I Put My Sports Bra on Feet First

Long ago, early in my sports bra-wearing days, I came up with an apparently uncommon approach to putting my sports bra on as I dressed for whatever athletic activity I had in store for myself that day.  Instead of wrestling my way into it by pulling it over my head and down from there, I concluded it would be easier to just step into it as I would my underwear and just pull it up from there.  It’s still a bit of a workout for the simple fact of it being really tight fabric, but not nearly the workout that maneuvering that same fabric over my head, weaving my arms into its armholes and then getting it to lay flat across my chest and back would be.

It’s brilliant, really.  Not only is it not nearly the struggle the traditional method is, but coming up from below, it lifts my boobs into place without having to adjust them.  Coming over the top, my boobs are smashed uncomfortably facing down or out or both and typically need some manual adjustment to get them into a more comfortably smashed position.

Now, this method may only work for the hipless, which I have always been and still am, even after two childbirths.  Whenever it’s come up in conversation, my friends have always laughed at me, amazed by something about it… I’m not sure exactly what… I guess either that it works or that I actually do it… or both.

This is my signature thing – I don’t know anyone else who puts her sports bra on feet first.

Ella eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich... Ella style (May, 2013)

Ella’s signature thing is eating peanut-butter-and-jelly or grilled-cheese sandwiches by pulling the two slices of bread apart and gnawing her way through the now “un-sandwich” from the center and working her way toward the crust with the “good” side (i.e. the peanut butter, jelly or cheese side) facing her.

That she does this should be no surprise to me – Ella, now 2+ years old, has NEVER been a neat or skilled (with the utensils) eater.  I regularly watch her set her fork down and grab a wad of rice or noodles with her bare hand and then proceed to shove it into her mouth leaving remnants sticking to her face and falling into her lap with every mouthful.

Last Sunday, as I watched her eat her peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich Ella style, questions ran through my head. 

Why does she peel apart her sandwiches to eat them?  To each her own, I suppose.  I used to pull apart my Suzie-Qs when I’d eat them so that I could taste the “good stuff” more with every bite and to make eating one last longer.

Why does she start from the center of the bread and work her way out?  This was answerable – she generally doesn’t like edges of things (crust, apple skin)… not that I understand the why of that.

If she has to eat from the center out, does she have to do so with the peanut-buttered or jellied side FACING her?  This I could not answer.  This is tough to watch and just let happen.  The first bite is the worst because there’s so much “goopy” (i.e. peanut-buttered, jellied) surface area of the bread beyond that which fits in her mouth that inevitably both cheeks, her nose, chin and every space in between are covered with goop as she pulls the bread away to chew her bite.  Every subsequent bite of the now misshapen bread has an inherent risk of expanding the goop further, still on her nose, cheeks and chin but further out.

As one might imagine, her hands are also gooped up.  If we’re lucky, she’ll set her “un-sandwich” down and rub an eye with her hand or, better yet, grab her hair with both hands.  This is generally near the end of her eating of the sandwich, when what remains on her plate are the mangled crusts and oftentimes uneaten goopy pieces.  At this point, I usually have the wet rag ready to wipe, stealthily approach her, slowly raise my hand holding the wet rag to her hands and aggressively wipe them before she has the chance to do any damage with them.

If I sound like I’m complaining, I’m really not.  This is amusing and facinating more than it is troubling.  While that’s true, I also hope that Ella’s signature thing doesn’t last as long as mine has –- could be tough to explain to friends or to boyfriends.  Hopefully they’ll learn about it through stories we tell instead of seeing it first hand.

Cal Gos tuw Soccer Now

Neither Dan nor I played soccer.  Ever.  Neither of us showed any interest in playing or watching the game.  Ever.  It’s just an uninteresting game to both of us, largely due to the field being too big and scoring too infrequent.

