Tuesday, February 28, 2012

The Fashion Show...Chester and Georgie...Truth in Advertising...

She was having a play date and decided that dress up was the order of the day...no good could come of this...

Izzy: "How do you like my outfit?"
Daddy: "It's just swell. Say what does the change room upstairs look like?"
Izzy: "The change room?"
Daddy: "Yes, your room upstairs?"
Izzy: "Upstairs?"
Daddy "Isobel, what shape is your room in? Is it OK or does it look like a bomb went off?"
Izzy: "Don't worry, we're going to clean it up."
Mrs. Narrator: :"So it totally looks like a bomb went off?"
Izzy: (deadpan) "Yeah... See ya."

I'm not crazy about the kids having their friends over. It's not that I don't want them to socialize. I do. It's not that I am ashamed of house. I am not (in fact with enough warning, like an over night guest, it gives one cause to clean the house). Maybe it is partly the noise level...Especially when The Boy and the other Noise Brother get together. Maybe it is something a little more atavistic. Like saying 'I trust you with my kids enough to allow them into your home, so if something ill should befall me before supper time you can have them until they are old enough to fend for themselves.' Maybe it just cramps my style.
But the more I go along with this parent thing, the more I am starting to realize that there is in fact, very little about me that is stylish enough to be cramped anymore. And that very little that goes on around this place is affected by my opinion. Play dates will be had whether I am comfortable or not. And so calls were placed, rides were arranged and Candace came over to play dress up.
I like Candace, probably the most out of Izzy's friends. She strikes me already as the type of kid Izzy will likely be friends with for a very long time. I don't know why I get that impression but it is a strong impression that they will remain close in some capacity for a very long time. There is no competition between the two (though Izzy clearly calls the shots) and she is patient and loyal to a fault. All the things that one looks for in a friend.
I wonder if there was much planning before the play date. Did they sit in the school yard discussing what they should play? 'Dollies, we could play Dollies.' 'Naw, Dollies is for babies. And I'll just puke if I play school again. Don't we get enough of that crap every day anyhow?' 'We could put on make-up and dress up clothes!' 'Shut up! That's the best idea I have heard all day!'
I suspect it is a little more spontaneous than that but I have seen them chatting discreetly when I pick Izzy up
The two of them disappeared as quickly as they came in, taking several sheets of paper with them and Izzy's make up bag. After much giggling and shuffling of paper, the girls emerged and announced that there would be a fashion show.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Isobel began. "Today we are having a fashion show and we are going to have two models. The wonderful Kashi( like the cereal?) and a super special surprise model. So thank- you all for coming and give it up for our models starting with Kashi!"
"Oh yay! huzzah and hoopla!" said Mrs. Narrator and I. (really it was more a half-hearted clap and cheers that bordered on confused groans)
And out she came...Candace had assumed the mantle of Kashi...You know, kids come in all shapes and sizes. Some are graceful and delicate, some are flatfooted and stomp about the house and still others look like they would make a decent tight end for the Steelers... Kashi was squeezed into a pair of Isobel's pink tights. They were two sizes to small and too short. Atop that was an old top of Isobel's that fit her in a year, never mind fitting a girl twice her size. The ensemble was capped off with a half broken tiara and pink eye make up in straight lines under her eyes. Her lips were coated in the same shade of pink. She looked uncomfortable but I couldn't tell if that was from wearing Izzy's too small outfits or the prospect of speaking in public to two adults she really didn't know...I like Candace, really I do but I have to say she bore more than a passing resemblance to a young Pete Boyle in drag... So we cheered as loud as we thought we should and off went Kashi to get the super secret model.
There was more giggling and ruffling of papers and soon out came Kashi again in clothes that fit her and a paper in her hand.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she said to the floor. "we have a super special treat today so everybody give it up for Melissa..."
"Candace," Izzy whispered. "Come here, you're not saying it right."
She wandered back to the bathroom where they were changing and putting on make up and soon came back with Izzy's tooth brushing stool. She set the stool in the center of the room and began again.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have an extra special treat today so give it up for Melissa Chrysalis."
We clapped and cheered, being careful not to clap and cheer any louder than we had for Kashi, lest feelings get hurt. Now this might be the bit where you would expect me to go on at length about what Izzy was wearing and how her make-up was perfect and all. And normally I might but I don't want to seem to elevate my child any higher than her friends. That and the second Isobel entered the room, she stood on the tooth brushing stool and proceeded to tell us all at length what she was wearing and how her make up was perfect.
"Boy," said Mrs. Narrator. "Melissa seems to be talking an awful lot about herself and not doing a lot of Modeling."
"I think that's just how she is," said Candace "She likes herself. A lot."
I can see why Izzy likes her best of all. Non-confrontational and a mind reader...

