My All-Time Mommy Low

The image of Cal quietly sitting at the kitchen table eating his before-school dose of animal crackers this morning popped into my mind throughout the day.  He was alone and already had his coat on and fully zipped, its hood pulled over his head as only Cal wears it that I know of.  I hadn’t heard one peep out of him about his clothes or his shoes – if they bothered him, he didn’t let on that they did.  At least, I didn’t hear him complain about them, not that I could have.  I was too busy yelling at Ella – I mean, flat out screaming at her – triggered by her deliberate vacillation about what to wear today.

"I want to wear that dress... no, I don't want to wear it... I don't want to wear that skirt... or that skirt... or that skirt... or that skirt... I want to wear that dress (same dress)..." and so on.  It ended with me throwing a shirt at her as I yelled, heading toward the door, instinctively slamming it, returning to the closet where she was still standing and yanking a different dress off the rod and throwing it on her.  Her response?  "Button it."

Needless to say, I didn't button it.

I’m sad that Cal, going about his own happy morning business, had to hear it.  In the moment, I didn’t think about how it might affect him.  In the moment, I knew of myself and the subject of my madness, my dear, sweet, cute baby girl, Ella.  Yeah, right.  She wasn’t all that this morning.  This morning, she was holding a pitchfork and had horns growing out of her head.  Or was that me?

I’m embarrassed to tell the story of how I even got to that point - it wasn't just the vacillation. For one, I really don’t think I can do it justice – how do you explain to someone how nuts it makes you that your kid, at bedtime, wants to give you yet another kiss and a hug and tell you – announcing from her room for all in the house to hear - she loves you numerous times, getting louder with each unacknowledged proclamation?  Second, she’s three – what kind of mother, in response to being told to turn her onto her belly or wipe her tears because she “can’t do it herself” verbally lays into her three-year-old using phrases like “you’re playing me” and “God dammit!” while sending repeated blows to the floor? What kind of mother verbally lays into her three-year-old period?  Lastly, I actually said for the first time this morning, “I don’t even like her.  I don’t even like my daughter” as I scrambled down the stairs, tears streaming down my face, my body numb and nearly limp from defeat.  Who lets her daughter get to her that much and, what's more, who says that about her own daughter?

I felt great about myself all day.  The possibility that I may have unintentionally hurt or scared Cal made me feel even better.  And by “great” and “better” I mean really, really, really disappointed in myself.

I’ve had people tell me Ella’s stubbornness and strong will are good traits to have.  She’ll do well in the world.  Oh, yeah?  I want to tell them, “not in my world… she's not doing well in my world right now.”  In my world, every single request I make of her is met with resistance or challenge.  I’m not kidding.  EVERY SINGLE THING, be it big or small, be it about something she can't do (but wants to) or can do (but doesn't want to).  It's hard to tolerate in such large quantities.

I had to listen to her whine, scream and cry for a good hour yesterday, a tantrum of sorts that started when Dan, instead of carrying her per her demand, offered his hand to her to walk down the stairs together.  That wasn't an acceptable offer, so he left her at the top of the stairs.  I let it go on a bit and then offered to help - she'd only take the help if it was per her rules (i.e. carry her); I offered a compromise (i.e. hold her hand), which she declined.  So I left.  I even eventually offered to carry her down the stairs if she'd just come to my room.  She declined even that until it came time for me to go downstairs.  Too late, sister... too late.

I need a break from it.  I need her to be nice to me.  I need her to not challenge me for a day… for an hour window… heck, for one request.  I need her to not kick me when I try to put her pajamas on after refusing to do so herself.  I need her to walk down the stairs without having a meltdown after I’ve told her that I can’t carry her because I need to carry a load of laundry down.  I need her to ask me ONLY ONCE from her bed if I've closed my door (yes, my daughter worries about my closing my door for some reason unbeknownst to anyone capable of logical thinking... heck, Zoe, our cat, doesn't even know), as if one time is even acceptable.

In between meetings and brain cycles on work deliverables throughout the day, I replayed the events from this morning and then thought about my next steps, motivated by my not wanting to be a yelling mom, for my kids to not think that yelling is okay and for Ella to just be a nicer, less bossy person.  Here's what I've come up with so far:

First, re-boot myself so that my patience and tolerance for Ella as she tackles toddlerhood is back to an acceptable parenting level.  My short fuse certainly isn't helping the situation.

Second, no more yelling.  I'm tired of hearing myself played back to me when my kids yell in response to a situation not going as they'd like.

Third, no more instant "No."  I think Ella is playing that back to me just as I deliver it to her.  I will still say "No" but differently... more thoughtfully, as if to suggest a reason, which I always have but just don't necessarily communicate.

