Tuesday, April 2, 2013

The Heart and Soul of the Blog...Mrs. Narrator Cries Big Sloppy Tears at the loss of her Youth...

      She was sitting on the counter, 'helping me' make the lunches and espousing about the evils of the world.

      Isobel: "Daddy, do you know that if you stay on the computer too long you can die?"
      Daddy: "Sorry?"
      Isobel: "If you stay on the computer too long it can kill you. There are these things called viruses."
      Daddy: "Those are a different kind of virus, honey. They don't make you sick, they make your computer sick."
      Isobel: "No, our teacher said that too much time on the computer wasn't good for you and there are bad things with computers called viruses and you always talk about getting viruses too."
      Daddy: "Well that is true but I didn't..."
      Isobel: "And viruses are bad, right?"
      Daddy: "Well yes but..."
      Isobel: "So my teacher was right, too much time on the computer will give you a virus and you can die."



      So it was that time of the decade and I ventured out to clean my car. Izzy was eager to help and that was a very good thing because ninety percent of the god-damned mess was hers anyway. So there we were, garbage bags and cleaning rags in hand and gas masks firmly in place, when lo and behold what should Izzy find but the jolly elf himself.
      "Santa!" Izzy squealed and I knew in an instant that St. Nick had just robed me of my helper. Off she went to sit on the porch and catch up with an old friend.
       I should state here that Santa has been in my car almost literally since the last time I wrote about him-forgotten and filthy. His youth seemingly returning as his white beard became brown with mud and his once proud, welcoming arms now twisted and floppy after months of being stomped on by a little girl too busy to pay him any mind.
      "Daddy can we put new batteries in Santa?" she asked.
      "Well," I said in a totally non-committal kind of way. "Geez, I don't know if he'll still work. He's been in the back of my car and under your feet for along time. I think he might be broken fore good."
      "We could try anyway." she said with a tone of pleading in her voice.
      "We can try." I agreed.
      So we did. We put fresh batteries in the fat man and Izzy pushed the button...well half of a Santa dance is better than no Santa dance, right?
      "Daddy!" she screamed with delight. "The switch is on demo, that's why Santa only goes half way!"
     She moved the switch over and sure enough Santa gave us the full dance. Izzy was beside herself with joy. She has been making him dance almost non stop since we brought him back to life. She has even made him an accomplice in her latest game called 'Bad Cat.' This involves imprisoning one of the cats in the overturned laundry basket while Santa perches on top and sings his Christmas hip hop song. It's good to see the littlest dictator and her chief lieutenant together again.
      I started to see parallels between Santa and this blog...I would see Santa every day, every time I would take the kids to school or drive somewhere, there would be a flash of red in my line of sight. Nothing so obvious as 'Oh, there's Santa' but just the same knowing it was him and how important a role he played for Izzy. This blog is the same way I think. It's not always uppermost in my mind (or any body's for that matter) but it's always there just below the surface occupying a place of some measure of importance...and just when I think it might be time to throw it away, a new dose of batteries get put into it and away we go again.
      So I guess as long as Santa can stick around and provide fun and enjoyment just by doing his thing, we should too. So thanks to you all and...Merry Christmas?

      The world we live in now is very different from the world I grew up in. I don't remember the first time my attentions turned to the fairer gender but I do remember I was completely uninformed about the entire topic. Now if I had grown up in the world my children are growing up in, things might have been entirely different. The Internet is a wondrous tool with vast resources and all of the knowledge of the world at your fingertips.
      To that end, I don't think we can call him The Boy anymore. Not to put too fine of a point on it but calling him The Boy just doesn't seem to cut it anymore. Children grow and I am starting to understand that it is harder on the parents than it is on the children. Children want to grow up...and why not. Being a kid sucks if you're a kid. Go to bed when they tell you, get up when they tell you, clean your room, eat your vegetables get off the god-damned computer- when I grow up, I am not going to do any of that crap. But for the parents, watching your babies grow up and leave the nest is to be faced with the fact that while they are growing up, we are growing older.
     Ah so many things change and continue to change until the house is empty and you're left with your memories and visits during the holidays...next time you see Mrs. Narrator, buy her a drink or some hair dye...I think she might need it. The Boy ain't a Boy anymore...

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