The Birthday Suit Appeared Few Days Early

To say that Ella is pleasant in the morning would be the overstatement of our lifetimes.  Robinson Cano’s contract with the Mariners overstates his worth less than saying Ella is pleasant overstates her morning demeanor and personality.

This week is Dan’s week to work from home, which is nice because it takes the pressure off of us to get the kids up, dressed and out the door in time to catch our train in to the City.  Mostly, it takes the pressure off of me.  Even better, if I’m lucky enough, I can slip out of the house before the little princess wakes up and spreads her “cheer” (or her un-cheer, for that matter).

The kids were still in their beds when I finished getting ready this morning.  Sweet.  I gave Dan a good-morning-good-bye kiss and headed downstairs stepping down the right side of them because I think they’re less creaky there.   Only Zoe, our cat, was on my heels.  Nice and pleasant.  I love you, I said to my kids in my head, hoping it might telepathically transmit to their heads.

I fed Zoe, poured my coffee and grabbed my boots, and then I heard the princess’s voice calling for Daddy.  I don’t remember her exact words, but I do remember she had an attitude, like, the negative kind of attitude… the kind we used to call “’Tude.”  Nuts. This presented me with a dilemma – do I stay and help or do I leave because, well, I was almost out the door anyway?  I decided I’d use the time I needed anyway to put on my boots and coat to decide.

Exactly how the next two minutes unfolded, I don’t know for sure; but I have a pretty good idea.  I heard Ella’s loud, biting “no’s” surely in response to Dan’s attempts to remain patient and encourage her to try to get dressed herself (or with a little help).  Every “no” from Ella surely strengthened Dan’s resolve to make her get dressed herself.  The two minutes concluded with Dan announcing that if she didn’t get herself dressed, she’d just go to school like “that.”

We’ve threatened and used this before.  A couple of weeks ago, Ella didn’t comply with our repeated asks to retrieve her shoes from the shoe basket, choosing to whine about it and insist she “can’t do it” instead.  The standoff ended with Dan informing her she’d go to school without shoes, Ella once again saying she just couldn’t get her shoes and me carrying her, shoeless and screaming, out the door and off to school.   Just last week I cleared it with her teacher that we could send her to school in her pajamas if she didn’t cooperate with getting dressed.  I thought today was the day that threat would be realized.

Upon hearing Dan’s threat this morning, I actually pictured Ella in her mismatched jammy top and bottoms and wished that she had chosen a better pair of jammies last night.  I mean, if she was going to go to school in her pajamas, couldn’t they at least be a good pair?

Dan darted down the stairs, muttering frustrated sentiments that ended with, “and poor Mommy was almost out the door without having to deal with this.”  He was right, and I wished I was already gone.

Ella continued crying and whining and insisting that Daddy come back and help her, which, of course, he wasn’t going to do.  As she did so, I still hadn’t decided exactly what to do – stick around or leave Dan to the madness.  I stood at the base of the stairs with my boots and coat on and my backpack at my feet.  And then Ella emerged on the landing of the stairs in full view, still crying and whining and calling for Daddy.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of her… naked… naked as a jaybird… except for the pair of socks she wore to bed last night.

Dan's threat that she'd just go to school like "that" became funny... hilarious, really.  I don't know how long he would have let it go had I not been there, nor do I know exactly how he would have sent her to school.  Clearly, like "that" (naked) wasn't a viable option, which he actually told her by saying that he'd probably get arrested if he did.

I asked both of them if they wanted my help. Dan said it was up to me, and Ella turned down my offer with a direct, "NO! I want DADDY to help me!"

That's all I needed to hear.  "Okay," I said and started to make a move toward the door when Ella tried to take it all back.  "No, Mommy!  Can you help me get dressed?  Please?" she asked me.

And I did.  The unexpected sight of Ella in her birthday suit instead of her mismatched jammies lightened the mood.  At least for me, it did.  I think Dan was probably glad that he didn't have to come up with an alternative to sending her to school naked and still feel as though he had followed through on his threat.

WANTED

Job: Ella Putter-to-Bed

Start Date: Immediately (Daddy and Mommy have no more patience)

Frequency: Nightly

Start Time: 7:30pm

End Time: Depends on how good you are

Pay: $0 (we do offer a glass or bottle of wine or beer or I think we may have some Bacardi... after two nights, you will want a drink)

Job Description: Put Ella to bed at night. Scope of job does not necessarily include getting her into her pajamas or assisting her with brushing her teeth.  Involves reading her 0-3 books, depending upon her cooperation level in getting ready for bed.  Occasionally requires assisting her with a trip to the potty after round 2 of being put to bed. Often requires picking her, sleeping, up off the landing of the stairs and carrying her to her bed.