Fourth, have Ella select her next-day outfit the night before and lay it out for her.  We did this with Cal to mitigate the risk of him having his own clothing meltdown in the fast-paced, time-crunched mornings, and have only done it spottily with Ella.  It works, so we'll do it religiously.

Fifth, enforce the time-boxed bedtime routine at all times.  If they (Cal included) choose to run around and play instead of getting ready for bed, then they get no books at the end of it.  It's their choice.  If Ella chooses to battle getting her jammies on, then no books for her (and likely no jammies).  Again, it's her choice.

Sixth, stick with the "Frozen" soundtrack.  We played it for each of the kids once they were lying in their beds last night and again tonight.  While not a cure-all, it did seem to make things a little better... a few less "I love yous" and "are you not closing your doors?" coming from Ella's room to acknowledge from wherever I am in the house before she fell asleep.

Seventh, offer to hold Ella every once in awhile during a tantrum or unwarranted obstinacy (if she'll let me).  Maybe this will calm her down and help me yell less.

Eighth, reintroduce the Reward Chart to encourage Ella to listen, cooperate grow and just be a nicer person.  Thus far, encouragement for good behavior hasn't reduced the amount of Ella's "sad choices" (a school term); and the Reward Chart concept has been a little lost on her.  Maybe it's worth another try.

Ninth, threaten to put jeans on her if she doesn't cooperate in the morning.  Ella does not like jeans.  It's a win-win for me - if it works, she cooperates with getting dressed; if it doesn't work, she wears jeans, something I like.

Tenth, look for options - aka distractions - to eliminate.  Ella has a seemingly endless list of pre-bed things to do which is only stopped when Dan or I lose it, thereby putting an end to it.  The other day, it was flip-flopping stools in the bathroom that set me off - maybe we just keep one stool in the bathroom.

Eleventh, get help if 1-10 don't seem to be working. Dan and I are being presented with unprecedented levels of toddlerhood, and I shouldn't be too proud to suggest that I have no clue what I'm doing.  I will take any help I can get.

Twelfth, make sure Cal gets good, Ella-less attention and hugs from me.  I don't know if he needs that, but I need to give that to him.

If they didn't get me to my all-time low, the events of this morning certainly felt like I'd reached an all-time low, at least as a parent.  Writing about them is therapeutic.  And, it turns out, the image of a coated Cal innocently and contentedly sitting at the kitchen table, eating his animal crackers while I yelled at Ella is my primary motivation to change.

My Favorite Thing from Yesterday (6 and 7) - Ella Sang and Cal Cuddled

I missed my post yesterday. The day just got away from me and ended with a win at bowling to move us up one place to 5th and then a celebratory visit to B Dubs afterward with our teammates Pam and Joe.  Didn't get home until midnight and had no energy or material to write anyway.

So I'll write about a couple of my favorite things from yesterday to make up for it.  It'll be brief.  Trust me.  It's been a rough weekend.

My first favorite thing from yesterday was the image of Ella singing along to Frozen's "Let It Go."  She was standing tall on a stool in the kitchen, throwing her arms in the air with every "let it go" she belted out.  She had been running around the house in nothing but undies all morning, not sure exactly why other than she had spilled milk on herself during breakfast, so it really was quite a scene - a virtually naked Ella, standing tall, smiling and swaying as she sang the only lyrics to the song that she knew.  It was quite a moment - I loved it.

It ended up being just a moment, too.  The moment quickly soured as naptime neared.  Ella has been a beast to put to bed lately (really, a beast in general, but at her worst before any type of bedtime).  Coming off of the nightmare that putting her down for her nap had been for me, I immediately went to Cal's room (he was reading in his bed) and told him in my most desperate, sad tone, "Cal, will you cuddle with me?"

And this became my second favorite thing from yesterday -- he did.  We lay in his bed, face to face and arm in arm, for five, maybe ten minutes.  He initially patted my shoulder as if to tell me it'd be all right, I'm a good mommy.  My frustration, anger and feelings of complete failure lowered to tolerable levels, and all it took was some cuddle time with my son.

My Favorite Thing from Yesterday (5) - I Got Proof that Ella's Playing Me

After many frustrating weeks of putting Ella to bed and dealing with her stubbornness, her unreasonableness, her redundancies, her seemingly downright nutty requests, I witnessed proof last night that she is knowingly playing me.  Some may find this disturbing; me, I found it inspiring.  I will win.

