She's Not Pumping!

Since he was big enough to sit in a swing, Cal has always enjoyed a good swing session.  Consistent with the risk-averse nature of his mother, he never wants to go too high, or “fast fast fast,” a rule which he has no qualms letting us know we’re in the process of breaking.  Cal prefers “medium fast,” and would swing for hours at “medium fast” if Dan and I didn’t time box the swing session.

We used to have to go to the park in our subdivision to swing.  It was great.  Cal would always opt for the bucketed baby swing (safer) and would talk incessantly about anything that popped into his mind as Dan or I pushed him in it.  Oftentimes, he’d break into song, more often than not singing Fergie’s “Glamorous.”  “G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S, yeah, G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S… flying first class up in the sky… champagne, living the life…” he’d sing. And he would only stop talking or singing if he needed to inform us strongly we were going “too fast fast fast” or to say “hi” to the “grills” (girls) at the park.

That was last summer.  Earlier this summer we bought and assembled a playground set for our own backyard.  Complete with two swings, a slide, a climbing wall, a lookout deck and a trapeze, this has been our replacement for those trips to the neighborhood park.  The kids can just go out our back door and be at a park.  It’s fantastic in its convenience – it’s no longer an event to go swing for a bit.

At 3-1/2 years old, we believe that Cal should start learning how to swing himself and have repeatedly impressed this upon him over the course of the summer and, now, the fall.  It hasn’t been easy – swinging is one of those things that just seems so natural, so instinctive.  Judging from Cal’s resistance to it, it’s not as instinctive as I think it is.  It’s also not that easy to teach – “kick out going forward, pull back going backward” isn’t sufficient as you have to get some of your arms and body into it, pulling you up.

Respecting this is new to Cal and not so natural for him, Dan and I compromise, telling him we’ll push him on the swing as long as he tries to “pump” as we push him.  This historically hasn’t gone as smoothly as we hope.  We stop pushing Cal when we see his legs not pumping, he “yells” at us to push him, we tell him he’s not pumping, he responds he is and starts pumping his legs, and we start pushing again.  And the cycle is repeated several times until we realize we’re the parents and in control of the situation and will not be bossed around by a kid.  Swinging with Cal is typically a struggle that oftentimes ends in a swing session cut short because it’s just not fun for anyone.

This past weekend, we had a swing session that was headed that direction.  This time, we used Ella, swinging next to him, as incentive to pump… or thought we were using her as incentive.  Here’s how that went down:

Cal <whining>: “Push me!”

Me: “You’ve got to pump, Baby Bear.”

Dan: “Look at Ella <kicking her feet in a scissors motion> -- she’s pumping. She’ll probably figure out how to swing by herself sooner than you do.”

Cal: “She’s not pumping!”

Dan and Me <in unison>: “Yes, she is!”

Cal: “She’s not pumping – she’s kicking!”

He had us.  She was, in fact, just kicking, but we didn’t admit that.  We just let the exchange end there.

Shortly after that, Dan announced it was time to get off the swings and head inside.  He stopped swinging Ella, hoisted her out of her swing and then started doing the countdown, “10… 9… 8… 7…” which was interrupted by Cal who insisted he do the countdown himself,  “10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1.”  I stopped pushing him after “1.” He started to coast toward a stop and then, unannounced and out of nowhere, started pumping his feet without any instigation. His swing kept going back and forth as he continued to pump.  He was doing it!  I could even see him pull back on the swing with his arms and body as he pumped his legs forward.  He kept swinging… and swinging… and swinging.  Here's the tail end of it on video:

 

I, of course, smothered him with praise and excitement over this, which was met with a proud smile extending across his face.  Could it be that we’re turning the corner, that he’ll be able to swing by himself?  Stay tuned.  If I’ve learned anything in my nearly four years of being a parent, it’s that there is almost always a setback on the road to post-toddlerhood.