Qualifications:

• Must be able to read at a first-grade level
• Must be able to motivate her to select books in a timely manner
• Must not have an opinion of the quality or enjoyment of any of the books she selects or let on that you do have an opinion - if you want to read a specific book to her, she will not select it
• Must be able to transition quickly from book-reading in glider to moving her toward her bed - any hesitation is enough time for her to realize what's going on and devise additional requirements (aka demands)
• Must be able to lift 35 pounds... and getting heavier
• Must be able to put the correct three "covers" (blankets) on her in proper order, each at proper placement and weight distribution over her body
• Must assist her in finding the "handles" (corners) of first (aka "blue") blanket
• Must be willing to take an endless list of orders from a 3-year-old
• Must not feel the need to shut hers or her parents' door and must be able to patiently deal with repeated demands not to "shut the door"
• Must be able to let her give you "one more kiss and a hug" up to 100 times
• Must be able to say "no" to her request to turn on her fan... in her cold room... during the polar vortex... knowing she'll get out of bed and be unable to put her blankets back on
• Must be willing to repeat the cycle, starting with putting three covers on her
• Must be able to contain frustration after round 5 the first night, round 4 the second, and so on down... trust me, you'll get there
• Must believe that a night light sufficiently lights a room rendering a closet light unnecessary
• Ability to get through to her that if she stays in bed under the pile of blankets you've put on her at her insistence she won't need you to assist her with putting her covers on a plus
• Thick skin a must - she will beat you down

Please contact either Dan or me if interested... hell, not even if interested... contact us if you can help us out... please... PLEASE... We're frustrated and angry and impatient before we even start the process these days.  A tag-team approach is welcome and actually encouraged.  Don't underestimate the challenge of this job.

Sister job to get Ella up and dressed in the morning may be posted soon!

My Valentine's Day Messages to Dan

Dear Dan,

While I was at the store last night, I searched for a Valentine's Day card to give you. As your wife, there's an unwritten rule that I'm supposed to give you a card or something special.  More than that, I wanted to.  While we exchange "I love you's" daily, I want to use Valentine's Day as a reason to give you more than those daily messages, and I want to put a little effort into it.

I naturally went first to the witty cards but only giggled at the one with the rooster on the front and the message, "Cock-a-doodle-do me" on the inside.  I then turned to the romantic ones knowing most would be too sappy for my liking but hopeful that I'd uncover one with a peaceful image and a simple message from the heart or one that was perfectly "us." Nothing struck me as worthy of my buying it and giving it to you.

I decided I'd come up with ten Valentine's Day messages that are more "us" and deliver them to you through my blog:

1. Meet me upstairs at 8:53pm - the kids should be asleep and I should still be awake.  Happy Valentine's Day!
2. Two kids, a cat and a home - I think we hit a grand slam!  Happy Valentine's Day!
3. There is no one I'd rather raise these lunatics with than the person who helped me create them.  Happy Valentine's Day!
4. Crazy sock issues run in your family, not mine.  Happy Valentine's Day!
5. I saw the cards the kids made for their teachers for Valentine's Day. This is further proof that you really are a great dad, not that we need any proof.  Happy Valentine's Day!
6. Meet me on the couch for an extra long foot massage today.  Happy Valentine's Day!
7. No, I did not shut my door.  Happy Valentine's Day!
8. Here's hoping we don't have to say "no thumb, please" or "wipe your buns" on Valentine's Day!
9. Thanks for supporting and encouraging me in my recent job choices.  Happy Valentine's Day!
10. Okay... I have to... Cock-a-doodle-do me!  Happy Valentine's Day!

The kids may occupy most of my heart, but you've been in there the longest.  I love you.

Carla

The Power of 44

"Mommy, you know doctors and firemen - what's the big word for those?" Cal asked me from the floor of the doctor's office this morning. He had just finished his annual appointment and was getting dressed before the nurses came in to tag team him and give him four booster shots.

"I'm not sure, Baby Bear... paramedics?" I guessed.

"No, not that," he told me.  "What do you call, like, the firemen, police officers, doctors, nurses?"

"Professionals?" I tried.

"No," he rejected my guess immediately.

"I really don't know," I conceded.

