Cal Gos tuw Soccer No More

That was MY KID who loudly, repeatedly refused to run onto the soccer field tonight for his last night of soccer camp… this, after talking all week about how Ella would go to soccer tonight to watch him… after wearing his soccer t-shirt to school today in anticipation of soccer this evening… after inviting his grandparents and cousin to come watch him… which they did… or, at least, which they tried to do.

That was MY KID announcing to his dad and me within earshot of many other parents that he “HATES soccer,” his reason for not joining his soccer friends on the field for their last night of soccer camp tonight.

That was MY KID who snapped, “No!” when I politely asked him to stand up from the chair he was sitting in to let his grandma who had come to watch him play soccer sit down.

That was MY KID who, when pulled aside to talk calmly about the situation, insisted that he never said that he wanted to play soccer and who sharply noted that I knew that (see Cal Gos tuw Soccer Now).

That was MY KID whose ears caught none of my words about having certain fun once he got on the field and started playing… about sometimes doing things you may not want to just because you made a commitment to do them… about just getting out there one more time if only so his grandparents, cousin and sister could see him play.

That was MY KID, my sharp-tongued kid, who clearly did not respect his parents as we attempted to get him to join his soccer friends for his last night of soccer camp tonight.

That was MY KID screaming that he wanted to play soccer after his dad, his grandparents and I had had enough of his mean words and refusal to play, packed up our stuff and headed back to our cars.  He screamed all the way to the car and half way home… “I WANT TO PLAY SOCCER!” he exclaimed over and over again, sobbing and catching his breath between each exclamation.

I am not embarrassed nor am I angry.  I am not really even wondering what was at the root of his behavior.  Rather, I am sad and completely defeated.

Addax You What That Is

An Addax

During our staycation a couple of weeks ago, Dan and I took our Leatherkids to the zoo.  Anyone who lives in the Chicagoland area might remember that this was the ONLY week of the summer when temperatures were so high it was almost too hot to be outside for any amount of time.  But we went as promised.  There was a dinosaur exhibit that we really wanted to see, plus, well, it's a zoo -- kids love zoos.

So after the dolphin show that didn't impress the Leatherkids, the dinosaur exhibit which terrified Ella, the sleeping lions, some missing rhinos and several fights with Cal about NOT playing on the playground after we paid money to get into the zoo, we found ourselves making our way over to see the wolves, a specific request made by Cal.  To get there, we passed the giraffes, the zebras and a few of a somewhat familiar-looking animal but not one that we knew -- the addax.

Cal and I had this conversation in front of the addax:

Cal: “It’s a gazelle.”

I thought it’s not a gazelle... I don't think it is anyway... but what is it... and how does he know what a gazelle is?  I consulted the sign describing it as a type of antelope and said, “It’s an addax.”

Cal: “What’s an addax?”

Me: “That.”

Cal: “What is it?”

Me: “An addax.”

Cal (getting frustrated): “What’s an addax?”

Me: “That’s an addax!”

Cal: “What?”

Me: “That!  It’s a white animal that looks like a gazelle that has screwy, long horns.”

And that was the end of it.  It was a real Who's on First kind of bit, totally unplanned.  We then proceeded to make our way to the wolves... or, as it turns out, the wolf and said nothing more of the addax.

Cal's Mail

Cal has a good friend named Mahima.  He's known her since he started going to his school out here in the suburbs 3 years ago when he was 18 months old.  Cal and Mahima, just a month younger than Cal, have moved from one classroom to the next basically together, so they've spent a lot of time together. From the beginning, Cal and Mahima just clicked.  Ask Cal who his friends are, and Mahima's always one of them.

Mahima happens to live in our subdivision, roughly 3 blocks away from where we live.  We drive past her house practically every day and say, "Hi, Mahima's house!"

Last week during our staycation, Cal started showing interest in mail, the mailbox and the mailman. I wasn't around for the initial, in-depth discussion Dan and Cal had about it, but I did get Dan's "Babe, I have Cal... we'll be right back" announcement from downstairs, followed by the closing of the front door.  I came to learn that they had to mail a couple of letters that Cal had written.  One was fully addressed, stamped and placed in our mailbox for the mailman (or a couple of mailmen) to deliver to Grandpa.  The second was walked those 3 blocks to Mahima's house and placed in her mailbox.

I haven't yet learned what was in the letter to Grandpa, but Mahima's contained a very simple message, written entirely by Cal:

"I love you Mahima"

So sweet.  I'm sure Cal meant it, too.

This past Monday morning when Cal returned to school, Mahima was already there and greeted him at the door.  Cal's a little shy after time away from his friends, so he stood behind me.  I said, "Hi, Mahima," to which she responded, "I got Cal's letter," smiling sweetly as she told me this.