It was subtle, but I saw it.  I had just gotten her into her bed, put her blankets on while she rattled off her usual nonsensical string of phrases while I rattled off my own string of what she must think is nonsensical BECAUSE THEY NEVER MAKE A DIFFERENCE TO HER.  I told her that I love her and that I would not close my door.  And then I warned her that I was going to give her "one more hug and kiss," and then stand up and leave.  I told her I didn't want her asking for another hug and kiss...  I would say "I love you" on the way out the door...  And I would not close my door.  And I didn't want her asking me about any of that.  "Okay?" I ended my shpeel.

She nodded.  So I gave her "one more hug and kiss" and threw in an "I love you."  Our eyes met.  My heart started to race.  I formulated my approach to exiting.  I was building up my resolve to hold firm that I would not get suckered back in to "one more hug and kiss."  I felt like I could do it.

Meanwhile, she continued to stare at me.  She's waiting for me to start to leave to ask for that damn hug and kiss, I thought to myself.  So I flinched my body upward; and as quickly as I did that, she flinched toward me and opened her mouth as if she was going to say something.  When she realized I wasn't standing and leaving, she stopped herself.  She grinned, a conniving, I-own-you kind of grin.

I have known that she's playing me for awhile now, but this was the first time I witnessed her actually think about pushing my buttons.  It was all reaction before.  Apparently, there's a precise time to starting her bit.  And I caught that.

Sadly, that's my favorite thing from yesterday.  Oh, and Ella did eat all of her dinner at IHOP a few hours earlier.

(Note:  I'm posting this a little after midnight.  "Yesterday" in this case is Thursday.)

My Favorite Thing from Yesterday (4) - Cal Used His Own Brain

Cal’s a huge fan of math, and he’s pretty good at it.  We try to contain his practicing of math to addition and subtraction to be sure that he understands those concepts before trying to tackle multiplication and division; but it doesn’t always work, and we find ourselves either assisting him with multiplication or confirming his multiplication math sentences.

What started as, “Mommy, what’s 30 times 10?” has evolved into “Mommy, I know what 300,000 times 10 is… 3,000,000,” followed by an “I know that’s right” grin.

I don’t believe he understands the multiplication concept so much as the trick to figuring some of it out.  I told him once or twice that any number times ten is the number with a zero on the end of it – 3 times 10 is 30… 29 times 10 is 290… and so on.  He caught on quickly and can do it with smaller and larger numbers.

The fact that he already gets that there are tricks to doing math is pretty cool.  I had the pleasure of taking him to his swimming lesson last night.  On the way there, we had this conversation:

“Mommy, I know what 30 plus 19 is,” Cal stated from his car seat.

“Oh, yeah, what’s 30 plus 19?” I asked him from the driver’s seat.

“49,” he responded

“That’s right, Cal,” I confirmed.  That Cal knew this wasn’t surprising to me, so I thought I’d pose a more difficult math equation for him, one that maybe he’d be able to figure out.  “Okay, Cal, I have another one for you.  Can you tell me what 29 plus 19 is?  See if you can figure that out.”

Cal thought for a bit and then exclaimed, “48!”

This garnered an excited, “That’s right, Cal!  That’s excellent!  How did you figure that out?” from me.

Cal thought for a few seconds, “Hmm… I don’t know.”

Hmm.  I followed by saying something to the effect of “Well, maybe you figured that 29 is one less than 30 and just subtracted one from 49.  That’s how I would do it quickly.”

Cal then attempted to repeat what I had said, as if that’s the logic that he used.  Maybe it was.  All I know is, we tried a few more math equations using numbers around 19 and 30, and he got them all right.

As we neared swimming, Cal said, “Mommy, I figured that out using my own brain.”

This amused me.  “Well, who else’s brain would you have used?  My brain?”

“No,” he replied.

“And why wouldn’t you have used my brain?” I asked, fully expecting him to say that it’s because it’s attached to my body, not his.  That’s what I would have said, anyway.

“Because we would have had to cut your head off and cut my head off,” he answered. He added something about then do something with them and each of our bodies, I can’t recall exactly what.  Yikes.

And that story, particularly with that ending, is my favorite thing from yesterday.

My Favorite Thing from Yesterday (3) - Cal Helped Ella

When Dan and I both go in to work, the Leatherkids are among the first to arrive at school for the day.  This is only significant to this story because, despite their 2-year age gap, they both start their day in Ms. Jennifer's room.  As more kids and more teachers arrive, the kids in Ms. Jennifer's room are escorted to their "proper" classrooms, or the rooms where they'll spend most of the rest of their day.