That said, it does seem like a good candidate sport to expose kids to at an early age.  I’ve seen many a 4-year-old just running around without purpose yet happy in a confined area –- why not throw a ball on the ground, a goal on either end of the area and give him something to work towards?

So I’ve known soccer would inevitably be a part of the Leatherman family at some point.

I’ve picked up many fliers left by a local soccer organization at the kids’ school promoting its programs.  In some cases, the program is brought to the school – sign your kid up, and he’ll get some instruction and soccer playtime along with other classmates for an hour or so once a week for some number of weeks.  We never signed Cal up for this program -- for one, because we pay enough in daycare costs already, and gym time is part of the curriculum; second, that whole icky soccer thing.  Had it been tee ball or basketball, there’s a good chance our standards would have been different.

I always felt bad about not signing him up for soccer.  He never complained about it, but on occasion did mention that he classmates went to soccer.  I don’t know how many of them did –- it may have only been Ethan and Aliza -– but my mind went directly to imagining him sitting in his classroom midday alone and within earshot of his friends happily kicking a soccer ball around in the gym.  So every time I saw the familiar flier, I’d grab it thinking maybe this time we’ll do it but never acted on it.

The most recent flier advertised a summer evening soccer camp.  8 weeks of hour-long soccer instruction for kids around Cal’s age.  Hmm… maybe we should do this, I thought to myself.

Cal saw the flier and recognized it right away.  “I want to play soccer,” he said.  When Cal says things that he wants to do, we have to take it with a grain of salt.  We’ve found that what he wants to do varies from one day to the next, as is true of many kids, I’m sure.

Cal's Play-Soccer Hint (April, 2013)

Next thing I knew, Cal was writing something on the soccer flier, his signature tongue sticking out as he did so.  When he was finished, he showed it to me.  On the name line of the registration portion of the flier, I saw this: “Cal gos tuw soccer now.”

That night, I signed him up for soccer.

Shortly thereafter when we were upstairs hanging out in Cal’s room, I saw the unworn, fantastic pair of black, shoelaced New Balance “running” shoes I had bought him awhile back.  I don’t even think I managed to get him to at least try them on.  “I don’t like THESE!” he’d exclaim, pointing at the laces as he did so.  Instead, Cal happily wears a pair of cheap, velcroed, stiff Disney character shoes with heels that light up with each step.  I hate those shoes, and I see this soccer thing as an opportunity to get him out of them.

“You know you’ve got to wear different shoes when you play soccer, ones that are going to stay on your feet, Baby Bear.”

Cal’s response, looking wide-eyed right at me?  “I don’t want to play soccer.”

And he's held firm to that stance ever since.

My Mother's Day

Since Sunday, I've been asked by a handful of people how my Mother's Day was. I feel compelled to answer in all cases, "it was nice," said in such a way to leave it open for further inspection should anyone pursue more details -- as in, "it was nice, but..." please ask me for the real story.

I think that "nice" implies "pleasant."  I wouldn't describe my Mother's Day as having been that.  To have qualified as "pleasant," it really would have had to have lived up close to the expectations for it that I had imagined the days leading up to Mother's Day.  Sleep until at least 8am.  Be greeted with "I love you" or "Happy Mothers Day" by two smiley, hug-granting kids.  Nice, low-volume conversation at the breakfast table.  A pleasant family trip to Lowe's for some flowers and dirt.  Cal picks out yellow flowers to plant, Ella chooses pink; no one hurries me to select the flowers I want to plant.  A warm day.  A couple of good naps after which we do some planting -- two cooperative, engaged kids helping me plant the flowers we bought earlier.  A picture of me with my two smiley kids. A dinner not prepared by me accompanied by aforementioned nice, low-volume conversation. An easy bedtime routine ended with similar pleasantries from the kids as they had delivered in the morning. And a bottle of wine shared with Dan, without whom I wouldn't be a mom.

Ridiculous as it may sound, that's really not far from what I imagined for my Mother's Day and foolishly thought could actually happen.