How Times Have Changed

My Family, My Life

I cut work a little short last Friday to grab some drinks with co-workers.  Dan joined us, too.  We left at ~4pm and headed to a bar not even a block away.  Dan and I had adjusted plans to catch the 5pm train which would get us “home” in time to pick Cal and Ella up from their long days at school before school closed.

It would have been nice to be able to stay for more drinks and shared stories, perspectives and personal barbs.  Too often work is work and people I work with are work, and I don’t experience them outside of work.  They’re pretty interesting and entertaining.  But Dan and I had kids to pick up, feed and get to bed.  So we said our good-byes at ~4:50 and headed to Union Station.  It’s nice to work that close to our train, by the way.

During the short walk to the train, it occurred to me how different my life is today than it was 5 or 10 years ago.  I used to make the occasional “audible” to screw the evening plans or non-plans and just stay later to enjoy the impromptu, post-work happy hour longer.  I always had “Social Club” volleyball, softball and/or football games to get to, and these were typically followed by trips to nearby or sponsor bars to grab drinks and laugh and create memorable experiences with friends.  It wasn’t uncommon for me to respond with “I’m in!” immediately following an email or call for a “Girls’ Night” dinner or a friend’s birthday party.  I regularly went to Cubs games and White Sox games, fun which oftentimes extended beyond the games themselves.  My home was silent and peaceful if I wanted it to be.  Post-dinner cleanup involved dabbing my face with a napkin and doing a quick wipe-up of the table with a wet rag… if I even sat at a table... or used a napkin.  I biked everywhere and went for runs along the lakefront often.  I slept solidly through the night, and could count on solo, uninterrupted showers in the morning, after a run, whenever.

I don’t do that anymore.  I can’t do that anymore.

The one who screams

Instead, I pick the kids up from school before 6:30pm or suffer financial penalty or, worse, embarrassment or, even worse, my kids’ disappointment.  I have to either coordinate with Dan or line up a babysitter before committing to an evening event that doesn’t have me on a train by 5pm or home in the evening.  I regularly field complaints from a 4-year-old about what we’re having for dinner (even when it’s his favorite) and make repeated, always-challenged pleas to him to wash his hands.  I typically fix dinner with a kid screaming for me to pick her up or give her something or, worse, something I can’t possibly solve.  Post-dinner cleanup involves wiping faces, scrubbing tables and sweeping floors, and that doesn’t even get things clean.  My showers are either shared with two kids, interrupted by one or just need to be scheduled because the kids are needy when I want to take one.  I regularly unknowingly wear clothes soiled by goopy hands, rarely ride my bike and can’t go for a run without wondering if I’ll have my continence or not.

Cal, Me and Ella

And the thing is, that’s fine with me.  It’s my reality.  It’s what my life has become.  And I’m happy to do it.  Sure, at times I miss my life from 5 or 10 years ago and the fun, flexibility and friendships that characterized it.  But I miss my high school years, too, those wonderful, carefree days with as much responsibility as I wanted to take on, friends I still have today and everything ahead of me.

It comes down to this: my life 5 or 10 years ago is a great memory.  My life today with all of its insanity, stress, sacrifice and compromise is wonderful, perfect in its imperfections; and at the root of that wonderfulness is that I regularly get to see my kids smile and hear my kids call me “Mommy.”

The ones who call me "Mommy"

Sweet Ella

I rocked Ella to sleep last night.  It was the best half hour I’ve had in awhile, which is not to suggest I haven’t had many good half hours.  This one was just especially good, absent any noise other than the sound of the rain hitting the house and of Ella’s breaths… absent any rules about how I should really put Ella to bed... absent the stresses of knowing I have to do some work before going to bed myself.

I didn’t plan it – it just happened.  We were sitting on the glider in her room.  I had just finished reading “If I Could Keep You Little” to her as she paged through “Good Night, Chicago.”  We both put our books down on the re-purposed nightstand next to the glider.  Ella turned to look at me and said, “Nye Nye,” to which I responded, “Ready to go Night Night?”  She nodded and then twisted her body to face mine entirely and cuddled up against me, tucking her head under my chin.  There aren’t many better feelings than how I feel when she does that. I smile just thinking about it.