Before going to Ms. Jennifer's room, the kids need to de-coat and put anything they've brought in for the day in their cubbies in their proper classrooms; and Dan and I help our Leatherkids with that.  Not that we ever formally decided this, but more often that not, Dan helps Cal and I help Ella.  Cal's classroom is at the front of the building, and Ella's is closer to the back; so Dan naturally gets Cal to Ms. Jennifer's room and leaves before Ella and I arrive.  I give Cal a kiss and an "I love you," and then I do the same for Ella... a few times, at her request.  And then Ms. Jennifer asks both kids to wash their hands (unless Cal's already done so).

That's usually where it ends.  Yesterday morning, I witnessed one of those moments where you get confirmation that, somehow, Lord knows how, really, you must be doing something right with your kids.  It was a moment that was so sweet and tender that it would be something I'd recall many times throughout the day and just smile.

After I gave Ella her kiss and "I love you," I told her to "go wash her hands, please."

Ella responded, "Can Cal help me?"

I turned to Cal, who was already playing with a friend, and asked, "Cal, can you come here for a second, please?"  And he did.

I told Ella to go ahead and ask Cal her question, and she did, "Can you help me wash my hands, Cal?" (I love when she uses his name nicely.)

Without saying a word, he turned her gently toward the sink; and the two of them walked arm-in-arm toward the sink where he proceeded to help her wash her hands.  Ms. Jennifer whispered, "that is so sweet," and I responded with a smile and placed my hand over my heart, my symbol for pride.

I didn't stick around to watch the rest of the moment, but Ms. Jennifer took a video of it and included it in Cal's report for the day -- here's the video:

My Favorite Thing from Yesterday (2) - Cal Dressed Like Daddy

Every once in awhile... a great while... Cal gets an itch to vary from his usual pocketless, stringless, too-short sweatpants and long-sleeved, worn t-shirt and wear a shirt and tie and non-sweatpants.  And even less than every once in awhile, he actually scratches that itch.

Yesterday, he scratched it; and this was my favorite thing from yesterday.

I've seen it before and gotten my hopes up, not that it matters to me much what he wears. I've seen many a kid on picture day at school dressed to the nines while Cal shows up in a nice t-shirt and jeans (I do have some standards, albeit few).  His choices in what he wears day in and day out are one way he expresses himself.  He's currently a sweatpants and a t-shirt kind of kid, and that's okay with me.  Sure, I think it'd be nice if he wore jeans and his nice waffle-weave shirts, items of clothing I remind him he has every month or so; but that's only because I like that style -- he just doesn't.  I only ask that every once in awhile he step outside of his comfort zone and wear something dressier, if only out of respect for whatever (e.g. church) or whomever (e.g. a cousin's wedding) he's heading off to do.

When on Sunday night, Cal picked his black, button-down, dress shirt, a tie and jeans to wear the following day, I thought to myself, okay, well, at least he knows he's got nicer clothes, fully expecting that he'd replace the whole outfit with the aforementioned pocketless, stringless, too-short sweatpants and a long-sleeved, worn t-shirt when it came time to actually get dressed.  It turns out, the only part of his outfit that he replaced with a different article of clothing were the jeans, opting instead to wear a pair of khakis... formerly labeled too "puffy" to wear.  He even threw in wearing his black slip-on dress shoes to complete the outfit.

His delivery of himself in his "dressier" clothes made it even better, too.  Having just finished my early-morning run, I was in the kitchen cooling off and entertaining Ella who had gotten up earlier and more pleasantly than usual when I heard and saw him emerge on the landing of the stairs.  I don't remember exactly what he said, but it was something to the effect of "Dun-dun-dun-DUN... look at me, Mommy!" in an announcing-his-presence kind of way.

There he stood, dressed to the nines himself and motivated to find his black "boots" (those black slip-on dress shoes).  I told him I thought they were in his closet; and we then all headed upstairs, Cal to find his shoes, me to shower and Ella to shadow me.

By now, Dan was up and just starting to get ready for work.  I figure he probably helped Cal put his button-down, dress shirt on, so he knew how Cal was dressed.  When Cal emerged in our bathroom with his shoes in hand, I excitedly told him he "looks so handsome!"  Cal responded by asking Dan if he'd wear a tie, too; and being the good daddy that he is, Dan put a shirt and tie on himself.

Cal was so proud, dressed like his daddy.  And his daddy was so proud of his son.  Once we were all dressed and ready for our days, Cal and Dan went downstairs to get their work badges (we made one for Cal awhile back), and Ella and I followed on their heels to take their picture.  Here it is, a picture of Cal dressed like Dan... or really, Dan dressed like Cal, my favorite thing from yesterday:

My Favorite Thing from Yesterday (1) - "Ella Bit Me" Note

After a handful of negative posts (and a few queued up to be posted), I decided it was time to be positive about my Leatherkids.  There are many positives, some buried beneath the repeated challenges of parenting the Leatherkids, others among a full collection of positives that almost make me forget how deeply frustrated I may have been at some point during the day... or the week... or the month.

