A Christmas Carol

Last night I took Izzy to see A Christmas Carol. We were so sick all weekend that all we did was lay around and try to recover. When I asked Izzy if she wanted to go, she asked if her daddy was “abaylable” to take her. When I said no, she said she was “unabaylable” to go with me. How do you like that? I lovingly carried her inside me for nine months, undergoing horrible heart burn, swollen body parts and losing everything that used to be symmetrical but I’m not qualified to take this child to the movies. I have to cut her a little bit of slack as Chase has been gone for going on three weeks now and we are all starting to feel the ache. But on with the story. When she decided I could take her, she would only go it she could wear her cowgirl boots. My brother-in-law was completely horrified that I would let her leave the house wearing them. I tried to tell him that as long as she wasn’t walking around with her underwear on the outside while sporting a tin foil hat, I wasn’t inclined to argue with her. When we got to the movies, Izzy said, “Hey this is the place Daddy takes me. Is he here?” What do you say? I have no idea but when I figure it out, I will let you know. The movie was actually pretty good but not quite as light and airy as the Mickey Mouse version. When we got into the theater, she sat one seat away from as not to risk humiliation of her preschool chums seeing us out in public together. By the time ghost one appeared, she was next to me. By ghost two, we were holding hands. Ghost three landed her right in my lap with her eyes peeking out from behind her chubby little fingers. I felt like I was traumatizing the poor thing but she didn’t want to leave. I’m glad I didn’t take her to the 3D version because life long nightmares probably would have taken hold. Why can’t these Hollywood types leave well enough alone?