I expected this to last for only a minute (if even that), for her to tire of being upright and let me know that she was officially ready for “Nye Nye… heah” (pointing at her crib).  Ella has never been the child to fall asleep on mine or Dan’s chest or to curl up next to us, relax and just happen to fall asleep.  Her cuddles generally last only a few seconds.

Sweet Ella, the day after she was born

Since she had just paged through “Good Night, Chicago,” I had Chicago on my mind.  I started telling the story of the night she was born, that she was born in Chicago even though we live in Naperville… that it’s 40 miles away… that Mommy likes her doctors (they’re midwives) and nurses in Chicago.  I told her how excited Mommy and Daddy were… that I was in labor for several hours... that they told me to take a nap while in labor and how crazy is that... that I only pushed for 18 minutes with her help.  I told her that Mommy’s a little older so my pregnancy was a little riskier… that I was so relieved that she was healthy… that I was so happy she was a girl even though I would have been happy with a boy but there’s just something special about a little girl.  And the “story” went on a bit from there.  I don’t know how to make up fun fairy tale stories, so real stories will have to do.

She did look at me and smile after a few  minutes in this position, but she immediately curled her head back down under my chin to assume the position I (we) had been enjoying.  Her legs draped over either side of my hip, her right arm hooked gently around my left and her left arm hung down across my chest and stomach.  I rocked us back and forth in the glider.  Her breaths started getting deeper, and I felt the full weight of her body in my arms.  I smiled because I knew she was falling asleep.  I rested my head on the glider, closed my eyes and continued rocking, concentrating on the sounds of the rain hitting the house and of Ella’s deep breaths.  Several minutes passed.  I don't know how many exactly.  My mind was clear of everything except how sweet my Ella is, and how special those minutes were to me.

I’m not sure how long I would have stayed in that position holding Ella had I not been interrupted by Cal’s “Mommy!  Mommy!  Mommy!”  outside Ella’s bedroom door.  He didn’t know I was behind the door with her.  He’s been known to fall off of the stool in his room in the dark, so I couldn’t not see what he needed.

I counted in my head, “1… 2… 3” like I normally do aloud to her before standing up from the glider and then stood up.  Ella didn’t wake.  I walked her over to her crib, laid her down gently on her back and handed her “binkie” (blanket) to her. She immediately rolled to her belly, crunched her legs to her belly and curled her arm around her blanket.  I draped her other blanket over her back which was met with a softly uttered, “No” (she doesn't like the "extra" blanket draped over her now). She wasn’t completely asleep but was so relaxed.  “Good night, sweet Baby Girl... I love you,” I said.  Thank you for that moment, Ella.  There aren’t many better ways to spend a half hour in my book.

Facebook Posts: Q2, 2012

Here are my Leatherkid-related Facebook posts from April, May and June, 2012. They are unedited and should generally be assumed to start with “Carla Reiter Leatherman…”

I think there were a lot of good posts in this quarter, from the goopy animal cracker to Cal announcing he's going to be "bad" to the unexcitement over the dry Pull-Up to Cal understanding why we didn't read books before bed.  My favorite over all of them was the one on April 13th about what Cal would take to school that day -- it was classic, and we still laugh at it today.

April 6, 2012
wishes she could re-do the first trip through the line to the see the Easter Bunny this AM... either that or stay firm on her "no" for the second trip. Cal: 1, Mommy: 0.

April 6, 2012
just had a wet, goopy, half-eaten animal cracker shoved into her mouth by Ella and could have done without THAT generosity.

April 6, 2012
was just told by Cal that Ella is knocking the garbage down and "she touched the icky toilet water"... great...

April 9, 2012
wonders how long the clip-on tie will be on Cal's polo shirt this AM - to school, through to naptime or all day?

