Bye Bye, 2012

I need to be showered, dressed and preparing more food for our little New Year's celebration with the Reinkes in 31 minutes, so here's a quickie post, mostly because I'm embarrassed and disappointed in myself that I haven't posted anything since 12/19 but also because I feel that I should give an official good-bye to 2012 and hello to 2013.

I did a quick jot of some New Year's Resolutions (aka Goals) for 2013 and thought I'd share them.  My goal before I shower, dress and start to prepare food was to have 10 -- I may add some but I will not take any of these away.  Here they are:

1. Introduce monthly goals back into life.  I will start January as no-pop month.
2. Make 100 blog entries for the year.
3. Read 6 books.
4. Run the ½ Marathon in Naperville… whenever it is.
5. Run at least 9 miles per week.
6. Work out at least 4 times per week.
7. Sign Cal up for swimming lessons.
8. Wrap for-sure-not-to-be-returned Christmas presents as they are bought (within 2 days of buying them).
9. Put up more Christmas lights next year – currently thinking on bedroom windows, on all bushes in the front of our house and draped across entertainment center and at landing
10. Sign up for and attend full set of yoga classes. (Note: class would count as a workout day.)

Good-bye 2012 -- you were pretty good to me overall.  And I look forward to you, 2013 -- I think you'll be better!

Happy, Healthy New Year, everyone!

Robin Junior Leatherman

Robin Junior Leatherman joined our family on December 1, 2012.  Only a foot tall and weighing less than a pound, Robin’s presence and travels are recognized daily by all in the Leatherman household.  He has striking blue eyes, a perky nose, rosy cheeks and a permanent grin that can be infectious.  He is always wearing a red suit with a matching red hat and has been found sitting on shelves and window sills, hanging on light fixtures, perching on a wreath or a tree and sitting on a reindeer, train bank or easel… whimsically operating without a plan.

Robin in candle

Wherever Robin starts the day, he finishes it, quietly watching and listening in between.  He has x-ray vision and is capable of seeing us wherever we are, even when we’re not at home.  He never speaks, and we never touch him.  These are the rules, which, to my surprise, are respected by everyone.  When the kids are sleeping at night, Robin travels back to the North Pole (how he does this we can only explain as magic) to give Santa a report on Cal and Ella Leatherman.  I don’t know how this exchange goes; but I like to think that a long report is a clear sign of a good day, and a brief report is an implied rough day.  There’s no need to burden Santa with the details of the bad stuff.

Robin’s arrival came at a good time.  We were coming off of several weeks (exact duration unknown) of unprecedented stubbornness, disrespect and uncooperativeness out of our first born.  Every request we made seemed to be met with a “no” or “my hands are broken” or “I don’t know how.”  It wasn’t uncommon for Dan and me to field “I don’t like you” comments, even when it was unwarranted (not that I think this is ever warranted; but he would even say it in response to a non-controversial question like “what socks do you want to wear, Cal?”  Response: “I don’t like you, Mommy.”) Our morning routine of getting dressed, putting shoes and coats on and heading to the car was typically ending with shouts and tears out of everyone, about which Cal would forget by the end of the day but from which Dan and I may still not be fully recovered.

Cal is fully aware of Robin’s purpose.  We drilled it into his head when we slowly read him the story of the Elf on the Shelf and first introduced him to Robin.  We ensured his full attention was on me and every word of the story I read, and he didn’t skip a beat when we ended the story by asking him what he’d like to name our elf – “Robin Junior Leatherman!” Cal exclaimed.

Robin and Moose

Robin?  Where’d this come from?  Red Elfie, maybe.  Cal has a tendency to name his animals what they are -- there’s Monkey, Skinny Monkey, Moose, Big Teddy, Teddy Bay-yeh, Teddy Sox, B (short for Bear)… to name a few.  We didn’t question it and immediately referred to our elf as Robin (or “Dobbin” if it’s Ella doing the referring).

Since Robin’s arrival, Cal’s behavior does seem to have improved.  When he misbehaves or has an unwelcome sharp tongue, we immediately pull Robin into the situation for help – that exchange might go something like this:

Cal: <jumping on the couch>

Dan: “Cal, please stop jumping on the couch.”

Cal: <continues jumping>

Dan: “Robin, Cal’s jumping on the couch even though we asked him not to.”

Cal: “No! Don’t tell Robin.”