Instead, I was awakened at roughly 6am by the sounds of two kids and up shortly thereafter to get the crying one who still sleeps in a crib from her crib. Once downstairs with the kids, I managed to get them entertained enough for me to plop down on the couch relatively undisturbed and catch a few episodes of "Elbow Room" (with Chip Wade) on HGTV -- turns out, I like that show.  Dan joined me for a few episodes and then headed, with Ella, to Jewel for some breakfast supplies (with the meat of my choosing).  He returned with not only the supplies but a six-pack of the "high-octane" (i.e. non-diet) Dr. Pepper for me to drink on my special day.  I do like high-octane Dr. Pepper.

I needed it to stay on top of the 4-round poop session Ella sucked me into shortly thereafter.  Yes, four rounds of Ella declaring she had to poop and me hustling her onto the toilet to poop... with all rounds completed within 10 minutes.  She actually delivered some poop three of the four times.

Breakfast was good and not fixed by me, but it wasn't quiet -- Cal and Ella conversed (i.e. Cal sang while Ella constantly shared her mostly unintelligible statements) at their typical loud volumes.  Ella actually ate; Cal opted not to.

The morning continued as it normally does with Cal drawing picture after picture, Ella not focused on any one thing and general insanity throughout.  Eventually, we decided we'd go to Lowe's on our way to Cal's swimming lesson, and this required the normal pleading with Cal well in advance of leaving to get his shoes on so we could get out the door.  This was trying for everyone involved but worked without ending in tears.

At Lowe's, we fortunately found the "car" shopping cart which enabled us to fulfill the expectation that had been set with the kids. As I shopped for flowers, Dan had them "driving" up and down the aisles.  There would be no collaboration on what flowers to buy -- they got the dirt, I picked the flowers (which really I didn't need many of since I had bought some from a local seller the day before) all by myself.  Everyone was good with this impromptu approach, and our trip to Lowe's was actually pretty efficient.

We made it to Cal's swimming lesson with time to spare, which made Dan and me uneasy -- how would the kids handle the idle time?  The answer?  They'd get sucked in to a movie on the TV in the "lobby" at the swim center.  It worked.  And then Cal proceeded to have an excellent swimming lesson after which he was given three patches and the news that he'd be moving up a class.

To celebrate both Cal's swimming success and Mother's Day, we went out for lunch.  Cal's choice?  Chick-fil-A, which we realized was closed on Sundays only after we hit the parking lot. This was not good for two reasons: 1) I knew where we'd end up instead and 2) we didn't know how Cal would handle this change.  After a few "I want to go to Chick-fil-A"s followed by "We can't, Cal, it's closed"s, we ended up at Steak and Shake, Cal's second choice (despite Dan's attempt to get Cal to agree to Hooters, which I actually would have preferred).  We had our last meal ever at Steak and Shake with slow service, kids constantly moving around in the booth and Ella putting Steak and Shake stickers all over my face; and we then headed home for naps, during which I planned on preparing to do some planting.

Ella napped; Cal did not.  When Cal chooses not to nap, we usually ask that he spend some quiet time in his room, reading books, lying in bed... some form of relaxation.  On Mother's Day, he asked very sweetly if he could draw instead.  I don't like to say "no" to drawing, so I told him he could but had to help me with some dirt first.  I was still holding on to my hope that he'd help me do some planting -- once he got drawing, I knew that wouldn't happen for sure.

I don't know how we lost track of the Cal-helping-me scenario without exchanging words about it, but he started drawing and I went outside to do the planting prep I had planned for naptime.  I really didn't want to deal with a fight over something relatively insignificant.  At the same time, Dan was getting the oil changed (much needed) in our cars.

As I prepped outside, our neighbor, Steve, called me over to look at the baby bunnies nested in his garden.  So sweet.  At around the same time, Cal emerged from the house to proudly show me the Dr. Seuss picture he had drawn (left); so I took advantage of this "teaching" moment and brought him over to see the baby bunnies.  Bunnies seen, we then left with an offer to borrow a collection of Dr. Seuss books, me still with stickers on my face.