April 10, 2012
has an unsolicited "I love you, Mommy" from Cal this AM that will prevent the spilled coffee and stiff neck from ruining her day.

April 11, 2012
is a little concerned about her kids' sensitivity to living creatures - Cal's first instints were to kick the cat and smush the spider, and Ella likes to poke people in the eye.

April 12, 2012
thought the clip-on tie might make another showing at school today for Picture Day, but Cal opted for the lovely train t-shirt instead. At least he wore jeans instead of sweatpants.

April 13, 2012
had a rough morning with an obstinate Cal. On our way out the door, Cal changed his mind about bringing something that starts with "N" to show-and-tell today, to which Dan responded (sounding it out), "you'll bring na- na- na- NOTHING." Too funny.

April 19, 2012
wonders if people are asking themselves if it's dirt or goopy animal cracker handprints all over my skirt this AM.

April 20, 2012
learned just yesterday that Cal's favorite team is the Blackhawks. I didn't even know he knew they exist!

April 22, 2012
"Where IS MY iPod?" Cal just asked in an accusatory, possessive tone. This was somehow translated from Dan's, "Do you know where the black iPod is?"

April 24, 2012
is still beaming from Cal giving her his last bite of chocolate cake last night. :)

April 26, 2012
was told "pick up the pace, Mommy" by Cal earlier. He used it correctly, which is to be expected considering all of the times he's been on the receiving end of that comment.

April 29, 2012
is regretting letting Cal take that 4-hour nap this afternoon. On the plus side, he's calling for Daddy.

May 6, 2012
is a little concerned after this comment by Cal: "Mommy, I'm going to be a BAD BOY today." Early signs are that he's right.

Cal and Zoe

May 7, 2012
Cal and Zoe... is this the same kid who terrorized Squeaker with the shopping cart? 

May 9. 2012
next time I tell any of you that I think Cal's past the terrible 3's, please punch me in the face.

May 15, 2012
The kids and me on Mother's Day -- Cal could only muster a fish face for the picture. I'll take it over no picture.

Cal, Me and Ella



May 24, 2012
thinks this is an indication that Cal's going to be in a Pull-Up at night for awhile despite all of our enthusiasm and encouragement otherwise:
Daddy <after showering Cal with praise and excitement after seeing he had a dry Pull-Up this AM>: "Cal, what did you want to tell Mommy?"
Cal: "Mommy, I had a GREAT BIG GIANT POOPY!"
Eh, I was proud anyway.

June 16, 2012
likes that Cal at least gets it -- check out this exchange:
Me: We didn't read books before bed TWO nights in a row. Why didn't we read books before bed two nights ago?
Cal: Because we watered the flowers instead.
Me: Why didn't we read books before bed last night?
Cal: Because I was grumpy and didn't make good choices.

June 25, 2012
is still laughing at the scene in Ella's room this AM after an engaging Cal left it: Ella sitting up in her crib, focusing on something; a pair of jeans, t-shirt, socks and diaper tossed in with her; and our girl trying (unsuccessfully) to put a sock on her right foot.

June 29, 2012
was informed by Cal on the way home from school yesterday, "I kind of had a rough day, Mommy." I eventually learned this was all due to almost getting a scratch after a fall on the playground.

Freckled Frocks and Squishy Socks

I’ll be honest – my kids have driven me nuts more often than I like to admit.  From the incessant whining over not getting their ways, to being on the receiving end of repeated “no’s” when asked to do (or not to do) something to being awakened from a deep REM cycle virtually every night for periods of time to turn “Cal Can’t Help It” (Fergie) back on, I oftentimes find myself wondering if this really is typical and, if so, how in the world do people not walk around sharing the misery of it more with co-workers, friends and/or any sympathetic ear they happen to find?

I am not naïve to think that the Leatherman family is much different than other families as far as the stubborn, independence-seeking toddler phase goes.  There’s a reason there are articles about dealing with whining, meltdowns, smart mouths and general bad behavior. These articles don’t exist because of a handful of toddlers.  I get that and need only the occasional sympathetic ear to get me through the “Terrible 2s,” which, let’s be honest, are really the “Terrible 1’s through 4’s.”