I will share 7 positives over the course of 7 days, one per day.  I call this "My Favorite Thing from Yesterday" line of posts.  Day 1's (or is it Day's 1?) follows.

My favorite thing from yesterday is this note that Cal wrote and illustrated about an experience he had had with Ella:



Cal's "Ella Bit Me" Note

If it's difficult to see, it reads:

"Daddy today Ella
Bit me on purpose
Not an axidint
Not even I bit
her on purpose
I did not bite
her."

And beneath the words is a hand-drawn picture of Cal's leg, complete with bite mark and black sock.

I'm not exactly thrilled that this note was inspired by a real-life experience that had happened 10 minutes before it was delivered to Dan, nor do I feel sorry for the kid -- he was just getting ready to chomp down on Ella's arm when I stopped him only to learn that she had, in fact, bitten him in the leg... at the top of his calf... right where he indicated on the leg he drew in the picture.

The gravity of the biting scenario was lifted with this picture, though Ella did serve her time in timeout.  This picture just made me laugh and, I think, is a fine start to a week of my favorite things from yesterday (or is it favorite thing from yesterdays?).

Happy Birthday to Me

It's my birthday today. Despite my low-key take on how I want to spend my birthday, I do have an unexpressed expectation that the kids would overcome their, let's call them, issues for just this day,  just for me, just because it's my birthday, my one special day just for me of the year.

The possibility that my day would live up to those expectations was shot by 7:37am.  At least I got to sleep in a bit and wake up to happy Cal at my bedside asking me to help him get his button-down shirt on while the pleasant sounds of Ella reading in her bed danced from her room to mine.

My morning went south the moment I got out of bed.

Cal couldn't find a pair of pants to wear with his button-down shirt and tie and wanted my help.  As if I could help him.  We've been down this road many times before only to find that no pants fit him with his strict requirements of what "fit" means.  They're either too long, too short, too puffy, have pockets or some yet-to-be-classified flaw.  I don't know why he keeps asking me for help, and I don't know why I get suckered in to helping him knowing full well I just can't.  It ends up eating away at my supply of patience and he ends up getting an earful from me about some "someday" not being able to wear sweatpants and a t-shirt.

While I was in there frustrated with my inability to help him with his pants and his inability to lighten up, I noticed a broken hanger lying on the floor in his closet and instinctively laid into him about pulling hangers off of the rod and breaking them.  "Lift them off," I told him.  "Or ask Mommy and Daddy for help."

It may have been this that triggered his saying he didn't like me and that he wanted Daddy.  "That's nice, Cal.  Happy birthday to me," I told him.

I had been up only five minutes and I was already in a place I didn't want to be, a place I regularly tell myself not to go.  I wish I could just deflect these insignificant challenges.  I can't help my kid find a pair of pants he's willing to wear from a respectably large supply?  There's nothing I can do about it.  He has a super sensitivity to things he wears, and there's only so much I can do to work with that.  Pocketless, stringless sweatpants and t-shirts -- that's how we get through the days.  I can't let myself get frustrated and lose patience with his sensitivities because it's who he is.  While I was visibly and audibly frustrated with Cal, inside, I was just disappointed in myself for being so.

It didn't end there.  I hadn't yet delivered his reward for staying in bed all night and not sucking his thumb -- a nutrition bar.  We started this awhile ago, and I think we should end it.  It's lost its effectiveness -- Cal stays in bed and has stopped sucking his thumb even if animal crackers or water are waiting for him in the morning; Ella doesn't care and thinks she's entitled to a bar regardless of her behavior the night before.

I thought I handled the bar situation much better than the pants.  He wanted a "white bar" (a yogurt honey peanut Balance Bar), and I told him we didn't have one, that he could have a granola-protein bar or a red, green or blue Nutri-Grain bar... ooh, or a Nourish bar (yeah, right).  "You always eat all of the white bars," he told me snottily, to which I responded that I don't, that I actually save them for him, as if I even needed to explain that to him.  "Your choice, Cal," I told him, and even threw in animal crackers, not that I had to.  He chose the blue Nutri-Grain bar and actually ate it.

