Isobel: "Daddy?"
Daddy: " Yes my sweet Baboo?"
Isobel: "I got you a barf cake for your birthday this year."
Daddy: Really? Mummy told me it was a mousse cake and it looked pretty tasty."
Isobel: "Dang it." I'm going to have cake and ice cream anyway."
Daddy: "Well I'm going to have cake."
Isobel: "Can you put my cake and ice cream in a bowl?"
Mummy: "I'm having my cake and ice cream on a plate."
Daddy: "That is the traditional presentation of cake and ice cream, Pick."
Isobel: "I want mine in a bowl."
Daddy: "OK."
Isobel: (tasting) "The taste of cake and ice cream in a bowl is like drinking your own birth!"
We had gone out for a walk, just the two of us. We were going up to the school to see if they had put up the postings for home rooms yet. We stepped outside and both of us just sort of stood there a minute. Taking in the early evening air. It was a little past six and the air was getting cooler but the sun was still throwing enough heat around that Izzy regretted wearing a sweater after only a few steps.
"I love going for a walk at this time of night and at this time of year." Isobel remarked.
"You know what? So do I." I replied. "It's a nice time to be out. Not too hot or cold."
"It's just right." she agreed. "And it's a good thing you came along."
"Why is that?" I asked.
"I wouldn't have anybody to carry my sweater." she said handing me her hoodie.
It's only a couple of blocks to the school but we took our time walking and talking about nothing in particular. She was excited about going back to school and asked if I was excited about going back to school. I told her that I was but that I was a little nervous too.
"Why are you nervous?"
"I haven't been in school for a while and I'm probably going to be the oldest one in my class." I said. "I'll just be nervous the first day, then I'll be OK."
"I was nervous my first day," she said. "But you went with me and held my hand and then I went inside and it was OK."
"You want to come and hold my hand on my first day?" I asked.
"Somethings you HAVE to do by yourself." she said.
"How'd you get so smart?" I asked her.
She pointed at the school with a look on her face that said, 'are you really this stupid?'
There was no posting on the window and so the mystery remained where she would be next year. We had a pretty good idea who's class she'd be in but it would have been nice to see it in writing just the same. We started to walk back home and we noticed something posted on the door of the church near our house.
"Maybe Martin Luther's been for a visit." I said.
"What?" Isobel asked.
"Skip it," I said. Let's just go see what that sign says."
The sign didn't say anything important. Well, not important to us anyway. We looked around the church grounds and Izzy asked me something I didn't figure I would hear from her. Not yet...
"We don't go to church, do we?"
"No," I said. "Why do you ask?"
"Why don't we go to church?" she asked.
"We just don't, Mummy and I don't believe in god and so we don't go to church."
"What is god?" Isobel asked.
It was one of those moments when you realize-'this is a milestone moment. I am a parent and I can warp my child for all time or I can give an answer that will hopefully, help my child develop and grow as a person and it all comes down to how I answer this question'I took a deep breath and sat down on the church steps.
"It all depends what you believe." I said. "Lots of different people believe lots of different things."
"And who's right?" she asked.
"I was a little staggered by the depth of that. I don't think she intended the question to be that metaphysical, she is six after all. But hey why not? They recognized the present Dalai Lama at seven, I believe.
"All of them." I said. "And none of them." They are all right and they are all wrong"
"Whaaat?!?" she replied.
"I think that you can believe whatever you want but once you tell somebody they HAVE to believe the same things you do, then it's not OK anymore. Get it?"
"Not really." She said. "So why don't we go to church?"
"We don't believe in church." I said.
Oh, OK." she said. "Hey Daddy?"
"Uh - huh?"
"I believe we should get some ice cream!"
"That is an excellent idea," I said. "But we're not going to Indulge. We have ice cream at home."
"Crap." she said.
Well, she knows what it is to suffer for her beliefs...
I was upstairs practicing and Izzy burst into the room making a rat face. You know what I mean, stick your top teeth over your bottom lip an wiggle your nose up and down while making squidgy noises. Now bring your hands up to your chin in a ratty fashion and there you go. Rat faced. Not to be confuse with rat arsed which I have been on those rare occasions that I have had one glass of port too many. Like around the holidays...but I'm wandering...
So there she was being ratty and making it difficult to practice by putting her ratty little claws on my hands every time I tried to play.
"You know," I said. "Rats scurry along the floors. They almost never come into their parents rooms."
"What?" she said."OK, I went a bit too far with that one but they do run along the floor."
She got down on all fours and tried to be all ratty with her arms at the same time. It didn't go as planned and she fell on her face at least twice that I saw.
She got up and headed downstairs.
"Problems?" I asked.
"Being a rat isn't very fun." she said as she continued down the steps. "It's no wonder there are traps in the basement."
Maybe I can get her to play cat next.
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