I am not a lover of pets. Specifically cats. As I have previously mentioned, my opinion matters very little around here. Let's face facts, once you become parents everything within reason becomes about the children and their happiness.
When I came home from work this past Thursday, I was informed that there would be not one but two small furry cat like things moving into the house. Strangely enough, I had been consulted on the matter. My opinion was duly noted and ignored in its entirety.
Now I am not one of those 'microwaving cats for fun and profit ask me how' kind of cat haters and I am a mammal, I am programmed to want to care for cute things. I just fundamentally prefer dogs to cats, though if I had my choice I would choose neither. Cats shit in a box and you reward them for this. In fact you are downright happy about it!
Izzy has called her cat (a bow legged black odd ball of a beast) Chester. A fine name for a cat I suppose. The Boy wanted to name his cat (A Morris type tabby) potato but he said Mrs. Narrator wouldn't let him because she would be entirely unable to keep a straight face if I ever angrily shouted that "That god-damned Potato shit on the carpet!" And so after much deliberation...Georgie. (like Lynne Redgrave? Really?)
One thing I am discovering in the short time that we have had the two of them is that organic cat food makes for foul cats. I have a little black cat that can literally fit into my front pocket and can literally clear a room. Izzy and I also have somebody to blame when things get a little gassy on a Sunday afternoon. Now if I can just teach her not to announce it every time she lets one slip...

I couldn't fit this in anywhere but I still had to share it...

We were driving along to the grocery store. and a commercial came on the radio. I didn't pay much attention to it. Clearly Izzy did. Advertising works...
Izzy:(In radio guy voice) "You can HAVE a cigarette."
Daddy: "What!!?!? What did you say?"
Izzy: "You can HAVE a cigarette. That's what the guy just said."
Daddy: "What guy?"
Izzy: "The guy that was just on the radio. He said you can HAVE a cigarette."
Daddy: "Oh, I see. Well isn't that lovely then."
Izzy: "What, what is lovely? That you can HAVE a cigarette?"
Daddy: "No thanks, I don't smoke anymore?"
Izzy: "Oh yeah."
(We had by now gotten to the grocery store. A woman was loading her car up with her groceries. She put her head up as we got out of the car. No doubt she heard Izzy's voice chirping away merrily. She smiled at me as we passed her.)
Izzy: "Daddy?"
Daddy: "Uh-huh?"
Izzy: "Can I HAVE a cigarette?"
I am certain the groceries hit the ground as quickly as her jaw... smile and wave Izzy, just smile and wave...

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Tea Party Girl...A Few of My Favourite Things...

Izzy was swimming in the pool...really more running as fast as she could to the edge of the pool and firing herself into the water below.
Isobel: "Watch this one Daddy."
Daddy: OK, watching."
Isobel: (run, run, run) "Yaaahhh!!!" ( Ga-Splosh!!!)
Daddy: "Very nice. At least a 6.45 from the Scottish judge.
Isobel: "What!?!?"
Daddy: "Skip it."
Isobel: "OK Daddy, watch this one."
Daddy: "Watching, go on."
Isobel: (run, run, run) "Yaaahhh!!!" (Ga-Splosh!!!)
Daddy: "Very nice, Pick."
Isobel: "Daddy!!?!"
Daddy: "Yes My little water Lilly?"
Isobel: "You said the same thing on my last dive. Say something different, something good."
Daddy: "OK honey, you're as graceful as a hand grenade."
Isobel: "Graceful!!??!? Pfffft. I'm not doing ballet."