When she was done napping, I did manage to get Ella into her gardening gloves to "help" me plant some flowers in our barrel planter.  Ella "helping" me plant things always turns out to be more work for me, where I undo the planting or digging that she had done, which is fine, really, as I don't expect her to be sure-handed or even the least bit skilled.  But after a couple of flips of dirt, she got upset and uncooperative -- I really don't recall why, but I do recall giving up, stepping away from the planter and just sitting in a chair on the deck with Ella insisting I hold her.  This was my breaking point. To this point, I had been pretty patient and took things as they came.  I was frustrated, tired and a little sad, selfishly wondering why can't it just be about me for 30 minutes?

Meanwhile, Cal was still drawing pictures inside the house, oblivious to the goings on outside.

Somehow, Ella calmed down and I managed to fill the planter, Ella contributing as the adder of the last layer of dirt once all of the flowers were in.  I had more to plant, but I decided to leave them for the next day, content to just plant them by myself.

Dan fixed dinner -- Italian sausage, twice-baked potato and corn.  We then watched a few scenes from Les Mis (the 2010 musical in London) and then announced it was bathtime.  I asked Dan to take a quick picture of the kids and me, as has become our Mother's Day tradition.  Cal was less than cooperative with this; Ella was an enthusiastic participant.  These same characteristics continued to the bathtub, Cal clearly not wanting to take a bath and Ella very happy to do so.  Dan gave a wailing Cal his bath first and finished with happy Ella.  Hearing the struggle from downstairs, I ran up to help calm Cal, now screaming "Mommy!," down and get him into bed.

Cal, me and Ella on Mother's Day (5/12/13)

And that was my Mother's Day.

To the right is one of the pictures we took just before bathtime.  I don't think anyone would describe it as a "nice" picture.  Alone, I think it tells the story of my Mother's Day.  Not perfect nor absent a struggle nor purely content by any means, but really special nonetheless.  Afterall, I was able to hold and hug my kids and hear them call me, "Mommy."

There are so many moms affected first-hand by the tragic goings on in the world these days taking the lives of the youngest and most innocent.  There are also too many moms whose kids' lives were so unfairly cut short by terminal illnesses. What these moms wouldn't give to have stickers put all over their faces or to be on the receiving end of a defiant "No!" having given the simple request to put shoes on.  What they wouldn't give to have to calm a screaming child after a full day of constant, loud chatter or to participate as a butt wiper in poop session after poop session. I feel like I owe it to these moms to fully appreciate my Mother's Day however it unfolds, if not for the simple reason that I can share my day with my kids.

"Are you angry with me?"

Cal asked me tonight if I was angry with him.  I felt like I had been punched in the stomach.  "What? No... no, I'm not, Baby Bear," I answered him immediately.  I then asked him to look at me, which he did.  "I LOVE YOU," I told him as I planted a kiss on his lips.

He then handed me his two pre-bed-reading books and climbed onto my lap to listen to me read them.  When that was done, he climbed into bed, we had our "good night" exchange and I left him to fall asleep.  It was all very normal (except that he actually did stay in bed and fell asleep).

I can't stop thinking about his question.  I'm finding it to be both slightly troubling and very thought-provoking.  What makes it troubling is that he thought the events that led to his asking that question might have made me angry; what makes it thought-provoking is that I find myself wondering if I want him to ever wonder if I'm angry with him or if I'm ever really angry with him.

We had a nice evening, Cal and I.  We spent a good hour to hour and a half drawing Sandra Boynton scenes from her book "Opposites" before heading up for bedtime a little later than planned. He was fully cooperative with my insistence that we wash his face, hands and feet (let's call it a pseudo bath on a non-bath night which we probably should have made a bath night considering all of the outside play in the afternoon).  He brushed his teeth thoroughly; and as we headed to his room to pick out his clothes to wear tomorrow, I reminded him that tomorrow is "wear your favorite sports team garb," the first of 5 days of dress-up themes during Teacher Appreciation Week at school.  I had been talking about this day all weekend, and this would be my final reminder.

