You could put an exact replica of Isobel in front of me and I would know it wasn't my kid. She could look the same, have the same speech and mannerisms. She could walk, talk and even smell the same (though her particular bouquet might be hard to reproduce) and I would know. Right down to the placements of all her moles and birthmarks, from her crooked teeth to her crushing stubbornness and I would still know it wasn't my Isobel. How?
Isobel: "Come here!"
Daddy: "You sounded just like me."
Isobel: "Daddy...come here!"
Isobel: "You have no respect for pizza!"
I spend a lot of time (probably an inordinate amount of time) wondering if my kid will turn out like me. I mean I know from a biological standpoint that she is mine....have you met Isobel? Jesus, who else's kid could she be? I worry though that she won't pick anything up from me that's..me, you know?
Because it is inevitable, that we become distilled versions of our parents and I just hope that Izzy ends up with some of the better parts of my personality. I think I may have ended up with
most of the worst qualities of my folks but there are a few things that I am proud of and I hope that is what she gets from me.
Anyway I came across one of her seven hundred and fifty one notebooks this week and it made me smile and let me know that she had at least picked up one thing from me. This foolishness-this pouring out of thoughts and words regardless of who will see or read them
I always wrote, for as long as I can remember. Sometimes it was stories, sometimes it was just thoughts, sometimes it was just words that didn't mean anything to anyone but me in that very moment they were put on the page. It took me a long time before I let anyone see them and I was always worried what they thought when I did. -Still do.
Izzy has taken it upon herself to carry the torch...
Day1: Today I wentto Mexico!.
I went into the Villae
and its in Paradis Villiee.
Its relly fun in Mexico
Thar is so meny new
pepolle you met at Mexico.
Today we are stayine at the
bech untill sunset. it will
be Happy Howre. that is
How loe we'll stay for.
I will ortr Lemonad
Oma will have Lemonold
Wint boz in it.
That's all. bye!
today I went boge bordine
it was fun! BUT thay wert good wavse. still fun!
I LOVED it. I LOVE the
bech it is fun and its so hot Im
swetine. no litrley Im swetine.
Gus waht I can do a back
flip underwatre! TOWE
Toda Im not in
Mexico eny mare.
Im sad but it's
all so werm her!
I still like it!
Its Eun here7
I lave it but I wate
Like to gobak to
Mark my words, you will see more from her...I'm sure Woodward and Bernstein started this way...
I suck at math...always have. I am far too right brained for that. apparently so is Isobel.
I came home and found a piece of paper stuck to the window in the living room. She had clearly been practicing math...she had clearly bitten off more than she could chew...
1. 2+2 = 4
2. 4+4 = 8
3. 8 1/ Jc 'cd scribble, scribble, scribble.
Strictly speaking, math isn't super important beyond the basics...I suppose she could just ask people how much things cost and hope for the best, right?