"Yes you do," he insisted.

"I don't.  I don't think there is such a word." I was bailing.  "Did someone tell you there was?"

"Yes, Mrs. Dunham," he said.

"Well, I don't know what it would be," I said with my eyebrow up and lips pursed to the side.  I was clearly questioning the existence of this magical word that accurately describes this mixture of professionals, other than the word "professionals" itself.

"Well, you should know because you're 44 and she's not," he informed me.

I don't know how old Mrs. Dunham is, but she is certainly younger than I am.  Cal thinks that the older you are, the more you know.  I like for Cal to think I know a lot, but not for that reason.  I AM older than a lot of people we both know, other than his grandparents.  I should have told him that Mrs. Dunham is a teacher, so teachers should really know everything.  But that would have put Mrs. Dunham in a bind.

Anyway, there may be a word, something that speaks to the service these professionals provide to people, helping them, healing them, keeping them safe.  I'll have to ask Mrs. Dunham what that word is.

Scientists Aren't People

I had an excellent evening with Cal.  Had someone told me it would turn out to be so excellent as we verbally battled in the car on the way to his swimming lesson, I would have rolled my eyes and dismissed everything else that person told me.  He didn't like the nutrition bar I had given him to satiate his hunger and made that clear; and when I told him it was his only option, he whined and whined some more.

The evening turned on a dime once we entered the swimming facility.  Cal had a fantastic lesson which was followed by a fantastic dinner at what's become our favorite post-swimming-lesson food joint (Nicky's), and this was followed by a discussion about things I'm afraid of.  We had seen three police officers at Nicky's, and I had asked Cal if he wanted to say anything to them.  He shyly responded that he didn't, and this led to my suggesting he was afraid.  "I'm not afraid," he insisted; and this is how we got on the topic of the things I'm afraid of... heights, like when I'm standing on a tall diving board... clowns, all clowns... small spaces, like in a box barely big enough to fit me... and public speaking, like speaking in front of a bunch of people.  I told him that even though I'm afraid of them, I've done some of them.  And then he still insisted he wasn't afraid of talking to the police officers.

Anyway, once we were home, we quickly made our way upstairs to go to bed.  Cal announced that he'd go to the bathroom before brushing his teeth because "once I'm done brushing my teeth I won't have to go potty because I already went."  While he did that, I peeked in on Ella who was still awake and wanted to give me "a kiss and a hug."

Cal and I then headed into his room where I told him that he could pick one book to read tonight.  He chose his Book of Dinosaurs.  I like this one.  It's a thick-paged reference book with a perfect amount of dinosaur information to understand and retain.

When I was done reading it to him, we had this conversation:

Me: "So, Cal, we know about dinosaurs by studying their bones and fossils. People and dinosaurs never lived at the same time. Isn't that amazing?"

Cal: "No, scientists studied dinosaurs. They were alive."

Me: "Scientists are people, and people weren't alive when dinosaurs were alive."

Cal: "Scientists aren't people."

Me: "Hmm... what are scientists then?"

Cal: "Scientists are like God."

Me: "Actually, scientists are kind of the opposite of God. Scientists know things based on fact and science."  I just left it at that.

Cal: "We don't know any scientists.  Well, we know one."

Me: "What scientist do we know?"

Cal: "Uncle Perry."

Me: "You're right, Baby Bear.  Uncle Perry is a scientist.  Maybe you'll be a scientist, and then we'll know two."

Cal: "I don't want to be a scientist."

Me: "Why not?"

Cal: "Scientists are boring. All they do is study. I want to be a storm chaser."

I opened the book to the first page of the dinosaur book and re-read the statements about people and dinosaurs never living at the same time and scientists studying their bones and learning about them that way. He has a really hard time understanding this, so I thought a little reinforcement will help.

After that, I pulled his socks off his feet and was hit with a waft of his smelly feet, which was enough to hasten his going to bed. "Ew, get your smelly feet away from me," I told him.  He laughed and moved his foot closer to my face.  "No!" I exclaimed, laughing, as I exited.

As I tucked him in, we continued laughing about his smelly feet.  "You know what your protection would be if you were a dinosaur?"

"What?" he asked.

"It wouldn't be bony armor; it would be stinky feet," I said.  And then I took it a step further with, "If someone asks you what your super power is, you should tell them, 'my stinky feet!'"  We laughed some more.

