Irrepressible, Irreplaceable, Irresistible Isaiah

I took the Isaiah (age 9) to Great Clips for a haircut the other day--an occasion which he thoroughly enjoys since it involves a motorized chair, a mirror (in which to make faces), a captive audience (the stylist), and of course, food (a lollipop) at the end.  I settled in with a magazine by the window as he settled in to ride the chair.  

It was just a haircut.  What could go wrong?

"So", said the stylist, "Are you looking forward to starting school."

"Oh!  I'm home-schooled,"  Isaiah replied.  "We don't do school." 

Wait, what?   My head snaps up and mild panic sets in. "We do school," I mumble to no one in particular--as if to reassure myself.

I slouch down a little, and clutch my magazine a little tighter.

Stylist:  "Oh, well you must do some school."


Isaiah (thinking for a long moment):  "Nope.  Not really.   But I like playing in the creek."

My magazine started to wrinkle in my fists.  I considered standing up, reciting Isaiah's daily academic schedule, and declaring my commitment to quality education, but decided against it.  Instead I tried to disappear behind the cover of U.S. News and World Report.


Stylist to Isaiah:  "You need to stop moving around so much."

Isaiah (writhing to the left and holding his side):  "I'm having a hard time because on the way here, Elijah whacked me with his elbow.  I'm pretty sure I have a blister on my liver."

Stylist (lip twitching):  "That sounds pretty painful."

 Isaiah:  "It is."  (Pause)  "Hey, did you know you can kill someone if you hit them really hard in the nipple?"

**At this point I will pause for a side note:  If you ever want to suck all the air out of a room, try saying that.  It's rather remarkable!**

As soon as Isaiah let loose with his proclamation, every conversation in the salon went dead.  The scissors stopped.  Two rows of clients and stylists turned and clapped their eyes on the small boy who sat serenely making faces under his new haircut.  

My crumpled magazine fell from shaking fingers.

"Temple!"  I half shrieked, as I rose up out of the ashes of my embarrassment like a wild-eyed phoenix.  

"HAHAHA, he meant to say TEMPLE!  Right, Isaiah?  Temple!  Not nipple!  Sometimes he confuses 'dimple' with 'pimple' too."  

The rest of the scene is a little blurry.  I have a vague recollection of half- throwing a coupon and some money across the desk and lunging for the door.  I think my face was on fire and I'm pretty sure I saw Isaiah grab at least two suckers, but beyond that, the details get hazy. 
 
I may have shouted, "And we DO do school!!" to whoever was left in the waiting room as the door closed behind me, but I can't be sure.  

It was just supposed to be a haircut, but like so much of my boy's life, it turned into a "memorable event", which is why I am writing this post.

My life is so much richer because of  his existence, and while that is true of every single one of my children, it just so happens that I am noticing Isaiah's impact all the more right now because he is gone for his week of  "Grandparents' Camp" at Papa and Grandma Sally's farm.  It has only been two days and I miss his sweet face already.  

There are tiny reminders of him all over the house.

The milk is lasting way too long in the fridge, as is the yogurt, and I am not finding apple cores all over the porch.  The laundry has gone down by 1/3 and no one is thundering down the stairs every five minutes.  But mostly I am missing his wide smile and exuberant spirit.  

And his unfettered tongue.  

The tracks in Isaiah's mind are fast and winding.  Sometimes he gathers information, puts it together and makes an observation that wows us all.  Such insight!  Such wit!

Sometimes.

  Other times he combines ideas and they grow hair and scream and explode, like the Great Clips episode...

...and like when we were doing a midnight crossing last month from Canada to the U.S. and the border patrol agent was doing his "friendly interrogation" of Jamey in the front, and all of the sudden Isaiah's voice comes roaring up from the back seat, "HEY DAD!  HOW WOULD THEY EVEN KNOW IF YOU WERE LYING? "

Oh, my dear Isaiah!  Let's just say it's a good thing he was three rows back.


Actually, I knew that Isaiah would live large and loud from the moment I met him.  He arrived in haste, with bold features,  wild hair, and strong opinions on everything.  He screamed for three straight months while I scrambled to figure out what he was saying with such ear-splitting persistence. 

It turns out he didn't want gentle soothing.  He wanted vigorous bouncing and tight squeezes and  music with a beat and wind on his face.  He finally learned to sleep in a hammock dangling from a spring (originally designed for crack babies!)  The bed almost never stopped moving, and that's the way he liked it.

The boy knows what he wants.

I remember one interminable trip from NC to MI. Baby Isaiah had cried so long that three of the other kids started crying over the torture of being trapped in the same car with him.  I felt like crying myself.  I had pulled out every trick I knew.  My torso had been twisted back and wedged into the space between the two front seats for so long that I wondered if the contortion would be permanent.   In desperation, Jamey put on a Disciple CD loud enough to drown out the wails.  

Within seconds of hearing the driving bass line and squealing guitars from the Christian rock band, Isaiah was asleep.  

By the time he could talk, he would ask for "lullabies" and mean "anything with lots of drums".

Another trait which manifested early was his mannish appetite.  After eating like a ravening wolf for the first half year of his life, he suddenly went on a baby food hunger strike at 6 months, sending me into a panic.  For several days he would look at the puree I was trying to feed him and then glare at me with steely eyes and clenched jaw.  At the start of one meal, I noticed him staring Jamey down as he ate a piece of steak.  

It wasn't possible that a six month old could be craving steak, right?  How could he be?

 Jamey put a few shreds of meat on his fork, waved it in front of Isaiah's mouth, and we watched in wonder as he lunged forward, snarfed it down, and began bouncing and grunting in his seat.  Jamey scrambled to cut up more and from that day forward, he ate man-food along with his milk.

Yes, from day one, Isaiah has been one of those wonderful people who blaze their own trail, sing their own songs, speak their own language, and invite the rest of us to the party--if we dare. 

And we do, Buddy!  We dare!  We all miss you, and when you have fully entertained Papa and Grandma, we'll be here waiting for you. 

With apples;)