's. She took a step back and beamed at me.
"See!" she said. "Now you really look like hell!"