This past weekend, I swallowed a tough pill. I am having to come to the realization, that my little girl is well and truly just that. A little girl. This past weekend, Isobel went to her first tea party. With real tea, not just water in tea pots. (Izzy told me to put that bit in.)
I'm a guy and though we had many playtime tea parties with Mrs. Nesbitt and the late Juicy Lucy as well as her other dolls, I am at a loss for the correct etiquette of a real tea party. I always have visions of little old ladies, gossiping and stuffing cucumber finger sandwiches into their faces. All the while slurping sweet milky, lukewarm tea. Hell, even The Boy though Izzy would need gloves to go to this thing. What could my little girl, my tattoo wearing, black make up smearing, death metal screaming little bff want with that kind of thing? Everything it had to offer apparently...
She woke up early, earlier than usual but no earlier than I expected. Mrs. Narrator got up with her and I followed soon after. And so did the questions. "When should I start getting ready?" she asked.
"Not for a while yet." said Mrs. Narrator.
"Daddy, are you driving me to the tea party or is Mummy?"
"Probably I will, my car is first in the driveway." I said.
"No it isn't, you're car is last in the driveway but thanks for driving me." she replied.
She had gotten up around 9:00 and the tea party was at 1:00. The equation would go roughly as follows. The number of questions asked and with what frequency is directly proportional to the number of hours remaining before departure to the tea party. Four hours until tea party equals four questions every four minutes. It's only theoretical... You get the idea.
She didn't want to eat breakfast, not much anyway and absolutely refused to eat lunch, for fear that it would ruin her appetite.
"There are going to be sandwiches at the tea party."
"Finger sandwiches?" I asked with a little dread in my voice.
"Oooh god, no. Who would eat that?" she spat back.
I knew she was confused about my meaning but I thought better of trying to explain what I meant. Letter her have her own impressions of what was going to happen at this rotten, girly party. I might get lucky and she might forget this whole business and come back to the Daddy side.
The time came and she hurriedly got ready. I've never seen her so co-operative to get cleaned and polished before. Maybe we should tell her there is a party she's been invited to the next time we need to get her cleaned up. (Though she is actually pretty good about it now that she has become fascinated by the game show booth shower)
The little girl that came down the stairs was NOT my daughter...well of course it was but the little girl that came down the stairs was acting a little bit shy and maybe a little apprehensive about being so dolled up. She didn't burp or fart or swear once... OK really, who's kid was this?
I have to say that in spite of all of that, she really did look very pretty and I was more than a little proud at her for wanting to go all out for this party. It's the kind of thing I always wanted to be invited to as a kid. (No you fool, I didn't want to go to a tea party) I always wanted to go to a party where you dressed up. Still don't know why, I loathe wearing a tie. Now what really made this all worthwhile to me, what the true icing on the tea party birthday cake for me was that the second we walked in, every little girl in that room(and there were an uncomfortable number of them) screamed out her name and came running over to be next to her and touch her and hang out with her. When I came back to pick her up the same little girls told her not to go and held onto her thinking it would prevent her from leaving. One of the girls actually picked her up and carried her around the house...it made me smile and feel kind of warm inside. My baby is popular and has a lot of friends that WANT to be her friends. I take heart in the fact that she is popular and still her own person...I don't see that changing anytime soon.
"Did you have a good time, Pick?" I asked after she got in the car.
"Yep!" (burrp) "We had pop after the tea."
There is nothing wrong with being your own person (which Isobel absolutely is) and being on the fringe because your a little different or a little weird or a little left of the dial. I have been like that most of my life. But in some ways I secretly wanted to be one of the popular kids...just for a little while anyway. Just as long as I didn't have to wear a polo shirt or deck shoes. I guess that's why I ended up with the group of friends I did... I couldn't ever willingly follow the herd the way the popular kids seemed to and dockers just don't hang right over a pair of eight hole Doc Marten's...