It didn't end there, either.  We hadn't gotten his shoes on yet.  His tie shoes.  We only have them because they just don't make non-tie shoes for feet as big as his, or at least, ones that he thinks fit him.  I insisted he not wear his boots that he had worn all winter today, that he start transitioning to his running shoes... OR CROCS.  I always throw the Crocs in, the easy-slip-on Crocs in as an option, and he just never bites.

So Ella pretty much shadowed my every move throughout the morning and actually cooperated.  I think the kids instinctively know that they need to find balance in their behavior -- when Cal is a beast, Ella's an angel; when Ella's a beast, Cal's an angel.  When I asked the kids to "please get their shoes," Ella immediately got hers.  Cal was distracted by a book and required a reminder... or two... or three...

And then I blamed him for our being late and that he was going to have to eat breakfast at school by himself (I learned he doesn't like this) and it was all his fault.  How old am I?  I was not proud of this but couldn't help myself.  It was true, but I should have kept it to myself (or at least not have been so high-and-mighty about it).

He did grab his shoes but needed help getting them on.  Just like the pants, he has pretty strict requirements around his shoes, requirements I haven't completely figured out yet.  The gist is this: his tied shoelaces also need to be tucked under the taut part of the laces... just right.  This didn't go well this morning.  Not well at all.  Cal couldn't get his laces tucked... just right, and neither could I.  He yelled and cried, I yelled... and yelled some more.  I know I swore, and I know I used the word "freak," indirectly, if that makes me sound less monster-like.

Cal eventually insisted "I want Daddy," and I dialed Dan's number for him.  I then turned my attention to Ella who wouldn't wear her fleece jacket because it was "too big." Rather than admit she was right, I told the poor victim of my frustration, "fine, you won't be able to go outside at school, then," and took my toys and walked away.

I sit here now in the early evening hours of my birthday with Ella sitting next to me "reading" a Dr. Seuss book out loud and Cal sitting across from me drawing a dinosaur picture.  It's really nice.  I ended up having a really nice day despite its start -- went for a run in the sunny outside, had lunch and saw a movie with my mom and was on the receiving end of a hand-made card from Cal.  Happy birthday to me, indeed.

As is usually the case, Cal seems to have forgotten the happenings of the morning, and I'm still disappointed in myself for not keeping my composure.  I don't know which is right, either -- let myself off the hook or learn to keep my composure?  Maybe both?  Maybe now that I'm a year older, I'll figure that out.

We Danced the No-Thumbguard Dance Tonight

Cal's ThumbGuard and Wristband #30

Five years of Cal sucking his thumb came to an official end yesterday morning when Cal successfully completed his 30^th consecutive night of wearing his ThumbGuard throughout the night.  Waking up with his left thumb dry and still safely nestled in the ThumbGuard was Cal’s proof that he did not suck his thumb at any time during the night, the time of day most difficult for him to stop.

We’re so stinkin’ proud of him.  I don’t know how many times we had tried this in the past.  For awhile, we thought we’d be members of the small, unsuccessful group of ThumbGuard users, the 1% who had stories of failure.  Everytime we put the ThumbGuard on him, he either fought it or wrangled his thumb out of the contraption.  We even tried a 30-day chart with a bike his prize at the end as motivation.  It didn’t work (and Santa brought him a bike this past  Christmas). The problem was, he didn’t want to stop.  No matter how much we wanted him not to suck his thumb and no matter how much we explained why (uh, I could put my pinky through the front of his clenched teeth), he just didn’t want to stop.

This time around, he wanted to stop.  There was nothing really remarkable about the time.  I think we just met the perfect storm of influence.  He turned five.  His doctor really impressed on him the importance of stopping his thumb sucking immediately.  He had a dentist appointment where he wanted to report some success in stopping.  Maybe there were others.

The night of his influential doctor’s appointment, we re-capped for his dad how that visit went, and Cal was completely engaged in the part about no thumbsucking.  So Dan and I jumped on that.  I don’t know if Dan suggested it first or if Cal asked him, but both were in agreement that ThumbGuard was going on his thumb that night.  And it did.  No fights.  No tears.  No yanking his thumb out.  Cal was committed.  A streak was in its infancy.

The ThumbGuard came with many colored, one-time-use wristbands, and it was Cal’s choice each night which color wristband to use.  He always had an opinion about the color and always thought through which one he wanted that night.  Early in the 30 days he told me that he picked blue because it was my favorite color.  Aw, so thoughtful.  Most often (probably 95% of the time), Dan put the ThumbGuard on him, and Cal was most comfortable with this.  The two or three times I put it on, Cal asked me as he glared at my hands working the ThumbGuard, “do you know how to do it?”  As if.  The first time I didn’t; the second and third I did.  Once Dan’s cousin Julie was tasked with putting it on.  After a Cal-induced frantic search for the ThumbGuard and wristbands the night during the streak when she was sitting for us, Julie eventually found it and figured out how to put it on.  Bullet dodged.