Dan: “We don’t have to tell him – he can see and hear you on his own.”

Sometimes there’s a bit more of a struggle to get him to stop from there; but oftentimes, there’s not and the misbehavior stops immediately upon pulling Robin in to the fight.  Regardless, I find it promising that there’s at least some recognition of wrongness in the scenario.  Clearly Cal understands he’s in the wrong – why else would he not want us to tell Robin?

To be honest, I expected Robin to have a bigger impact than he has.  Maybe it wasn’t that I expected it so much has hoped he’d make all of our mind-boggling struggles with our fiery 4-year-old completely disappear, at least through the holidays.  I’ve come to terms with the fact that that’s not going to happen.  It was really an unrealistic dream.  I do feel like Robin is another tool for us, though, another incentive to get Cal to cooperate, listen and just be nice.  Like the threat of timeouts or having toys taken away, the possibility that Robin might relay misbehaviors to Santa is typically enough to turn Cal around for the better.  When he cooperates, Cal will ask us to tell Robin, as in “tell Robin I washed my hands before dinner when you asked me to").  We usually oblige that request and then follow it up with “you know, we don’t have to tell Robin this because he already knows you did because he can see and hear you.”

Robin in my stocking

Finally, Robin is a daily diversion we’ve come to count on.  Every morning, whether in the middle of a clothing war with Cal or trying to get Ella to de-focus on her “binkie” or actually functioning struggle-free, we ask the question, “Where’s Robin? Let’s go find Robin!”  And this is always met with a happy march around the house to find Robin perched somewhere, Ella uttering the same phrases, “Dobbin?” and “No fall” and “Nice.”

Robin’s going to be around for only five more days, and then he’ll be heading back to the North Pole until December, 2013 comes around.  Thinking about this actually makes me sad.  I’m going to miss his daily movement and our daily interactions with him. I think the kids will, too; and I just hope his stay with us in 2012 has a lasting effect on Cal well into 2013.

Robin and Santa

My Chapstick

I don’t know what it is about lip balm that my kids are so drawn to.  My guess is it’s an inclination to mimic – they see me using it and want to use it just like I do.  I wouldn’t mind this so much except they don't use it just like I do. I’d say of the 10 or so lip balms I have somewhere in my possession, half of them are bumpy, nicked up either by the kids’ teeth or their poor cap re-application and then smoothed a bit after a couple of uses by me.

To be fair, Cal used to have some poor lip balm skills but has made huge strides over the last six months or so – he manages to apply it to his lips now and usually misses his teeth in the process.  Probably the worst thing Cal does anymore is apply the lip balm to wet lips.  Ella on the other hand, is completely unskilled, hitting every bit of and in the mouth area, and a little misguided about the general purpose of lip balm.

Imagine this scene this past Sunday:  Ella, fighting a cold for a few days, had wet boogers streaming from her nose.  She headed for the nightstand next to my bed, I assume to grab a tissue to wipe her nose.  Instead of a tissue she excitedly grabbed the Chapstick I had mistakenly left out instead of putting in the drawer, safe from the abusers of it.  Nuts! Ella looked at me and smiled ear-to-ear.

A stand-off followed.  We both stood in one place, staring into each other’s eyes, both wanting that Chapstick for different reasons.  I was waiting for the right moment to make the move to take her by surprise; and she was waiting for me to make that move, ready to dart as soon as I made it. Not in the mood for a chase, I opted to use my words first.  “Ella, give me the Chapstick,” I insisted.  She only smiled a cocky smile in response.  “Ella, give me the Chapstick, please,” I said, as if adding a “please” would help the situation.  Again, she only smiled.

Before I had a chance to change my approach and just tackle her (gently), Ella had pulled the cap off of the Chapstick.  Oh, no.  For whatever reason, I was frozen in my tracks as I watched and hoped my Chapstick would not be abused.  Still smiling, she stared at me and raised the Chapstick up to her face.  “No!” I exclaimed, knowing now exactly what was about to happen.  And she did it – she drew the Chapstick to her face, directed it to the section between her nose and mouth and (gulp!) smeared my Chapstick on top of the stream of mucus that had settled in that area.  Ew! Better stated, she smeared her mucus all over my Chapstick.

The damage done, I managed to wrestle the Chapstick and cap from her death-like grip.  A frugal person to my core, I couldn’t throw it away; so I placed it in the drawer of my nightstand.  Perhaps I’d forget about the layer of mucus sitting at the top of the stick of balm and get some good use out of it.