This is where things started to fall apart.
 

Nick Jonas as Marius, 2010 (the Marius Cal knows)

His choices were limited to White Sox, Notre Dame and Bears, and really only Notre Dame because his Bears shirt is dirty and his White Sox shirt is short sleeved -- Cal doesn't like short sleeves. He wasn't having anything to do with any of those "choices," and opted instead to dress like Daddy (professional), which somehow turned into dressing like Marius (from Les Miserables).  He enthusiastically chose his black pants and his black button-down shirt.

"Dress like Daddy Day is later in the week, Cal," I delivered that blow to him.  "Tomorrow you're supposed to wear something of your favorite sports team."  Supposed to... it bothers me I used that term for a school dress-up day.

"I want to dress like Marius," Cal said, to which I responded with obvious frustration that he could dress like Marius later in the week, that tomorrow he should wear a sports team's shirt.  "How about you wear your Notre Dame shirt?" I asked him.

"It doesn't look like Notre Dame," he said.  I didn't fully understand that, but accepted it as a rejection; so I dug into his drawer and found a generic, orange, long-sleeved basketball shirt (which he never wears).  "How about this one?" I asked pointedly, to which he responded with a simple nod.  He gave in to my wishes... well, kind of my wishes.  A compromise had been reached.

"I just want you to fit in, Cal," I told him.  I don't know if he understands that.  I really don't understand why I said it.  Aside from it being true (I do want him to fit in), he doesn't need to wear a sports team's shirt on "wear your favorite sports team's garb" day at school to fit in.  Just being Cal is enough -- from what I've observed and heard, everyone loves Cal.

That's pretty much how it went down.  I was obviously frustrated but, in my mind, clearly not angry.  It makes me sad that Cal thought I might be angry over that. First of all, it was way too simple and shallow a scenario for me to be angry. Second of all (and this gets to the thought-provoking characterization of the question), I don't think I want him to worry whether something he does or says will make Dan and me angry or not.  Rather, I want him to wonder if it's the right thing to do and generally follow the path of "do what's right," understanding he may stray at times and that's all a part of the process.

I had a pretty fantastic childhood and believe that my parents "done good" by me.  I have no complaints.  However they did it, I think they taught me pretty well to "do what's right" (admitting I've had a few slip-ups along the way).  However, I do think that I spent a higher percentage of time than the average kid did worrying about what my parents might think of my actions and decisions; and I don't want Cal to do the same.  Not that it was terrible being like that... and not that my parents would have disapproved of my actions and decisions (except for the obvious "I don't think I like that" response my dad gave me when I informed him at 16 I'd be going on a double-date with my friend, Pam, just before I backed out of said double-date... never to date again until basically prom at 18).

Have I gotten angry at Cal? Yes, I have. I know I've told him, "I'm getting angry" on a few occasions. Earlier today, I witnessed him hit the cat and heard him use phrases like, "I hate you" and unwords like "bammit." These things made me angry because we have repeatedly asked him to not do or say them, all in the interest of developing a good kid, one who will know to "do what's right."

I think it boils down to this: I do want Cal to consider what Dan and I may think of his actions and decisions, but I don't want him to be paralyzed by it.  I want him to respect us as having a pretty decent "moral compass," a pretty decent sense of what it means to "do what's right."  His asking me if I was angry over his lack of cooperation over his outfit for tomorrow seems like an early sign that he's headed down the path of being a parent pleaser. (Of course, being on the receiving end of an "I hate you" earlier in the day contradicts that.)

So, he's 4 and still developing into "Cal."  I think we have some time to change things up a bit.  I'm not sure how or if change is needed, but mental note made.