There was a lot of lead up to the last day.  “Cal, how many days in a row has it been?” we’d ask each day the week leading up to day 30.  “Cal, just five more days,” we reminded him, excited with anticipation, five days before day 30… then four days before… then three… He always knew how many days in a row he had not sucked his thumb and how many days were left.

The night of St. Patrick’s Day was number 30.  He woke up the next morning and shuffled immediately into our room for ThumbGuard removal.  He acted as if it was any ordinary de-ThumbGuard morning.  Remove ThumbGuard, go get dressed for school.  I was really tired, but I mustered a “Cal, you did it! I’m so proud of you!” as I cut off his wristband for the last time, and I don’t think he even responded.

Despite all of the encouragement and anticipation of number 30, Cal really has no idea how big this feat is.  Though Cal would have let us, we couldn’t leave it at a high-five and "we're so proud of you."  So to celebrate, after work/school yesterday we first went to Learning Express down the street from us where he picked out a couple of dinosaur figures, his choice given a $20 price range, to add to his collection.  We then went to Wendy’s, a favorite of Cal’s, for a not-so-healthy dinner followed by a chocolate-vanilla combo Frosty.

When we got home, we were supposed to do a “No ThumbGuard Dance” before going to bed.  I’m not sure what went wrong, but Cal wasn’t in the mood and told Dan he didn’t want to read books and didn’t want to dance; so we deferred it to the morning.  It didn’t happen this morning, either, despite my best efforts – Ella and I found ourselves dancing the “No ThumbGuard Dance” to Flogging Molly’s “Drunken Lullabies” without Cal or with Cal complaining about how loud the music was.  So I cut it short and took the kids to school.  It was just as well – Dan wasn’t there to dance with us.

But tonight... tonight we all gathered in Cal’s room and danced the “No ThumbGuard Dance” to that same Flogging Molly song, which will now be known as the “No ThumbGuard” song.  It was great.  The four of us no-ThumbGuard danced happily for 3 minutes and 45 seconds as acknowledgement and celebration of Cal’s accomplishment.  For once, it was just as I had imagined it.  It was perfect.

"-IT" Words

The other day, Cal’s teacher caught me in the hall at school and said, “oh, I have a funny story to tell you about Cal.”  Coming off of learning from Cal the night before that he had “made ‘Teacher’s Choice’” (a negative achievement) I was just glad to hear her describe it as a “funny” story.  Must not be the story of him “making ‘Teacher’s Choice’,” I thought.

She went on to tell me the story.  They’ve been working on identifying collections of words with the same, familiar sound to them.  For example, the words cat, bat and rat are considered “-AT” words.  Lot, rot and cot are considered “-OT” words.
Earlier that day, she asked the class, “Who can tell me an “-IT” word?”

Cal’s hand went up immediately and she called on him, “Cal?”

“SHIT,” he offered up.

Doh.  Apparently, this caused some confusion in the class.  “Shit?  What’s shit?” a few kids asked.  A few repeated the word, “shit.”  They really didn’t know.  Frankly, I’m just glad that MY kid didn’t know.

Mrs. Dunham kept her cool and showed no amused or surprised reaction at the word, “shit” being repeated by her class of Kindergartners.  She simply said it was an “adult word” and asked for another “-IT” word.

“TIT,” said Cal’s classmate.

Mrs. Dunham then thought to herself, maybe the “-IT” family of words wasn’t such a great idea.

Cal's Planets

I have two of Cal's drawings to share.

I found this one in Cal's backpack tonight after putting him to bed.  Stumbling across his work such as this is one of the perks of being Cal's mom (and I think it's safe to say the same for his Dad).  Cal said nothing of it, as if it was some ordinary bit of work that he did at some point today.  Call me biased, but I think this is pretty impressive for a five-year-old.  I love imagining him making these lists and adding the pictures and math problems, focused on his pencils on the paper, transitioning from one color or math problem to another seamlessly, tongue partially sticking out between his lips:

This one Cal drew in the 5-10 minutes after arriving home from school this evening.  Once out of his coat and shoes, he darted off to the "toy room" to get a piece of paper and crayons and then headed directly to the kitchen table with them to draw.  Once he was finished, he moved on to something else, leaving this behind.  He didn't say anything about it - no "Mommy, look what I drew" or "Daddy, I drew the 8 planets!"  He just left it for us to stumble upon... or not:

Ella's Third-Birthday Weekend

Ella turned 3 last Friday.  Dan and I both took the day off from work in anticipation of it, not that we necessarily had big plans.  We’ve fallen into this routine of celebrating small until the kid turns 5, at which time the kid can have a “friends” birthday party.  We’ve done this (the big, friends party) once, with Cal, just this past December. The precedent was set then.