This evening, Dan grabbed the mail from the mailbox and found an envelope addressed to Cal.  "To Cal," it read simply on the front.  On the back of the envelope was written, "From Mahima."  Cal excitedly opened up his mail and read his letter from Mahima, which was, in her handwriting:

"I love you too Cal. From Mahima"

Mahima's Letter to Cal (7/24/13)

I wonder if Cal and Mahima will be friends forever. I wonder if they'll date... and get married.  Aw, I don't want to get ahead of myself.  That Mahima's a keeper, though!  Then again, so is Cal!

I Know Who's Going to Bed Early Tonight

Ella threw the tantrum of the century a few days ago.  I remember it vividly and still haven't completely recovered.  Neither has she -- her voice is still raspy such that some might think she's recovering from a cold.  I know the truth.  I lived through the 45 minutes of incessant screaming.

It all started with my innocent request for her to walk herself from the car to the front door of my mom's house in response to her request for "uppy."  This should not have been a surprise to her or anyone of sound mind -- in one hand I held a watermelon, in the other I held a bag of groceries.  Carrying Ella just wasn't feasible. 

This was coming off the pleading I did with her to walk herself out of Jewel and to the car where I was in a similar situation -- holding that damn watermelon and carring the bag of groceries after foolishly abandoning the cart figuring I'd get full cooperation from the one who had begged me to take her with me to the store when I had four willing babysitters at Grandma's house.  I played that game where I respond to her refusal to walk out with me with "Okay, I'm leaving. See you later," and then walk through the first door and see if I can keep an eye on her through a window to be sure she stays safe.  Sometimes this works, and she comes scrambling out behind me.  This day, I had to go back in and beg her to come out with me, which I did and miraculously got her to walk out alongside me herself.

At any rate, safe at Grandma's house, I wasn't in the mood for her bossy antics and was up for the fight that was brewing.  I left her crying by my car for me to carry her as I walked to the house with my watermelon and bag of groceries.  My mom greeted me at the door and said, "I'll go get her."  Ahh... relief, I thought.  Oh, Grandma... you don't know what you're in for.

Grandma fought through Ella's "no's" near the curb, grabbed her and managed to carry her to the house, Ella kicking and screaming the whole way.  Ella clearly wanted me, not Grandma, to carry her.  At this point, I was not going to carry her, watermelon and groceries or not.

Once inside, it was a test of wills.  I dropped the watermelon and groceries at the door (they'd be making the trip home with me -- I just wanted them out of the scorching heat), and I walked to the kitchen.  Ella followed me, still unhappy that it was Grandma who carried her in... I think that was the case, anyway.  She screamed that I pick her "uppy," and I told her "no," that she could come sit with me on the couch and then made my way to the couch.

Ella didn't follow.  Instead she heightened her dissatisfaction with me and kicked off her  tantrum.  While crying, she repeatedly screamed "Mommy! Come here!"  She even threw herself to the ground and pounded her arms and legs against the ground similar to the stereotypical tantrum you might see depicted in a cartoon.

I didn't know whether to laugh... or to cry... or to feel bad for her or for me.  I did a little bit of everything.  I certainly felt bad for the witnesses who, not long before, had told me that she was perfectly behaved, no issues, just wonderful.  Clearly, she saves it for me.

One thing I did know: I wasn't going to go to the kitchen to pick Ella uppy.  She bosses me around a little too often for my liking, and this time I wasn't going to respond to it.  I just sat on the couch only periodically acknowledging her loud tantrum with an "Ella, you can come sit with Mommy on the couch," which was always met with a clear, "NO!" from the tantrum thrower.  She made it clear she wanted me to come to the kitchen to pick her uppy.

At one point, Aunt Sandi pealed her off of the kitchen floor and brought her kicking and screaming to me on the couch, where she continued the kicking and screaming.  I held her tight and spoke softly to her for a few minutes, a feeble attempt to calm her; and this didn't work. Once I set her on the ground, she ran back to the kitchen where she continued the tantrum, again, calling for me to come to her to pick her uppy.

If the witnesses were bothered by the noise, they didn't say anything about it.  In fact, I'd say I had their full support to carry out my don't-give-in-to-her approach until I came out the victor. Uncle Mart tried to lighten the mood with an "I wouldn't take her on a plane anytime soon." For sure.

Cal even tried to calm her.  "Ella, do you want me to take you to Mommy?" he asked as he stood over her in the kitchen.  This was, of course, met with a certain "NO!" from Ella.  Message received, Cal ran back to Grandpa Fred to continue to play, unaffected by Ella's tantrum, with him.  I learned later that Cal had told Fred later in Ella's tantrum, "I know who's going to bed early tonight!"