What I find myself needing more frequently, though, are check-ins with others re: my kids’ quirks and associated melodrama that seem a little odd to me.  I mean, some of this stuff is just plain old weird. To fight it is to add unprecedented stress levels to daily life; to give in to it is to encourage such weirdness.  There’s a delicate balance to achieve here.  Luckily, I have lived my life by the motto “pick your battles,” which (I believe) makes me well equipped to take on or simply tolerate these quirks with patience.  Sometimes, I do lose it because at my roots, I just don’t understand why it’s such a big issue and can’t possibly make the situation better.  I mean, take a look at some of these quirks.

Cal’s Quirks:

1. “Squishy” socks (even the best-fitting socks might qualify if he happens to put them on crooked)
2. Pants with strings
3. Pants with pockets (even the simplest, most basic pockets)
4. Pants with “freckles” or “sparkles” (I’ve come to learn this means they’re gathered at the bottom)
5. Pants that are too long
6. Short pants and short sleeves (he doesn't like them, even in 80-degree plus weather)
7. Hooded jacket without the hood on his head
8. Jacket with zipper not zipped all the way up
9. Shoe laces not lying flat on his shoe
10. Shoes with Velcro fasteners not adhered tight to the shoes
11. Shirts that are too long*

* Exception: His ND leprechaun shirt, which hangs off of him, does not qualify as being too long

Ella’s quirks:

1. Not holding her blanket when it’s in sight of her (if she sees her blanket, she needs to be holding it)
2. Attempting to read to her the book she’s paging through (she wants you to read a different book)
3. Having a water bottle taken away from her

Admittedly, I had to dig a little to come up with Ella’s list.  I mean, they’re all true; however, on the weirdness scale, they barely register.  Except for the book thing.  Before bedtime, I’ll tell her to pick a book for us to read – she’ll pick one for herself and then one for me.  “Do you want me to read this one while you hold that one?” I’ll ask her, to which she responds, nodding happily that I understood, “Nyeah.”  I’ve tried to read the one she’s holding and paging through – this is usually met with voiced displeasure from Ella.  So there we sit, Ella paging through her own book as I read a different one to her.

Cal’s issues with pants have been at the root of much morning malcontent in the Leatherman house.  Many an argument has ensued from the simple request to get dressed for the day because most pants meet at least one of the criteria that Cal finds… upsetting?... uncomfortable?... I’m not sure.  Working with the supply my sister had given me, I recently took Cal through the exercise of eliminating from his options pants he would not wear, all to mitigate the risk of a “pants war” in our morning routine.  Here’s how that went down:

Me <holding up a pair of pants>: “Will you wear these pants?”

Cal <examining them>: “No.”

Me: “Why?”

Cal: “Because they have pockets.”

Me: “Okay, so these pants go in the stack of ones you won’t wear.  Once they go there, you won’t have the option to wear them.  Do you understand that?”

Cal: “Yes.”

Me <holding up the next pair>: “Okay, what about these?  Will you wear these pants?”

Cal <examining them>: “No.”

Me: “Why?”

Cal: “Because they have strings AND pockets.”

Me: “Okay, they go in this stack.  You won’t have the option to wear these pants. <Holding up the next pair> What about these?”

Cal: “No.”

Me: “Why?”

Cal: “Because they have freckles?”

Me <huh?> “Freckles?  What are freckles?”

Cal <pointing to the gathering at the bottom of a leg>: “This.”

Me: “Ah. Okay, they go in the stack.”

And this went on for each pair of pants.  In the end, I think we were left with three pairs of sweatpants, three pairs of jeans and a pair of small-pocketed khakis.  The jeans were only in the wearable pile because I overrode Cal’s “no” – they were the most basic, barely pocketed jeans you could find. And the khakis?  I told him he’s worn them a lot without issue, so they’re certainly wearable.

