Isobel: "GWAH!!!!"
Daddy: "What's up Pick?"
Isobel: "ITCHY!!!!"
Daddy: "What's itchy?"
Isobel: "Everything. My everything is itchy."
Daddy: "Everything? I don't know if I have any everything cream left? Could you be a little more vague?"
Isobel: "What? What does that mean?"
Daddy: "Skip it. Where do you want cream?"
Isobel: "My arms and legs are worst."
Daddy: "Ok but try not to scratch, pat the bites instead."
Isobel: "..."
Daddy: "What?"
Isobel: "That's just awkward and not really helpful."
I'm always interested in watching the kids' minds work, watching them interact with the things around them and seeing the effects. It's interesting (if not a little frustrating) to watch them both with the computer knowing in all certainty that they both already know how to use it more effectively than I do. I mean I don't feel quite as mystified by it as my parents but within a few years I'm certain I'll be squinting at the screen, befuddled and hoping one of the kids can help me out of whatever electronic mess I have gotten into...I still have a Smith Corona typewriter in the basement for just such an occasion.
The future isn't what really interests me, not nearly as much as the past and those things that trigger memories in us. We live off the beaten track so to speak, a smaller community that doesn't get a lot of over night traffic. As such, we get the other type of late night traffic, skunks and raccoons. Because there are very few cars to keep their numbers in check, there are many of them to ransack garbage cans and recycle boxes. Everyone's yards are strewn with everyone elses' garbage. Jesus, this is a round a bout way of getting to what I want to talk about this week...guilty I'm afraid but it was a long time getting to it as it happened.
So Izzy and I were out cleaning up the bits of trash (and being completely skeeved out by it) from the front of the yard for the umpteenth time. OK, really it was me doing the cleaning (and Izzy being completely skeeved out) and I had started walking to get a rake or shovel or something to move the stickier garbage into a pile. Something that didn't involve touching rancid cheese and the other delights on the side walk, with my bare hands.
"Where are you going?" Isobel asked.
"I'm going to get a shovel or something to clean this up with."
"Oh no, you're not leaving me here with that." she said, pointing at the garbage.
Now here is the important bit She wanted nothing to do with touching the garbage, remember? Like father like daughter. However, after we got the shovel and headed back up the driveway, she bent down and picked up an old corn cob that was a little bit away from the other debris but obviously from the same mess. She continued to hold it as I cleaned up and re-bagged the pile of garbage and remained holding it as I took the bag of trash to the garage. After all the work was finished, I figured she would throw the cob into the garbage and she would be able to say that she did actually help. However;
"I am not wiping my butt with this." Isobel said.
"I'm sorry?" I said a little confused. Actually unbelievably confused, this is one of the strangest things I have heard come out Isobel's mouth...and that's saying something.
"I said I am not wiping my butt with this."
"Who said you have to wipe your butt with a corn cob?"
Of all of the things I figured I would ever talk about with my child, I gotta say toilet etiquette and silage was not one of the things that were uppermost in my mind.
"When we went to the Joseph Schneider house, they told us that all the women wore buttons and that you had to wipe your butt with a corn cob." said Isobel."Women wore what?" I asked.
"Buttons." said Isobel. "Buttons on their heads."
"Bonnets." I said. Women wore bonnets on their heads."
"That's what I said." said Isobel. "I wore one too when we went there."
"Did you wipe your butt with a corn cob?" I asked.
"NO!" she said, sounding terribly embarrassed.
Now, I am no stranger to history but I have to admit this hole corncob thing had me stymied. I had never heard such a thing before and I had never been to the Joseph Schneider Haus. This could be entirely legit but it is Isobel we are talking about. Her imagination will run rampant if given the opportunity.
"Who told you they wiped with a corncob back then?" I asked.
"The lady who worked there. She said the boys went away to work when they were young, like seven and that they didn't come home until all the work was done. Girls stayed home and did the bacon."
"Baking?" I asked.
"Probably that too." she replied. "All the girls wore bonnets and nobody was very happy because everybody had to work."
"Sounds like fun." I said. "Where do the corncobs come in?"
She took a deep breath, as though she was tired of explaining this because I just wasn't getting it.
"They used corncobs because there was no toilet paper and there was no electricity so the toilets didn't work and everybody went behind the house."
Ah the good old days...
It is summer vacation and I am preparing to go to school in September...hopefully. Isobel is excited and a little confused by the idea. I think she is under the impression that I might be going to her school with her. Nevertheless, I had to go to the school (a real college in case you were worried for Isobel's social life) to hand in some forms and pay for a deferment. We stood patiently in line and when it was our turn, we stepped to the window.
Maybe it was the length of time we stood in that line or maybe it's just that she is growing up and the shyness is melting away but wen we got to the window and the receptionist started to coo over her, she chirped right back.
"Well hello," the nice lady said. "How can I help you?"
"I'm here with my Daddy." Isobel replied.
"And what is your name?" the nice lady asked.
"Isobel." "What is Daddy here for, is he going to go to school here?"
"Yup," said Isobel. "And he needs to pay for something."
"I need to pay for my deferral." I added.
"Well," she continued to Isobel without actually acknowledging me. "Did you bring enough money to pay for him?"
"Pffft." Isobel sputtered. "He's the one with all the money. I don't even know what I'm doing here."
The nice receptionist took my payment and clicked and clacked on her computer for a few minutes and presented me with several pieces of paper. She put her hand gingerly on Isobel's arm.
"Well it was very nice to meet you Isobel." she said. "Do you think that you might go to school here too?"
"No." said Isobel sounding very serious. "I don't have time for that. I have to go back to grade one in September."
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