I have conceded the fact that she's growing up and becoming more a little girl and less Daddy's little girl. I figured it would happen along the way...just maybe not so soon. I feel fairly certain every father goes through this kind of thing. Children change and grow and become the people they will become.
There are couple of things that remain unchanged. They are things that never fail to make me smile.
If she falls asleep on the couch and I pick her up to carry her upstairs, she will A) Look about the room wildly...(like for real crazy eyes. She scared the hell out of Mrs. Narrator once). And B) she will almost always pat me on the back as I pat her back to take her upstairs.
One of Isobel's favourite weekend morning things is to tell me how bad my breath smells. I f you tell her that everybody (including her) has bad breath in the morning, she refuses to believe it. She thinks it's just me. (I have never shaved on a Saturday morning, I simply wait for the evil of Isobel's breath to melt the hair off my face.
She is brutally honest...with everyone including her friends. Mrs. Narrator came downstairs once after getting ready to go shopping on a Saturday. "OK, seriously, you're wearing that?" she asked.
"Yes," Mrs. Narrator replied. "Why?"
"That does not look good. Seriously."
She had been sick and home from school. Her friend Candace called her up to sing her a song to cheer her up. I myself didn't hear the song. I did hear Isobel say after it was over. "Candace, I didn't really like that song."
Even I am not immune to this brutality. I reached out my had to hold hers as we walked along. "Uh-uh." she grunted.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You have too many tattoos." she replied.
I love the fact that she hears songs on the radio or T.V and then sings them to her friends and says she wrote the. Some of her friends believe that she did...she may have a future in the music industry...or politics...
She is a flat footed farting, giggling, burping, swearing barrel of laughs and six years into this, I can barely remember what my life was like before she came into it...even if I am a shitty parent!

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Home again Home Again Jiggety Jig...Izzy gets VD...

We were walking on the beach and I reached out to hold her hand.
Isobel: "Daddy?"
Daddy: "Yes my sweet Babu?"
Isobel: "Daddy what does the chimp in the movie say?"
Daddy: "Pass the banana pudding?"
Isobel: "No, the movie where he talks. What does he say? Take your hands off me?"
Daddy: "Oh. I know what you mean. The chimp doesn't say it, the guy does."
Isobel: "So what does he say?"
Daddy: (doing my best Charlton Heston) "Get your stinkin' paws off me, you damn dirty ape!"
Isobel: "Get your stinkin' paws off me, you damn dirty ape!"
Daddy: "Yep, that's right."
Isobel: "No really Daddy, let go of my hand I don't want to hold your hand."