Cal's Favorite Outfit (right
down to the mismatched socks)

To say that our mornings are drama-free since this exercise would be a lie.  However, they are noticeably more consistently pleasant and absent the fight over whether or not a pair of pants is wearable.  We have since added three pairs of the plainest, un-pocketed, un-stringed, un-freckled, perfectly-sized sweatpants from Old Navy to keep our options fresh without having to constantly do laundry.  And while I clearly gave in to this quirk, I did secretly put a pair of pants that do not pass Cal’s wearable criteria in his cubby at school to be worn in the event he has some sort of accident in his pants. Should the accident happen, which it surely will, a little exposure to something different won’t hurt him, and someone else (his teacher) will make it happen.

Unsharing Fun

Cal and Ella play really well together.  There are times that one doesn’t share well with the other and need Dan’s or my intervention to resolve; but those are few and far between, certainly rarer than I would have expected.

A couple of those rare instances found their way to our day Sunday.  In the moment and still today, I found them more amusing than annoying or troubling.

Elmo

Instance #1: Elmo

Cal has MANY stuffed animals, and MOST of them were recently taken away for a month because he made the choice to not pick them up after throwing them all over his bedroom floor even after given the threat of having them taken away.  “I don’t know how” he claimed, which had only one response from me, “yes, you do.”

The ones that survived Cal’s poor choice and were not taken away include Puppy (he was hiding in a corner of Cal’s room) and a handful of stuffed animals shared by the kids. These “live” in a toy box downstairs, and among them is Elmo, for whom Ella has developed an affinity.  “Melmo,” she calls him.

Limited to these stuffed animals, Cal chose to play with Puppy and this big-eyed purple bunny (who hasn’t officially gotten a name as Dan’s plug for “Hoppyjon Jones” isn’t catching on).  And Ella, of course, chose Elmo.  Everyone was happy until Ella dropped Elmo on the floor for what toy, I don’t recall. As quickly as Elmo hit the floor, Cal snatched him up.  Ella saw this and immediately started screaming for Elmo. And then it happened.  Ella threw herself belly-side down on the ground, screaming louder and coming just short of thumping her hands and kicking her feet against the ground. She had entered her tantrum.

I probably shouldn’t do this, but I laughed out loud.  I think this is hilarious.  It is so over-the-top, so melodramatic, so completely not in line with the issue she’s dealing with.  What’s funnier is Cal’s expression as he takes in the scene – call it smug, call it mean, he’s certainly entertained by this, staring and smiling at her ridiculousness.  I don’t remember if we said something like, “Cal, please give Elmo back to Ella,” but he let the tantrum go on for a good minute or two after which he made the decent choice to give Elmo back to Ella.  Ella pulled Elmo close to her, giving him a good hug as she continued to lay belly-down on the ground and slowly recovered from her tantrum.

Instance #2: Trains

I didn’t actually visually witness this one – I heard it all from the kitchen.  Cal must’ve been playing with the “Thomas” trains we are borrowing from my sister's kids.  There are several of them, and they magnetically cling to each other to form, well, a multi-car train.

Lady

Ella likes to play with the trains, too.  Though she’s generally content playing with “Lady” (clearly the “girl” train), it sounded like she wanted in on the trains with which Cal was playing; and Cal wasn’t giving her any.  Ella started to make some noise about it.  No tantrum-throwing scene erupted, but it was getting intense enough that Dan needed to step in before it evolved to that.  Here’s how I heard it:

Dan: “Cal, you have 7 trains… you don’t need 7.

1-2-3-4-5 Trains

Cal: “I don’t have 7.”

Dan: “6 or 7… let Ella have one.”

Cal: “I don’t have 7. 1-2-3-4-5… I have 5.”

Dan: “Okay, 5. Let Ella have one.”

I don’t remember if Cal did give Ella a train or not.  Clearly, he was missing the point; but he was dead on with his counting!