Getting in the pool with 9-year-old Isabella…
Iz: Ew, Daddy! There’s a bug!
Me: A bug? What kind of bug?
Iz: It’s a beetle with wings! Ewww!
Me: Is his name Paul McCartney?
Iz: Wait. What?
Me: Well, you said Beatle. with Wings. So, Paul, then.
Iz: What are you talking about?
Me: Certainly not Ringo. And John and George have left us.
Iz: Can I splash you now?
A typical car ride home:
After school, pulling up to a stoplight, I mention the guy on the bike with the empty baby seat behind him.
Me: Oo. Look at that invisible baby!
Julianna (she’s 11): What baby? Where?
Me: On the bike, behind the guy.
Isabella (9): Daddy, there’s no baby there?
Me: Yes, there is. It’s invisible.
J: Dad, there’s no baby there.
Iz: Yeah, the chair is empty.
Me: It’s an invisible baby. (Scientifically wistful…) They are very rare.
J: Wait. You can see it? An actual baby?
Me: Yes, definitely.
[emotions rise]
Iz: How do you know there’s a baby there?! I can’t see it!
J: Yeah, how?! How can you see an invisible baby?!
[I pause]
Me: Because, I know what an invisible baby looks like.
Girls: Daaaaad!
And, this is why they hate me.
Taking the girls to school this morning, we get in the car.
The dashboard beeps and tells me:
“Oil Maintenance Required”
Required? Like I’m taking an SAT quiz. Or I got arrested last week buying coke from a street dealer? And, I have to take a blood test?
Wait, where were we? Oh. On oil. (Two instances of alliteration there. Shakespeare.)
Then, the dashboard beeps:
Low Gas. 8 miles.
I know that, but Costco is 10 miles that way, and school is 12 miles the other way. Girls, I think we can make it. No guarantees.
(Funny thing about buying a Prius: Yeah, it gets 46 miles a gallon, but the tank is about a thimble full. You’re still at the gas station every other day. Like with your compensating-much? Hummer.)
Then, out of nowhere, the what-the-hell-is-this light (flat tire, as I learned) comes on. Doesn’t tell me which tire, just “a” tire, Shit.
So, I pull over and check. It all looks good.
We head to school.
Isabella (she’s 9): Dad, I don’t think you closed your door all the way.
Me: Why, Honey?! Why?
Iz: Because of the alarm. And the wind.
Shit. I pull over.
Me: Is everyone Ok? Seat belts? Bagel Bites? Fuzzy Bunnies? Whatever.
Girls: Yes.
Me: So we’re good?
Julianna (she’s 11): Yes. Except for the gas thing…
Me: Leave it alone.
Julianna: Also, the flat tire.
Me: Alone. Leave it. Yoda. Said.
Surprise, I get the girls to school. No flats. A cheap gas station is literally a block away. Everything is good. Then, I get home.
When I turn off the car. Beeeep: Key Battery Low.
Excuse me? Keys have batteries? Since when. You are kidding me, right:
Prius: No, dude. FOB. Battery. Google it.
Shit. Why does my car hate me?
I have, from time to time, been unkind to the local Los Angeles “classic rock” radio stations for rehashing the top 40 from 40 years ago (minus the disco), and not really going too deep into the well of great classic songs.
And, the band they use to justify their rockness as a station is Led Zeppelin. 10 songs per day. Minimum. They play Zep as if they were the Second Coming of the Beatles. Instead of playing, you know, the Beatles.
And, to complain is blasphemy.
Here’s the Daddy/Daughter Fun Time perspective:
After gymnastics, I pick up Isabella (she’s 9) and as if on cue, “Whole Lotta Love” comes on.
Me: I’m going to let this play, because you need to know this song. It is a classic, if overplayed, song from the 1970s. You need to know this song.
Isabella: What’s a Led Zeppelin? And, you were alive in the 1900s?
Me: Yes, Jesus. (Quick explanation of the band going over like a Lead Zeppelin, etc.)
Iz: Oh, so it’s ironic! They want to be high, but they are too heavy.
Me: Yes, Honey. They were high.
Song keeps going…
Iz: When he says “I want to give you every inch of my love,” what does he mean?
Me: Um…
Iz: Because, Daddy, you really can’t measure love. And, if you could, why would you only measure it in inches? Why not in feet or yards or miles. Or, what’s the thing in space?
Me: Light years?
Iz: Yeah, light years. How far away is the Sun?
Me: I don’t know, maybe 8 minutes at light speed, I think…
Iz: How many inches of love is that?
Me: 8 minutes if you’re lucky. Let’s listen to NPR, Ok?
True story, just today:
Iz: Daddy, what is a “bulge?”