"It's oh so nice to go traveling but it's so much nicer to come home..." In who's twisted book?
We were sitting in the sun, on a beach on a foreign shore where people wanted nothing more than to make us happy. Our toes were in the sand, our faces were skyward and hope was springing eternal...maybe that was the pelican slide...It's the same every year, we step off the plane, have a drink or two eat a lot of god damned meat and then it's time to go home.
It did seem this time around, that by the end we were ready to go home. There was still an air of not wanting to leave...it IS the Mexican coast after all. But between American tourists who hate bagpipes at sunset,( really!!?? yeah, uh-huh...) the downhill bed, the boy's first taste of love gone sour, and flat foot paralysis, it seemed we had had enough. The minions never did get their passports sorted so Isobel was ready to go too.
I'd like to say that something fiery and eventful happened on the plane. Isobel freaking out or The Boy rushing the forward cabin unless he was given free wi-fi but the simple truth is nothing like that happened. Nothing like that ever happens, my kids are excellent fliers. Polite and quiet and have been since the beginning. In addition, both are unbelievably charming and usually have a crowd of service personnel around them at some point during the flight. Free snacks abound when Izzy flies... She is available for rent but she demands half the cut of Bits and Bites.
We were tired from the flight and the sitting in that horridly uncomfortable position and the kids were a little wrangy. The Boy's meds had all but worn off and Izzy is just Izzy. The fact alone that they were cooped up for nearly five hours and didn't try to take over the plane is amazing in itself. On the way through customs The Boy had a case of goofy and Izzy hung off the inspection table. Mrs. Narrator and I tried to impress on the children the importance of behaving when the Government is concerned. (Izzy is still wondering what they strip when they search) The inspector gave her a half a grin and waved us through. We were in the van and half way there before it really hit home, that we were home...and the snow was falling.
Mrs. Narrator had a four hour derby practice on our first Sunday back and so it was the kids and me. The Boy played his video games and Izzy spent most of the day upstairs watching T.V. There wasn't a lot of speaking going on and apart from the sun tans we all have, it was any other Sunday around this house. I guess we re-acclimate quickly...some of us anyway. Mrs. narrator came home early, limping. Not because she had injured herself at practice but rather from the break she had taking prior to and including the vacation. She hobbled upstairs and I brought out my cane for her to hobble around on. It lasted about six seconds or one trip around the living room with it.
Izzy grabbed hold of it and immediately turned into a wizened old woman. That act also lasted about six seconds and soon she was wielding it like a mighty staff. And lo the minions did quake!
It was then the beginning of a new week, back to reality...back to work and school and the mines or wherever the minions go when she isn't watching. One odd thing I had noticed since our arrival back home, was that Izzy seemed to be doing all her T.V. watching upstairs in our room. Not unusual in itself but at some point, she will get bored being alone and come downstairs to check out what we are doing. This time, she did not. Not at all since we came home. Monday after school, I went up stairs to see what the new excitement was all about. She had laid out a picnic of sorts. The bag of snacks we had been eating on the plane had been emptied and it's contents laid out carefully on the floor in front of her. She hadn't heard me come upstairs (or maybe she had and just didn't care) and I saw that she was doling out rations to her impassioned followers. "Some for you and you..." She was helping herself too, naturally. She would wield the cane like a sword and threaten starvation but everybody seemed to get something to eat. (I'm guessing this because nobody was told that they weren't going to get anything) I walked into the room and she gave me a look that said "Oh my god, I'm going to get screamed at." I took a deep breath and then calmly told her to make sure no garbage was left in my bedroom.
"Some for you and you and you..." I've never heard call them by name but I sure hope she starts too. I have a great idea for a minion merchandising deal...and all the while I thought it was mouse crap I kept finding upstairs.

It's that time of year again that I dreaded when I was in school. I would spend no small amount of time on the evening of the 13th, carefully preparing an assortment of officially licensed Star Wars cards with clever expressions like' Valentine, you're out of this galaxy!' (I might be paraphrasing) Making sure that everyone in my class got one and that I had given the extra flashy or clever ones to the people I really liked... Amy Hammer always got the best ones. It was difficult to sleep the night before, I knew what was coming. I hoped year after year, that it would be different. It never was, year after year.
February the 14th would come and shortly after lunch, all of our school work would be put away and out would come the paper lunch sacks filled with the home made and store bought Valentines. The contents of the bag would be emptied and you would tape the empty bag to the front of your desk and wait for the greetings of friendship and the swooning words of love to come your way. O.K. maybe not swooning words of love but attention from the girls you had a crush on, could make or break your whole year.
I would hand out my cards, grab my piece of paper towel full of chips and popcorn and take my rice krispy square somebody always made all this stuff for these things but I don't believe it was ever my Mother. She may have, she is an excellent cook but I don't remember ever taking food to school for one of our class parties...I'm wandering.
I would go back to my desk and eat my snacks but not look in the paper lunch sack taped to my desk...I didn't need to. I knew what was in it. It was the same every year. Now I know what you are thinking, 'Ah poor Sid, no Valentines." Not quite. I would get one from Jaimie Seibel every year and one from Carolyn Weber and one from Esther Alexy. But that was it. Three lousy Valentines and from the three people I spent almost every waking moment with. I made out 24 Valentines and got three back for my trouble. From three people who were as odd as me... Why the walk through Hallmark Holidays Past?
Today is Valentines and being the dutiful father, last night I got Izzy and The Boy to fill out Valentines cards for each of their classmates. Mrs. Narrator's suggestion and my total agreement (though for different reasons I suspect) was to just sign the FROM part of the card. My thoughts were that nobody would get the wrong idea and Mrs. Narrator was thinking it was half of the work and none of the name remembering. In retrospect, what six year old is gong to get the wrong idea about Isobel from a Hello Kitty Valentine?
I told Izzy that it was a silly holiday and that if she didn't get a lot of cards, it didn't matter. People like her for what's inside and who she is. No card in the world can make that better or worse. She seemed O.K. with that, if not a little worried about the prospect of not getting any valentines...maybe I shouldn't have said anything? The Boy seemed a little apathetic about the whole thing and I think he did it because he didn't want to feel odd if he was the only one with no cards to give.
So Izzy came home with a kleenex box (brightly decorated with seven and one half pounds of tissue paper) over flowing with Valentines. She said she got more than one from some people in her class and she wasn't sure but she thought that she got the most Valentines of anyone during her class's Valentine's day party. She got a card from the teacher and some gum and cinnamon hearts from a boy in her class. She also said she didn't have time to eat all of her lunch because she was too busy reading all her cards... I saved her a plastic heart ring from one of the cupcakes somebody brought into work today. It's on the floor at my feet as I write this... Anyone who can charm a plane full of flight attendants all the way to Mexico and back has nothing to fear on Valentine's day, least of all an empty lunch bag...is it wrong to envy your kid for being more popular than you were?

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

And a Little child Shall Lead Them...I pledge Allegiance to the Fajita Republic...

We were getting ready to go to the beach and she was sitting in her bar chair, finishing her breakfast. As she swung back and forth, I leaned in to hug her and pattted her back as I did. I continued this routine for laugh but I'm not certain for whom.
Izzy: "Daddy?"
Daddy: "Yes?"
Izzy: "Can I have a hug?"
Daddy: "of course you can, Pick." (hug, hug, hug, pat, pat, pat.)
Izzy: "Thanks, I ..."
Daddy: (hug, hug, hug, pat, pat, pat.)
Izzy: "OK, Daddy. Thanks for..."
Daddy: (hug, hug, hug, pat, pat, pat.)
Izzy: "Daddy..."
Daddy: (hug, hug, hug, pat, pat, pat.)
Izzy: "This is awkward..."
Daddy: "What?"
Izzy: (whispering) "Awkward..."

We have been coming to the Mexico house for four years now and if we have learned anything, it is that being a pedestrian here is a sport. It's not as if the drivers don't give a flying shit about the people walking across the streets,(and they don't. Young, old, healthy or infirm, they will speed along and flatten you just the same) it's the the system they drive within. I asked Ronaldo, the fine fellow who mans the gate to our spacious villa and was informed that the big red octagon signs here that bear the word ALTO don't actually mean stop as one might assume. No, in fact, Alto around here means slow down enough that nothing will stick to the tires if it should fall under wheel.
It's a scary and real hazard anywhere in Mexico and I think we all have just grown accustomed to it. That is until my daughter came to town...
We had come back from the beach as we had so many times before and Isobel andI were preparing to cross the street. We waited for the traffic to disappear (you will note that I didn't say wait until the traffic stopped, it doesn't. Not ever.) It was clear and we crossed to the little island of grass between the two sides of the road. Again we waited for the all clear and headed across the street. I began to notice that she was making sounds. It could have been speech, I guess or it could have been pretend language. Tough to tell with an imagination as active as hers. I thought it was best to err on the side of caution...
"What's the matter, Pick?"
"This is stupid, Mexico sucks!"
"What do you mean?" I asked. "Why would you say that?"
"The cars never stop when we want to cross the street. Don't they know it's dangerous for people trying to cross?"
"I think they do Honey, I just don't think they care. They think where they are going is more important than where we are going so they don't care about anyone else."
She mumbled something I couldn't quite understand but I knew something was stuck in her craw...it was a dangerous place for the world to be. My daughter is six years old but has the pedigree several hundreds of generations of strong and willful women behind her. Coupled with a look that can wither flowers (courtesy of my Grandmother and her sister Auntie Peggy) a pissed of Isobel is bane to all that is crooked and wrong in the universe and a force to be reckoned with. She went to sleep that night without incident but she was distant. Not sullen or trying to avoid anyone, just wanting to be on her own. Perhaps to work something out in her own head. We have learned from past experiences, it is best to let her have these little moments to herself. I am not casting aspersions but what if Napoleon's folks had given him a little more breathing room when he was having an off day when he was a lad?
The next day we went to the beach as always. And waited for the traffic. As always. On both sides of the island...as always. And I guess Isobel had reached that point that all of us reach when we have had enough and throw our hands to the heavens and say 'No More!'
On our way back, as we crossed the street, Isobel stuck her hand out in a half traffic cop stop/half Jedi force hand motion...and the traffic stopped.
OK, first off I know what you're thinking. The traffic stopped because who wants to be the driver who mowed down a seriously mean looking little girl and her, equally mean looking but considerably slower moving, tattooed father? Sure, in the regular world you could ask that question. but not here. This is Old Mexico and if you were paying attention from before, you will remember that the drivers don't give a romping Rhinocerous shit about you or me or Isobel...no matter how fast you are or how many tattoos I have. Which is more than five, by the way. No as far as I am concerned, my little girl willed the traffic to stop. As far as she is concerned too.
And it has happened a hand full of times now. Her stopping the traffic. Today she made note of it.
"Daddy, the cars stop for me you know."
"I know baby," I said. "Why do you think that is?"
"I tried to think about that," she replied. "And I thought cars are stopping because I look at them in a scary way."
"You look like Auntie Peggy." I said.
"Yes," she agreed, not really knowing who in the hell Auntie Peggy was. "And then I thought maybe they stopped because the cars in the front were worried about hitting me and you and then they stopped and the cars behind them were worried about hitting the cars in front and the cars behind them were worried about hitting the cars in front of them until there were no more cars to run into other cars."
"Wow Pick," I said. "That's really smart."
I was honestly impressed by her insight into how the world works and how the souls of humans, in spite of all the evil and wrong doing that surrounds us every day, are basically good.
"But then I thought," she went on. "No, it's me. I am really stopping the cars. The cars are really afraid to get near me."
We're a little afraid too...maybe...

Normally this little screed is about my/our life with the kids. Specifically Isobel but once in a while the life of Mrs. Narrator and I slips in there too. Tonight we went for a meal, the six of us. (Me, Mrs. Narrator Isobel, The Boy and Mrs. Narrator's folks. Got all that? Good because I shant repeat it)
We went to a place called the Fajita Republic and therin they have a little drinky called the New Age Margarita. First off, it is about two and a half shots of Tequila in a glass that they dip in rock salt and then wave a bottle of lime juice over top of it. Then when they bring it to your table, they stick a lime wedge on the side of the glass and dump another shot of Tequila in it for good measure. After one of these beauties the kids understand that Mummy and Daddy are in a really good mood and dinner isn't even at the table yet. After two of them, the kids are thinking that Mummy and Daddy are holding hands and feeding each other and offering food off of their plates to anyone that comes withing two feet of the table and after three of them, the kids are wondering why Mum and Dad are holding hands and singing songs that were on the radio in the '80s. Between us we had eight or nine.
Sometimes vacations are really good for the kids...sometimes vacations are really good for the adults...and sometimes the heavens open (as well as the bottle of Quervo Especiale) and everyone but the crocodiles leaves full and happy....keep your stick on the ice and we'll see you back in Canada next Tuesday.