In the end, I did go to the kitchen to pick her uppy. Immediately upon doing that, that little bugger stopped her tantrum, wrapped her arms and legs tightly around me and lay her head on my shoulder, curling it tight against my neck and under my chin. I spoke calmly to her as I walked from room to room, her breath-catching sobs getting lighter and lighter as I did so.

I don't know that either of us won this battle, really.  I doubt that either of us handled it the "right" way -- no one in his right mind would suffer through either end of that given the choice.  What the right way to have handled it is, I don't know.  But one thing is for sure: Ella did go to bed early that night.

Tightnen Keen and Ecsalators

Shortly after Cal’s ability to read books not necessarily by memory but by sounding out the word really took off, Dan introduced a new activity to the Leatherman evening.  He puts Cal’s brown “reading” chair (one of those Land of Nod cushiony toddler chairs) in front of the couch facing it and tells the kids to go pick out a couple of books each to read aloud.  As they select their books, he announces who will go first that evening and then says it over and over so as to reduce the size and pain of a blow-up from the one not going first.

So while Cal can actually read his books, Ella can’t… nor can she “read” them from memory like he used to and still can… nor does she really “read” anything that we can fully comprehend.

Last night, Ella chose to “read” the books “Spooky Sounds” (about Lightening McQueen and Mater chasing down the source of a spooky sound) and “Corduroy” (about a teddy bear’s night in a department store).  She started with “Spooky Sounds,” which went something like this:

“Tightnen Keen” this and “Tightnen Keen” that, where the “this” and “that” we could not make out.  With every turn of the page, she’d say “Tightnen Keen” again, followed by nonsensical statements.  And then she’d flip the book around for us to look at the pictures.  “See, Cal Daniel,” she’d say if she didn’t think Cal was paying attention to him.  And then she’d proceed.  “Tightnen Keen” blah blah blah.  It was a real page turner.

Then she moved on to “Corduroy,” which, lucky for all of us, has a few pictures of escalators in it.  Ella’s a big fan of escalators; and as she read, she included in the story the plight of Cal Daniel over the weekend when he fell on the escalator.  “Cal Daniel fell down on ecsalator,” she said once or twice, recalling something that really did happen.  And around that were a bunch of nonsensical sentences with the word “ecsalator” occasionally thrown in.  She had a little twist at the end of this one, though, when she said, “and then I went poopy in my underwear.”  This caught Cal’s attention, and he belted out a hearty laugh.

Who's This Kid and Can We Keep Him?

Cal told me (wearing shorts, a t-shirt and a ponytail) just before dinner last night that I looked “fabulous.”  Coming on the heels of full and immediate cooperation with my request to wash hands and sit down for dinner and comments like “these green beans look SO GOOD, Mommy,” I was suspicious.  Dan witnessed it all, too; and with each exhibition of wonderful kid-dom, he and I looked at each other saying with our facial expressions, “huh, who’s this kid, and what does he want?”

Even before then, there was some weirdness going on.  Not home from school for even five minutes, Cal announced he’d be getting into his jammies before dinner so he’d be ready for bed.  On a good night, it’s a struggle to get him to do this after asking him 10 times right at bedtime.  And then he then proceeded to do so.  Dan and I gave each other the “what’s up with this kid?” look then, too, but didn’t stop it from happening.

Anyway, after he saw how well the “fabulous” comment went over with me, Cal proceeded to tell Dan that he looked “fabulous” and so did Ella.  He even paid himself the same compliment.

Dinner was a simple turkey burger, rice and the aforementioned green beans.  Cal and Ella sat at their kid-sized red table (a last-minute request which I saw no harm in obliging), drank their chocolate milk, ate some of their dinner and continued with the pleasantries.  There was no yelling, and only once did we need to remind Cal to sit at the table – that once was when he got out of his chair to pick up Ella’s fork which she had dropped on the floor. 

Yes, last night’s Leatherman dinner was absent the yelling, crying, whining, stress and threats that usually (as in daily) accompany it.  Dan and I didn’t speak much at all – I think we had an unspoken agreement not to so as not to disrupt the wonderfully pleasant tone that Cal had set.  We only exchanged the occasional “who’s this kid?” and “can he stick around for a few days… or forever?”

Clearly Cal didn’t really think the green beans looked really good because he left them uneaten on his plate.  He may have eaten half of his rice and turkey burger.  Ella, too.  When he decided he was finished, he carried his plate and cup to the sink.  Ella followed suit.  Though I would have preferred he (they both) be in the “clean plate club,” I was pretty pleased with the clearing of the table… and still perplexed over what his motivation for being so cooperative and content was.