Needless to say, I did not forget about what had happened to my Chapstick.  I needed some lip balm last night, reached for that same Chapstick in my drawer and remembered vividly Ella’s grody mishandling of it.  I pulled the cap off and slowly drew it to my lips, cringing as I did so.  And with a quick, just-get-it-over-with swipe, I applied it to my lips.  I figure the first application after the dirty deed is the worst – all others should be clear of Ella’s mucus from here on out.

Happy Birthday, Choo Choo Johnny's Style



We went to Choo Choo Johnny's tonight to celebrate Cal's 4th birthday. Choo Choo Johnny's is a train-themed restaurant about 10 minutes from our house. At Choo Choo Johnny's, they serve excellent food (I tell people that Dan and I will likely go there for lunch and/or dinner even after the kids have outgrown it), offer a simple selection of ice cream and provide entertainment via its various trains. There's an electric train set up at the front of the restaurant with two giant red buttons for kids to push to trigger the running of the train. Another train constantly circles the restaurant on elevated tracks near the ceiling. A larger, kid-sized train engine sits parallel to a wall near a couple of other video games, begging for kids to go for a ride on it -- for 50 cents, the engine will light up and gently rock back and forth for a minute or so. Or for 0 cents, the engine just sits there; and kids enjoy it almost as much. Perhaps the best train is the one that delivers your food to your seat. A set of train tracks line the oval counters outlined by fixed, low bar stools. When your order is ready, the conductor waitress pushes a train horn; and soon a train with cars carrying your food in plastic baskets is on its way to your seats.



 

Cal loves Choo Choo Johnny's. We're on their emailing list for specials and birthday coupons, of which we take full advantage. So it came as no surprise that he wanted to go to Choo Choo Johnny's for his birthday. I think that when he originally mentioned it, he had visions of a big birthday bash on his mind; however, he was perfectly content celebrating with just the four of us.

 

Choo Choo Johnny's does a little something extra for birthday boys and girls. Birthday boys and girls are entitled to a scoop of ice cream, choosing from the traditional flavors of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry as well as some fancier ones, such as cookies 'n cream, chocoloate chip cookie dough or my favorite (and what used to be Cal's go-to) "Superman" (which I think tastes like cake batter). The scoop is delivered to the birthday child via the train. A lit candle is placed in the center of the scoop, and the conductor waitress walks alongside the train as it encircles the counter, her hands cupped around the flame of the candle to prevent it from blowing out. Once the train arrives in front of the birthday child, the conductor waitress announces that it's So-and-So's birthday and she and the other conductor waitress break into the Choo Choo Johnny's birthday song, clapping as they sing it.

 

Anyone who's read my many Facebook posts with quotes or "doings" of Cal or read any of my earlier blog posts must figure that Cal is a ham and no stranger to attention from his peers, older kids and adults. He is bold and will talk to just about anyone, anytime about anything that enters his mind. Imagine my surprise when Cal, for the second day in a row (we had a family party for him yesterday), tried to hide from the attention he was getting from people singing to him for his birthday. Here he is already showing a little uneasiness at the start of the birthday song:

 

 

And then here he is mid-birthday song, burying his head into Dan's shoulder:

 

And then all is well once the song and clapping are over and it's time to blow out the candle:

I found this to be very interesting since it is so contrary to what I would expect from Cal. No criticism or concern intended, either. In fact, I smile about this because this reaction to the attention is a little piece of me coming out of that "mini Dan" body. And I love him for it.

We finished the night with a ride on the 50-cent train -- Ella was there first and then Cal joined her. There was no fighting over who would "steer" the train or who would sit where, and I credit Cal with this. Ella clearly wanted to "steer" and clearly wanted to sit on the right side of the seat and was prepared to fight for it. Cal took the high road (another trait of mine) and let her, enjoying the ride just the same.

Happy birthday, my handsome, smart, funny, shy, artistic, stubborn, sweet, sensitive Cal. I love you and am so very proud of you!

Gramma Gramma



Grandma Gibs, Gramma Gramma (with Cal)
and Nanny (July, 2009)

I don’t know very many people who had a great grandmother to hug early in their lives.  I had one (my dad’s grandmother).  Cal has had three – Grandma Gibs, Gramma Gramma and Nanny (my Grandma Reiter passed away long before I met Dan).  The significance of this is probably lost on Cal.  At almost four years old, he doesn’t really understand his relationship to all of these people (his relatives) he sees regularly and with whom he has DNA in common.  He will tell you that Grandma Reiter is Mommy’s mommy and Grandma Leatherman is Daddy’s mommy; but I don’t know how much he “gets” that and understands these two relationships are the same as the one he has with me.

For me, seeing mine and Dan’s grandmothers hold Cal and then two of them hold Ella was a different kind of special than seeing our mothers hold them.  The relationship that we had with our grandmothers was one of genuine happiness and respect, one that was rarely contentious and one that was always simply satisfying.  That’s how I remember it, anyway.  They are our link to the early third of the 1900s, having lived during the Great Depression, a World War or two and Lou Gehrig’s streak and illness that stopped it.  Wow.  And they are major factors in the fact that Cal and Ella exist today.  These great grandmothers held our parents, us and our kids in their arms – I just find that to be very fascinating, special and sweet.

Cal was only 8 months old when Nanny, my maternal grandmother, passed away. Ella never met her.  For both of the kids she is really only “remembered” through pictures and any stories about her that we may share with them.  When Ella says “no” gesturing assertively with her hand in the air, we say that she reminds us of Nanny who would do the same thing.

This past Saturday, Gramma Gramma, Dan’s paternal grandmother, passed away after a battle with pancreatic cancer, diagnosed early this year.  Her battle included surviving treatments that had other negative effects on her body and one that demanded she endure significant pain (physical and, I’m sure, emotional).

I have an impression of what Gramma Gramma was all about based only upon 7 years of family gatherings and occasional “ad hoc” visits to her house.  I believe she was emotionally strong, had opinions, wasn’t afraid to voice those opinions, was proud, valued family and adored her many grandchildren and great grandchildren.  I know she had an appreciation for gardening and was skilled and knowledgeable about it; and it is this trait of hers that I hope to instill in my kids.  I will try to regularly recall with them that Gramma Gramma was a really good gardener and that they have that in them somewhere.

This past Sunday was absent any plans, so we drove down to Dan’s parents’ house to spend some time with them.  It turned out to be a nice day with nearly the whole immediate family.  It was unplanned, not overly sad and just nice to be together.

Anyway, we hadn’t yet told Cal and Ella that Gramma Gramma had passed away the day before.  On the way down, Dan decided to do so, taking this approach from the driver’s seat, radio turned down low: “When we’re at Grandma’s and Papa’s house and when you see Papa, make sure you give him a big hug and tell him, ‘I’m sorry you lost your mom, Papa.’ Because Papa's mom, Gramma Gramma, passed away and is with Squeaker <Cal’s first cat> now.  Okay, Buddy?”

I don’t remember exactly what Cal said in response to it, but I do remember that we weren’t left with the impression that he was listening.  Oh, well, I thought; it was a good try.  And then I turned the radio back up.

It's not that I forgot this chat; I just didn't have any expectations that it would be taken any further. I was wrong. We had been at Dan’s parents’ house a couple of hours and just happened to be in the living room when Papa walked in the door.  The moment he was taking his second step into the house, Cal exclaimed from across the room, “I’m sorry about your mom, Papa. She’s with Squeaker now.”

It was brief, to the point, unemotional and a little rough, but his saying it warmed our hearts nonetheless.

Earlier today, Gramma Gramma was buried next to her husband who passed away 7 years ago, just before I met Dan. It was a beautiful day for many family and friends to come together to celebrate a beautiful woman's life.  She will live forever in our hearts, memories and shared stories. RIP, Gramma Gramma.  We love you.

Gramma Gramma with Ella
(December, 2011)

Good News and Bad News

Our Toilets

At 4 years old, Cal’s been using the toilet almost exclusively for awhile now.  I say “almost exclusively” because he’s in a Pull-Up – or Underjam – when he sleeps at night and oftentimes when he naps at home.

While I can count on one hand the number of daytime accidents he’s had since we made the transition from diapers to big-boy undies during the day, we have found that Cal does occasionally need some “oversight” when he uses the toilet.  This “oversight” includes reminders for him to wipe, flush and wash his hands, things (particularly that first one) you would think don’t need to be said but, well, do.

Ella isn’t far behind.  She has just recently started showing an interest in the “big-girl potty,” so we dusted off the barely-used potty chairs and put one in the frequently used bathroom downstairs and one in the kids’ bathroom upstairs.  She’ll say either “Ya Ya potty” or “diaper off,” and this is our cue to put her on the potty.  To date, it ends up being a lot of work for nothing – after a minute sitting (playing) on the potty, she’s up and headed for the stool by the sink so she can wash her hands, leaving behind an empty, bone-dry potty.

This past Sunday, Ella had just plopped her buns on the potty when Cal came storming in, declaring he had to “go poopy.”  The toilet was open, so I told him that he could use it while Ella was finishing up on her potty.  Cal didn’t like this idea, claiming “I want some privacy, please.”  My brain flashed forward to a few minutes into the future, and it wasn’t a good scene; so I decided to cut Ella’s round on the “big-girl potty” short and grant Cal his request.

But before Ella and I left, I had this conversation, nose to nose, with Cal:

Me: “Cal, look at me, please.”

Cal looked right into my eyes.

Me: “We’ll give you your privacy, but I want to make sure that you do three things.”

Cal was still looking into my eyes giving me the impression I had his full attention.

Me: “After you’re finished pooping, I want you to wipe your buns, flush the toilet and wash your hands, okay?”

Cal: “Okay.”

Me: “Okay, what did I ask you to do?”

Cal responded with some form of the three requests I had made of him in the correct order. Satisfied, I left with Ella, shutting the door behind us to give Cal his “privacy.”

A few minutes later, Cal emerged from the bathroom fully dressed (shocking – oftentimes, he emerges bare-bunned, undies and pants strewn on the bathroom floor) and declared, “Mommy, I’ve got some good news and I’ve got some bad news.”

Yikes.  This was a new one.  He must have skipped one of the three things I asked him to do.  Please tell me he wiped his buns and skipped flushing or washing his hands.

“Well, give me the bad news first,” I responded, heading toward him outside the bathroom.  Cal retreated quickly into the bathroom.

Despite my request for the bad news, he proceeded to give me the good news first, which was that he wiped and was able to prove it because he hadn’t flushed yet.  I praised him, reminded him to flush and then asked him, “So what’s the bad news?”

He flushed the toilet and said something about the toilet paper and maybe where it came from, but I couldn’t really make out what he meant.  In the end I concluded that he doesn’t know what the phrase, “I’ve got some good news and some bad news” means exactly just yet.  Not sure I’m ready to teach him that.

If You're This, Then You Do That

My dad came over to visit on Sunday.  He got to our house late afternoon, stayed for dinner, read Cal a couple of books and put him to bed and, in general, enjoyed some quality time with some Leathermans during and after all of that.

Cal's "A Beautiful Day" drawing (11/18/12)

The kids were pretty excited about Grandpa’s visit.  It gave them a good reason to be on their good (tolerable) behavior (which they do for everyone but Dan and me) and to show off some of the new things they’d been doing, like drawing and the “sweetie tackle” game (fka “soft tackle”).  Cal showed Grandpa some of the pictures he’d drawn over the course of the weekend and drew a new one for Grandpa to take home with him.  He also tried to incite Ella into a game of “sweetie tackle,” to which Dan and I were amenable, so much so that we helped him set up a safe “sweetie tackle” zone, complete with mats, giant lion and giant giraffe to soften the falls.  Here’s how Cal first approached getting Ella to play “sweetie tackle” with him:

Cal <in his nicest, sweetest tone>: “Ella… Ella… do you want to play sweetie tackle with me?”

Ella <short and un-sweet>: “Nyo.”

Cal <as if he was asking for the first time>: “Ella… Ella… do you want to play sweetie tackle with me?”

Ella: “Nyo.”

And then they turned their attention to something else, I can’t recall exactly what. But Cal wasn’t about to give up on the game.  He soon declared from out of nowhere and loudly for all to hear:

“If you’re little and you have a Bears shirt on, you have to play this game with me.”

I don’t know that Ella actually realized that she fit that description, but she ended up playing one round of “sweetie tackle” with Cal.

Meanwhile, I was thinking about what Cal had said.  Where does he get this material? I automatically think about the movies he seen. What movie could this be from?  Is this something he learned at school?  It was certainly a creative angle.  And then he did it again.  This time, it was Grandpa he was looking to engage in some activity.  We had just finished dinner.  I don’t recall what it was he was looking for Grandpa to do, but this is what he said, smirking and looking at my dad out of the corner of his eyes as he said it:

“If you’re big and have a Grandpa-sized head and have gray hair, you have to try this with me.”

