What's With You...It's Not What you say, it's How You Say It

      I was sitting watching T.V when she came up an made an announcement.

      Isobel: "Daddy, you have the voice of toast."
      Daddy: "Umm...what?"
      Isobel: "You have the voice of toast!"
      Daddy: "Can't even begin to guess what that means but OK."
      Isobel: "It MEANS that you have the voice of toast. Now say something in toast for the people."
      Daddy: "Oh...OK. (fingers covering mouth) Hello Isobel."
      Isobel :"I didn't get that, can you say that again?"
      Daddy: "Um...Hello Isobel?"
      Isobel: "Daddy!"
      Daddy: "What?"
      Isobel: "Not like that."
     Daddy: "Not like what?"
     Isobel : "Not Yiddish toast."


           Well the nest is full again, everyone has come home from the bucolic splendour of the Mexico house. The noise level has risen to fever pitch and the shouts of 'I don't want to go.' and 'I hate snow' and 'This sucks' have all faded away. The kids were far less vocal about being home but just the same it is grand to have us all back under one roof again.
     There is however, a nasty little something that came home. An unwanted and wholly unwarranted little something about four foot tall with an attitude about nine foot wide. I don't know how it happened, I was only there for a week and I guess a lot can happen in a week's absence but somebody replaced my little girl with a seething cauldron of back talk and defiance.
      At first I thought it was pretty funny...particularly because Mrs. Narrator seemed to be suffering the brunt of it. It was a lot of talking back and whining...enough whine to require cheese as a delightful accent or is that detrimental accident? Anyway, there it was, really kind of mean spirited stuff. It wasn't just laughing carelessly at being asked to do something, no it was more Izzy getting up in Mrs. Narrator's grill and laughing AT her. Really, it was quite funny...because it wasn't happening to me. Oh there was more of Isobel climbing into bed with us and nobody sleeping (except Isobel of course) but it wasn't the same thing. her attitude seemed to take on a mean streak. She was being rude because she wanted to be rude.
     A day or two later she drifted from baby talk to Pazuzu's (That's the demon from the Exorcist, for those of you keeping score at home) mother in law and back again. I think maybe she was unsure what approach to take with me. I hate baby talk...even from babies and I won't put up with the other for long. But it came none the less. I don't remember a great deal of what she said but I remember her laughing at me while she said it and it wasn't playful, joyous laughter of a happy child. No this was the mean spirited laughter of the costume department of Star Trek, just after they hand you a red jersey. It was ugly laughter and it was meant to be.
      "How long, exactly, do you think I am going to listen to that?" I asked her.
      "Hahaha, I don't care." she replied.
      "Really, wanna play the laughing game?"
       "What's that?" she asked.
       "It's where I tell you to knock this crap off and go to your room and not come out until I tell you."
       "That doesn't sound fun."she said.
       "It'll be great fun for your mother and me." I replied.
      "Are you serious?" she asked.
    The tone of her voice changed in that small instant when she realized I likely was serious.
      "Try me and find out," I said.
       She continued to act in this snotty and not at all my daughter kind of way for a while but she seemed to keep it more in the living room with her mother. I don't know why the kids pull this kind of stuff more with their mother than with me. Maybe it is my commanding presence and ultra-authoritative voice...maybe I just have one of those faces but they don't do it to me for very long.
      It is March break around here and maybe only a week back at school before another full week off is just not enough time to really get your seven year old shit together and settle in for appropriate behaviour. (whatever the hell that is) I'm just glad she's home, warts and all. It's nice to hear the stomping of little flat feet through the house again...even if they are running away from a shouting parent.


     I am starting to notice a trend with The Boy and I think it is indicative of his impending teenage-hood. It doesn't matter what you ask of him, his response is virtually always the same. It's as though you have asked him to perform the most vile task you could possibly think of.
      "It's time to get off the computer," you can say to him.
      "ALRIGHT." he will reply in that tone that says 'jesus Sid, how many times are you going to ask me?' (Just the once so far)
      "Take you dishes to the kitchen."
      "I can't do everything at the same time!" he says. (Is it the multiple dishes you're having issues with or are you losing your ability to carry with both hands?) 
     You can even see it in his face, when you ask him to do...well anything, it's as if you are holding a small cat turd just under his nose and asking him to have a good old lick of before he gets off the computer.
      I'd like to say for the record, that I never did this kind of thing when I was his age or any other age for that matter. I'd like to say that but I suspect that after the words left my fingers, my Mother  would have discovered the method for sending a cuff up the back of the head via email.

      No, I suspect these are the shades of things to come...The Boy is growing up and that's pretty god damned scary...I may need to start a blog of his own. "Vitriol from the Spotty Pale Chin"