We ended our evening by each admitting to the other that we know the other is turning on/off his closet light throughout the night. He wants the light on when he goes to bed, and we turn it off after he's asleep for the night.  Oftentimes, we'll find his light back on, either before we go to bed or the following morning.  Clearly, he's waking up and turning it back on himself.

"Mommy, I know you turn off the light. I turn it back on," he told me.

"I know," I responded.

"Yeah, you hear my footprints in the middle of the night," he said.

"Well, I don't really hear your footsteps. I just see the light on and I know that you turned it back on after I turned it off," I told him. "Sometimes we turn it off again after you turn it back on after we turn it off." It was a convoluted sentence that he got lost in.

"Mommy, I could fly to the closet and turn the light on and you wouldn't hear my footprints." He was getting creative.

"Well, I may not hear your footsteps if you flew to your closet, but I would hear your arms flapping," I informed him.

By this time, it was past his bedtime and time to put an end to the fun. I gave him my goodnight spiel, we exchanged kisses and we both ended our days with some pretty excellent smiles.

Cal's Penguins

Before dinner last night, Cal started drawing a picture.  He drew a couple of penguins, specifically Empire penguins, in the middle of the paper along with a brown “thing.”  The penguins were clearly penguins, but I wasn’t sure what the brown thing was.  “Those are really good penguins, Cal… what’s that brown thing?” I asked him.

“A nest,” he responded.  But of course.

We were having tacos for dinner, so it wasn’t too long before dinner was ready and we were telling Cal that it was time to wash his hands for dinner.

“Can I finish my drawing after dinner?” he asked?  Clearly, he had a vision for this in his mind.

“Yes, as long as there’s enough time after you finish eating before it’s time to go to bed,” I responded.  The kids didn’t nap and went to bed late each of the weekend days, so Dan had already set expectations that they’d be going to bed a little earlier than usual.  I did not complain.  (Cal didn’t, either.)

Cal ate all of his dinner (including seconds and thirds of chips, his chosen tool to scoop up the meat and refried beans from his plate).  His last bite just swallowed, he stood up and took his plate, fork and cup to the sink.  Dan wiped Cal’s face and hands with our post-meal washcloth, a must after any meal if you’ve ever seen Cal after having eaten.  And then Cal proceeded to assume his position at the kitchen island to add some penguins to his picture.  He had about 10 minutes of drawing time, something Dan reminded him of and which Cal completely understood and accepted without a squawk.

He added more penguins – Empire penguins – to his picture.  10 minutes went by quickly and pleasantly; and with maybe three or four more penguins drawn, it was time to stop and head upstairs to get ready for bed, of which Dan informed Cal.

Cal put his pencil down without negotiating more time or whining that he wasn’t finished.  He put his pencils in the case and as he did so asked, “Can I finish in the morning?”

Dan told him something to the effect of, “If you get up and ready for school and there’s time before we have to leave for school you can.”

Cal heard the conditions, repeated them as acknowledgement that he had accepted them and then headed upstairs for what would turn out to be a very easy bedtime routine (for Cal; Ella was a different story not pertinent to this post).

I was up earlier than usual this morning to get a run in, to prepare a crockpot dinner and to fix Dan’s and my lunches before getting ready for work (this overachieving type of morning generally follows one where I felt lazy and contributing to family discord).  I had just laid the pieces of bread out on the counter to make our sandwiches when I saw the light of Cal’s room project off of the half wall by the landing of our stairs.  I smiled, remembering the exchange he and Dan had had the night before.

A minute later, Cal was standing at the island in the kitchen, dressed and with a proud smile.  “Can I draw, Mommy?” he asked.

“Yes, you can,” I told him and proceeded to pull out his colored pencils.  We had 50 minutes before we’d have to be leaving for our days.

“Can I have my Notre Dame pencil?” he asked.

Notre Dame pencil… Notre Dame pencil… hmmm… “Notre Dame pencil?” I asked him.

“Yes, it’s in the drawer,” he told me, as if this was really clarifying.

I opened the junk drawer of our island, dug through the box of pens and pencils and honed in on the pencil with the shamrocks plastered all over it.  But of course.

“Is this it?” I asked him, certain it was.

“Yes,” he responded.

He then proceeded to add more penguins to his drawing as I assembled mine and Dan’s lunches.  We talked about things that I can’t remember now.  I only remember it being incredibly pleasant and peaceful.  Just the two of us keeping our hands busy and our minds engaged and interested in each other.

Cal decided that he wanted to give his drawing to his teacher, which he eventually did.  I did take a picture of it, though -- here it is: