Daddy: "Time to get up Pick."
Isobel: (rumble, groan, moan) "What?"
Daddy: "Time to get up. Wakey-wakey. Eggs and bakey!"
Isobel: "Ooooh. I had a dream. A very bad dream."
Daddy: "Oh yeah? What was your dream about?"
Isobel : "It was about my butt."
Daddy: "You had a dream about your butt?"
Isobel: "Yes."
Daddy: "And?"
Isobel: "My underwear lost the fight."
Father's day was this past weekend and it was the best Father's day ever. Even if it wasn't, you have to say it was-haven't you? Last year I remember that Isobel was quite excited for the day to come around so she could give me her school made trinket but this year she was positively beside herself. It was all I could do to stop her from telling me what she made for me.
"Look," I said one day after school. "Don't tell me. I want to be surprised on Sunday. If you have to tell somebody, tell Mummy."
This hadn't dawned on her, that she could tell her mother and get the information safely out of her system before she burst and I would remain none the wiser. With relief visible on her face, she shuffled me out of the room and spilled her guts to her mother. Though this wasn't nearly enough to satiate her desire to share what she had done. In an hour she was willing to tell me what she made me.
"I'll tell you what I made for you if you want."
"No honey," I said. "I don't want to know. I want it to be a surprise."
"But I really want to tell you." she pleaded. "Can I please tell you just one thing?"
"Do you just have the one thing?" I asked.
"No!" she insisted.
By the sincerity in her voice, I knew that she did have more than the one thing to present to me on The Day so I gave in.
"OK," I said. "you can tell me one thing."
"I made you JAM."
She breathed the last word out, as though it were something slightly sinister but something I couldn't live without.
"Oooh, jam. I can't wait." I said all the while visions of the six year old version of 'jam' racing through my mind. I was a little nauseous already.
Sunday came and I was up before anyone else...come to think of it, when am not? Remnants of the night shift I suppose. Anyway, soon enough Isobel was marching into the living room with my Father's day goodies. First came out a card, the usual hand drawn fare. A snappy rendering of Isobel and me stopped beneath a stop sign. (we are so very safety conscious) Next came a Father's day faux Newspaper front page. Written by Isobel and Angel (a child I was unaware of perhaps? Clearly I was not consulted when she was named..) A picture of me in the top corner-complete with new Warby Parker glasses.
My parents have been telling me most of my life that I was special. Actually they told a lot of people that I was special....some of them were complete strangers if I recall. Well now it is official. According to the Father's day edition of The Scoop, I was voted #1 Dad because I am special. It is in print therefore it is true and I won't discuss it any further.Now as for my credentials...let's just have a look see at what my progeny has listed as my finest qualities. (beyond my explosive specialness of course) According to the paper;
My Dad and I like to: Go get Cow Ice Cream. Now I am not entirely certain what that is assuming that all if not most ice cream is cow ice cream in the strictest sense of the word but in Isobel's world I wouldn't doubt she was hoping for toad ice cream and they were all out that day.
I Love My Dad: When he feeds me. This is by far the funniest thing I have ever seen attributed to my child. I was unaware that there was an option to not feed them. I assumed it was some sort of rule. Things will be different around here on the weekends, I can assure you of that.
3 Fun Facts About My Dad: 1) He is the coach of my soccer team.
2) He takes me to Victoria park to play
3) He takes me to school everyday.
OK...I have never coached any sports team in the entirety of my 43 years on this planet. Not one. While we are on this particular subject, Isobel has not yet ( in her six and a quarter years on this planet) signed up for, let alone played an organized sport of any kind.
Further more, the only time I took her to Victoria park, she was spooked by a sinister looking junior kindergarten kid and she panicked and wanted to come home. I have no doubt of course that Isobel is my child. She is far too moody and black of humour to be anybody's but mine. It does however, beg the question; 'Who in the hell doing all of this fun and exciting shit with my kid? And is he available to baby sit once in a while?'
But that wasn't the last of the goodies, no no. Next came the jam...I know what you must be thinking, worm jam or some other vile dark smelly ooze that kindergarten teachers allow their students to spring on kindly, unsuspecting Fathers. No in fact it was a lovely strawberry compote that seems to go best with slightly melted peanut butter on a toasted english muffin...On the label it says 'To Daddy. Love Isobel'
Best Father's Day ever...
The kids are in the final weeks of school which for all concerned (teachers included it would seem) it really just a matter of counting down the days until it is over. What better way to do that than to cram in as many field trips as humanly possible in the last two weeks of school?
The Boy just brought home permission slips for three field trips...decent ones too, not the wandering around outdoors or going to some local farm to pick beans kinda crap like I got. No, The Boy is getting to go to the Warplane Heritage Museum among others. It's a good thing it is for school and the legalities would boggle the mind because if I found out he got to go up in a bomber or fighter plane, I might not let him back in the house purely out of spite and jealousy.
Tomorrow, Isobel is off to the zoo. The zoo! I think I went to Waterloo park when I was in school where they had a couple of peacocks in cages, a couple of raccoon refugees and one mouldy, foul tempered porcupine. Are you frigging kidding me?
So she is off to the zoo tomorrow and when she was talking about it, describing to me what she might see I sensed something a little unsettling in her voice.
"Daddy, do you know there are bears there?""Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." she said "And birds and deer and a petting zoo."
"Oh, a petting zoo. Aren't you lucky."
"And there's wolves." as the words left her mouth, the tone in her voice told me she was nervous about the wolves.
She had not been to a proper zoo since she was very little and I think maybe she had not been told a vital piece of information regarding her upcoming trip and the animals featured in the petting zoo portion
"Honey, you know all the animals are in cages, right? and that only farm animals are for petting?"
She thought about this for a bit and I could see the calmness wash over her.
"Yeah, I knew that."
The animals will be very thankful for the bars after tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment