How Does it Work?...Isobel Plays on the Colour wheel...

            Isobel doesn't care much for boundaries...or rules come to think of it. A closed and unlocked bathroom door means little more than a delay to entering the room.
      Isobel: "Hi Daddy!"
      Daddy: "I closed the door for a reason, you know."
      Isobel: "I know. OK, seriously it's really hot in here."
      Daddy: "I did just have a shower."
      Isobel: "Uh-huh. I'm going to comb my hair."
      Daddy: "Whatever."
      Isobel: "Daddy?"
      Daddy: "Yup?"
      Isobel: "What are you doing?"
      Daddy: "Shaving. You used to call it shaving my moustaches."
      Isobel: "Uh-huh..."
      Daddy: (about to say something extremely insightful. Just then my towel slipped from around my waist and hit the floor)
      Isobel: "Sooooo....this is awkward and I'm going to leave now."


      Anyone that has known me for more than twenty-five minutes, knows that I am a veritable fountain head of useless information. Little bits of little bits that generally have nothing to d with anything and are currently taking up valuable real estate inside my noodle. Do you know where Clyde Barrow's bullet riddled blood stained shirt is? I do. Do you know what determines the colour of a chicken's egg? I do. It goes on and on ad-nauseum. Occasionally however, my limitless supply of the banal is put to some use. And in even rarer circumstances, I possess knowledge that some may consider helpful.
      "Hey Daddy?" Isobel asked as she came bounding into the room.
      "Yes Muffin face-head?"
      "Daddy, what makes you fart?"
      "Hey, now!" I said.
     "What?" she asked flatly.
     "That is my kind of question," I said gleefully. "aaand it's something I know a great deal about."
     "Really?" Isobel asked.
     "Sure." I replied.
            Oh right, this is the part where I actually answer the child about the workings of the human body. Simple enough, no? No.
       "So what happens," I began. "When you eat, you swallow air. That coupled with acids in your stomach that break down the food you eat, which in turn releases gas. Now that gas has to..."
      "Daddy?"
      "Yes Isobel?"
      "Daddy, that doesn't sound right. If you don't know, it's OK." she said in a very understanding, patronizing tone of voice.
      "OK, you want the truth?"
       "Yep. Seriously, I want you to tell me why you fart."
      "Well I would say it's beer and pizza for me." I said
      "Daddy!" she whined.
      "OK," I said. "So when you eat different foods, they all go in your belly. Some foods don't get along. Especially if you eat more of one type of food. They fight inside your belly."
      "Whaaat?" she asked.
      This is the problem with children getting older-they become that much harder to fool. The Boy is taking health class in school now. He would not be so easily fooled by fighting food. However, he has just informed me that he thought his testicle was in his intestines...there may be hope for me yet! But Isobel can still be swayed by outlandishness.
       "You know how when you eat too much, you get a belly ache?"
      "Yeah..." he said with suspicion behind her reply.
      "And you know how you feel better when you fart?"
      "Yeah?"
      "Well there you go."
      "Oh!" she said. "I guess that makes sense."
      "I'm glad I could help." I said.
      I came to a realization, I had just had a very Ward Cleaver type of moment with my child. I remember that Ward told the Beaver a lot of stuff that really amounted to bugger all. The Beaver always worked it out on his own in the end.. Isobel will eventually figure this one out and she comes away with that new knowledge thinking that I am out of my bloody mind, then I have done my job as a parent.
      We were walking out the door to go to school when she stopped walking.
      "Wait a second." she said. From the look on her face, I knew exactly what she was doing.
       "Pop...pop...popopopopopopop." said her bottom.
       "Oh, breakfast is fighting." said Isobel.
              Thumbs up for science!


      Isobel got a colouring/stenciling/fashion designer kit...thing...for Christmas or her birthday...oh hell, she got this thing sometime ago and it sat idle for along time and now she has started playing with it again. Jesus, that was the long way around, wasn't it?
     So what this thing is, is a pad of paper with pre-drawn figures of girls on them. The kit comes with plastic stencils of everything from out fits-complete with clothing and accessories (boots shoes purses hats and the like) right up to activities (guitars, stethoscopes, everything a hip young girl could want to do or be!)
    So lately she has been drawing a lot of these. Red heads with blue clothes and Pink heads with red clothes and multi-coloured heads with multi-coloured clothes and my new favourite;
      "Daddy, look." she said, showing me her latest creation.
      "Oh look at that. That's really good," I said. I really like that colour. What a nice blue that is."
      "It's jerkoise." Isobel said.
      "What?" I asked.
    "Jerkoise." she said. "Jerkoise hair, jerkoise pony tails and jerkoise necklace."

    I know a lot of people who could wear this colour.