Like with Ella, what it was he was looking to try with my dad, I don’t recall.  But we all knew who fit that description and laughed pretty heartily at what Cal had said.

Facebook Posts, September, 2012

Here are my Leatherkid-related Facebook posts from September, 2012. They are unedited and should generally be assumed to start with "Carla Reiter Leatherman..."

This was the month of some notable runs outside with the kids in the BOB and "fights" with Cal about his pants -- he didn't like very many of them, but had (in his head) valid reasons for not liking them.  The posts on the 16th and 17th were fun to see again.  My clear favorite this month was the helmet post on the 1st -- it was CLASSIC and is still used today!

September 1, 2012

is gearing up for a run with Ella Bella outside this AM... one of my favorite things to do!

September 1, 2012

was just informed by Cal that he needs to wear a helmet while he rides his motorcycle so he doesn't bump his "Grandpa-size head." It is big!

September 2, 2012

asked a pantless Cal this morning after he sprinted excitedly up the stairs if he had his new undies on. His response? "Yeah, they fit my BIG, ENORMOUS buns!"

September 5, 2012

Ella, dressed "like a princess" (per Cal) for her first day in Miss Morgan's class.



Princess Ella (9/5/12)



September 6, 2012

had a rough morning with the kids (one in particular... name starts with a C... born first) and hopes it's not an indication of how the rest of the day is going to go.

September 8, 2012

hears some footsteps upstairs but can't tell if they're big or little just yet... still happily amazed my feet have been the only ones in this house up and about until now.

 
 


September 9, 2012

just had this exchange with Cal, initiated by him:
Cal: "Mom, I broke my orange table. It cracked in half."
Me: "Your red table in the toy room?"
Dan <in the distance, clarifying>: "No, the orange lap pad."
Me: "How did you break it?"
Cal: "I stood on it."
Me: "Why did you stand on it?"
Cal: "Because Ella and me wanted to play a game."
Me: "What game?"
Cal: "The 'Fall-Down' game."
Me: "Ahh." <but of course>

September 12, 2012

thinks our long-sleeve-and-long-pants-wearing Cal took the news that Ella would NOT be wearing the long sleeves and long pants that he had picked out for her pretty well today.

September 12, 2012

must've watched a stair-traversing Ella open and close the gate at the base of the stairs 20 times on our way up for bedtime before taking matters into my own hands and picking her up and just carrying her, now crying the whole way.

September 15, 2012

worked with Cal to remove all pants that had one of the following from Cal's selection so as to make getting dressed for the day less tense: strings, big pockets, swishy and/or have sparkles (which I learned to be the gathering at the ankles).

September 16, 2012

learned from Cal this AM what mommy and daddy seagulls say to their kid seagulls: "Just get dressed without whining about it."

September 17, 2012

Cal to Dan yesterday, both eating a Tostitos "scoops" chip: "It's like a bowl... or a coffee filter."

September 18, 2012

had an early morning complete with a postponed run on the treadmill because of an early waker, Ella (pleasant at first) crying for me through my whole shower... and then some, whiny Cal in a soaking wet Underjam... again, cat food put in the water by my helper, and this feeling that my offshore co-worker wasn't in the office to get the work I sent to him last night done.

September 19, 2012

"You're not hearing me. I'm going to go for this run with Mommy, and then I'll play trains with you."

Ella in jogger (9/19/12)

September 24, 2012

Cal to the 15-month-old in the play area at Chick Fil-A just now: "Hey, Little Buddy."

September 26, 2012

confirmed this AM that the sweatpants with no strings, no pockets, no "freckles"/"sparkles" and that don't fall past his ankles should be wearable by Cal without a fight. Mommy: 2, Cal: 31



Cal in jogger (9/29/12)



 

September 29, 2012

Cal squeezed into the BOB for a 3-mile run with me this AM!






Ella, pre-5K (9/30/12)



September 30, 2012

Ella, helping me find the Start line for this 5K at Nequa this AM. We just found it but can't figure out which direction we start running!

 

Ella, post-5K (9/30/12)

September 30, 2012

Happy Ella in the gym post-5K and post-banana this AM.