Our small celebration usually entails sending the kid to school with goodie bags for the class, letting the kid celebrate her day with friends at school (also called Mommy and Daddy getting the full value of the daycare they paid for and getting a solid 6-8 hours of peace, quiet and productivity), picking the kid up early and heading to Choo Choo Johnny’s to celebrate with the immediate family.  The climax of the small celebration is a family party on the weekend either before or after the birthday where grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and a couple of adult friends come to our house to eat, watch the birthday kid open presents, sing "Happy Birthday" and eat cake and ice cream.  Dan and I have become a pretty well-oiled machine with this, not to suggest that I’m not showering ten minutes before guests are to arrive.

I used to have big expectations around the perfection of the Leatherkids’ birthdays.  Said perfection had less to do with the plans and more to do with the Leatherkids’ engagement in it and general happiness as we navigated our way through the plans.  I think a person should be happy on his birthday, his special day, his day to be celebrated.  With a few Leatherkid birthdays under my belt, I’ve learned not to have any expectations and just be pleasantly surprised IF they go well.  To the Leatherkids (at least in their Leatherparents’ presence), a birthday is just another day… another day to test the boundaries… to test our patience… to bring us one step closer to the Looney Bin.

Ella, before it was time to leave

So when our trip to Choo Choo Johnny’s to celebrate Ella’s birthday last Friday ended with Dan carrying a stubborn, screaming and coatless Ella out to the car, I was relatively unaffected.  When Cal told me that I was “boring” and that he didn’t like me after I told him for the fifth time that it was time to leave Choo Choo Johnny’s, I was simply frustrated as I would have been any other day. But not disappointed.  And I had no problem sending Ella to bed without books after she wouldn’t take any responsibility and action in getting ready for bed.

Our family party two days later actually went pretty well.  And by “pretty well,” I mean that Ella was actually pleasant most of the time.  I qualify that as “most of” only because she was pretty shy, disinterested and uninvolved at the onset of her party.  I have to deduct some points for pleasantness for that.  She turned it around when I asked her if she wanted to go downstairs to play with her cousins to which she answered, “can you carry me?”  I may have done a mental eye roll as I responded with a reluctant, “yes.”  Ella’s going through a needy, princess phase, so my tolerance for these types of requests is pretty low.  So when she told me that she wanted me to sit on the stairs and watch her play with her cousins downstairs, I declined and marched right back up the stairs full of hope that this would not cause a meltdown.  It didn't.

The party went pretty well – good food, good conversations, good stories.  Ella opened gifts, and we all sang “Happy Birthday” to her as she sat behind her purple – yes, they sell purple frosting – cake with three candles on it.  Shortly after that, most guests left.  Aunt Pam, Uncle Joe (both family friends) and Grandpa R stuck around a little while longer to entertain the Leatherkids, mostly with the magic of creating static on a blown-up balloon and sticking it to things.

To end her special day, Ella insisted that I read to her and put her to bed.  I was tired and afraid of the stress that was a head of me; but I complied.  I remained patient as I constantly reminded her to stay focused on getting ready for bed.  I remained patient as she fumbled her way through getting ready for bed, talking incessantly about every step in getting ready for bed as she did so.  I held my breath as I helped her brush her teeth, wondering the whole time when she’d start fighting me about it like she normally does.  And when she picked her two books (both of them Fancy Nancy books), I initially told her that we could read one because they’re too long (they’re really not) and then corrected myself and read them both to her.  It really wasn’t fair that she pay the price for my lack of patience when it was really history, not the current situation, that was making me impatient.

Her special day ended with a request “to rock for a little bit,” which we did.  And then I put her into bed, put her blankets on in proper order, pulled her jammy pants up, made sure she had Sheep and three of her Minnies (including Itty Bitty Minnie, one of her birthday gifts), turned the closet light on, adjusted her blankets, told her “Happy Birthday,” gave her a kiss, complied with her request for a “kiss and a hug,” told her “I love you,” complied with her request for “one more kiss and a hug,” hurried toward the door and said “I love you” as I did so, and then turned to look at her when she said, “Mommy, I love you,” (this, I like – she signs "I love you") and then told her “I love you, too."

It was a good end to a birthday weekend that started a little rocky.  Happy 3rd Birthday ONE MORE TIME, Boo Boo!