Me: It’s like a bump in something. Usually, its bigger than just a bump. Like my belly. My belly is a big bump. A bulge.
Iz: But, You’re just fat.
But, what’s the difference between “Speed” and “Speeding?”
Me: Uhh. Why?
Iz: Because, we just passed a police motorcycle.
Me: Crap!
Iz: Daddy, what is crap? Speed?
Me: Shit!
Iz: Daddy, what’s that? Speeding?
How do we make a semi-OCD, definitely anxiety-prone daughter go crazy? Welcome to Vegas.
Julianna (11 years old): Dad, I cant look! Stop! I can’t stop looking!
One of those arcade Quarter-pushing games.
Circus Circus Arcade. Las Vegas. One of the many ways Vegas takes your money.
Daaaaad! Stop!
Julianna: I don’t want them to fall, necessarily. I just don’t want them to “maybe” fall. But, I want them to fall. Aaahhhhh! Look, there’s Skee-Ball.
On the way in to school, the girls insist on controlling the music.
Someone named Ke$ha (though, I think she now goes by “Kesha,” because she finally wants to assimilate into American society.)
The song is “Die Young,” typical disposable pop music with some of the worst rapping you are likely to hear. This side of me in the shower doing Young MC’s “Bust a Move.” (Try to wipe that visual out of your mind.)
Kesha (singing): Let’s make the most of the night
Like we’re gonna die young.
Like we’re gonna die young.
Julianna (she’s 11): Daddy, know what? You’ll never die young!
Isabella (9): Hahaha! Good one, Julianna! Because, Daddy. You see, you are already old. So you’ll never die young! Only old!
J: Yes! Hahaha!
Me: Yes, Sweetie. I understand joke structure. And, I appreciate a good diss when I hear one. Like in a couple years, when they ask you to spell “vengeance,” and you spell it T-O-U-C-H-É.
J: What?
Me: Time-relea$e… You’ll understand one day.
Iz: Hahaha! I don’t get it.
Julianna (she’s 11) is steadily improving on the violin. Her musician mother and father couldn’t be happier.
Me: Honey, what key is this piece in?
J: It is in D Major.
Me: And, how do you know?
J: Because, the key signature has an F hashtag and a C hashtag.
I sigh.
Me: Sorry, Honey. As a musician, I have failed you. And, sadly, it probably won’t be the last time in your life that I do that.
J: I know, Daddy. That’s Ok. This wasn’t the first time, either… Sigh…
I’ve been giving Isabella (she’s 9) a hard time lately (if you’ve followed the blog). But, sometimes she is spot on right.
On the way to gymnastics:
Iz: Who are we listening to?
Me: The Beatles. Sgt. Pepper. One of the greatest songs ever.
Iz: Yes. I love this song!… Mommy is a musician. Right?
Me: Yes. Mommy is a fine Musician.
(Then, the words that cut…)
Iz: You used to be one of those, too. Right? A musician?
Me: Once upon….
As I arrive at her designated drop off. I swear, there’s something in my eye.
It’s not even 9am on a Saturday. A Saturday! And I have people yelling at me.
And, by people, I mean 9-year-old Isabella.
I flip on the TV, and it is still on last night’s Science channel. Right now, they are talking about the moon and gravity and tides. (I’m leaving out a lot of nuance here, but you’ll get the idea.)
Iz: Daddy, what are tides.
Me: Well, the earth and moon have gravity, right.
Iz (pissy, bossy): I knooow that.
Me: Well, you don’t know about tides.
Iz: Yes, I do. Because, the moon and the earth have gravity.
Me: I just told you that! You asked me about tides, and I’m trying to explain. Do you know the moon’s gravity affects the earth?
Iz: Of course. It makes the waves. Everybody knows that.
Me: Not exactly.
Iz (ultra-pissy): Yes it does. Tell me something I don’t know.
Me (and, I said this understanding the full ramifications at 8:46 in the morning): Ok, here’s something you don’t know. You won’t get breakfast on this beautiful Saturday morning.
Immediately:
Iz: Noooooooooooooooo!
Tears streaming. Arms flailing. Legs thrashing. The whole 9 yards. (And, then some)
Me: Do you want to hear about gravity?
Iz: No!
Me (pressing on with the lesson-of-the-day): Sometimes the moon’s gravity pulls on the ocean and makes the water come closer to the land. Sometimes, the moon is on the other side of the earth and it pulls the water away from the land. That’s a tide.
Iz: Yeah, I knew that.
Me: Of course you did. Because that’s why you asked me what a “tide” was.
Iz: No I didn’t! Why do you lie?!
Me: Honey, there’s a transcript.
Readers, a transcript.
Me: Do you want Honey Nut Cheerios or waffles?