 

 

 

 

 

 

September 30, 2012

got the scoop from Cal just before bed about how your heart thumps faster and louder when you exercise (yeah, he said that) and how he had to be careful not to wake Ella up with his loud-thumping heart. So I asked him if I could hear it, to which he responded, "yes" and proceeded to tap his belly hard with his hand and ended with, "see."

Anatomy of the "No Tackle" Sign



"No Tackle" Sign (Cal, 11/11/12)

On Sunday night as I sat at the computer desk in the “toy room” trying to solve some new iPod and computer issues, Cal and Ella started playing a game that seemed a little rough to me and that I was certain was going to end with Ella hurt, screaming and (within the realm of possibilities) bloodied.  The game was a game of tackle, and Ella may have been enjoying it even more than Cal.

Here’s how the game went: They’d stand with their backs up against the wall at the back of the “toy room.”  Cal would say something to the effect of, “GO!” and the two of them would take off running “full speed” toward the closet at the front of the room and dive head first with arms breaking their falls into the carpeted floor a few steps short of the closet.  Ella would typically dive first, followed immediately by Cal who would lunge on top of her as though he were tackling her.  They’d laugh, get up, head back to the back wall and start the process over again.

This went on only a couple of times before I finally wised up a little and uttered the phrase, “okay, Cal, not too rough, okay?”  He actually heard me and responded by changing the game up again so that it would be a game of “Soft Tackle” (so named by Cal).  It was the same game they had been playing; however, instead of falling on top of her, he’d lunge over or around her – Ella was doing all of her falling herself anyway, so this worked for me and kept them entertained.

A few rounds into “Soft Tackle,” Lion entered the picture.  Lion is a big stuffed animal that Santa brought Cal last year for Christmas.  Lion is longer than Cal and lays flat and floppy on the ground.  He’s like a big pillow, really, and the kids started diving into Lion instead of into the ground, which, unbeknownst to the kids, had the effect of extending their game a bit before I stepped in to put an end to it.

After a few more rounds of “Soft Tackle,” I decided to announce that “Soft Tackle” needed to end – no more tackling for the evening.  It was time to settle down a bit as “Jammie Time” was right around the corner.

To my surprise, the kids did not put up a fight – they stopped “Soft Tackle” and turned their attention to drawing.  We have a drawer full of scrap paper that I collect at work and bring home for the kids to draw on.  Ella, not yet showing much of an interest in drawing, initiated the transition to drawing by opening the drawer and pulling out a piece of paper.  Cal followed.  I gave them some random crayons we had sitting on the desk, and both headed to the kid-sized table across from the desk to draw.

With the kids content and not demanding my attention, I got back to trying to solve my iPod and computer issues.  What seemed like a long time before being interrupted was probably only five minutes.  The interruption was Cal asking me how to spell some words he was looking to write on his piece of paper.  I glanced at him as he asked and wrote; but I didn’t look closely at what he was doing until he was finished.  While I do like to watch him draw and write, this time I enjoyed seeing the end product – what I’m calling the “No Tackle” sign – for the first time, piecing together how it came to be from the series of questions he had asked me.

Here's the anatomy of the "No Tackle" sign:

1. “NO”… Cal wrote this himself without assistance from me how to spell it
2. “TACKLE”… Cal asked, “Mommy, how do you spell ‘tackle?’” to which I responded slowly spelling the word “tackle” as he wrote each letter I said
3. “CANNOT”… Cal asked, “Mommy, how do you spell ‘cannot?’” to which I responded slowly spelling the word “cannot” as he wrote each letter I said
4. “ELLA”… Cal wrote this himself without assistance from me how to spell it
5. “LOUVL”… Cal wrote this himself, saying each letter out loud as he wrote it (which, by the way, I’m not sure what this means)
6. “HIT”… Cal asked, “Mommy, how do you spell ‘hit?’” to which I responded slowly spelling the word “hit” as he wrote each letter I said (and then proceeded to add a few additional letters, for what reason, I don’t know)
7. Sad face and happy face… I wasn’t sure about this one, so I asked Cal about these.  He told me that the sad face was the person getting tackled and the happy face was the person doing the tackling (but of course)

And that is the anatomy of the “No Tackle” sign (or the progression of how it came to be).  I may frame it and hang it on the wall in the “toy room” as a rule to enforce going forward.  I think it’s a good rule, really, one that may be more enforceable since Cal participated in instituting the rule on Sunday night.