Don't Go Extinct

I was in a meeting at work when I got the call.  When it rang, I looked at my phone and saw it was from the kids’ school.  Oh, no.  Anytime I get this call, I immediately think about how the kids looked and felt when we sent them to school that morning and then think of all the bad things about which school might be calling.  Ella wasn’t sick – did she fall and get hurt?  Is she now complaining that she doesn’t feel well?  Cal had a minor rash, which we’ve come to learn is how colds manifest themselves in him.  Was that rash getting worse?  Did he not feel well?  What train would I catch to get home?  Would I need to call the doctor and get my sick kid in that night?  Would I need to take a PTO day tomorrow to care for my sick child and work while said child slept?  Please let it be Cal – he’s just a much better sick kid.

“Hello?”  I answered the phone.

“Hi, Carla, it’s Ally,” said the voice on the other side.

Ah, it’s about Cal.  Things are looking up already. I don’t know if I even said anything, and she continued.

“Don’t worry, everything’s fine,” she started.  Every call that I get from the kids’ school that isn’t for the purpose of delivering bad (sick/hurt) news starts this way.  I like it.

She then proceeded to tell me that she had received a “certificate” in the mail for Cal and asked me, “Did Cal enter some kind of contest with Metra?”

“He did!” It was so long ago, I had almost forgotten about it.

Cal did forget about it.  When Ally asked him what it was for, he told her he didn’t know.  Ally continued, “They sent me a certificate of participation.  That’s really cool.  I didn’t know anything about this!”

I explained what I could remember of the contest (what it was for, when we entered, that the entry asked for school/teacher information), all the while wondering if she had also gotten any notice of how he finished in the contest, i.e. whether he had won anything.  I hesitated to ask, only because I didn’t want to put a damper in her excitement over his mere participation in it; but I was curious and eventually asked her, “So, this is just a certificate of participation, not that he won anything?”  Goodness.  Using the word “just” in my question made me sound disappointed with too-high expectations.  To clarify, I wasn’t disappointed; but I do have high expectations.  Cal can draw very well for a 5-year-old.

Ally then told me that it didn’t say anything about him winning anything.  I told her I’d find the picture he drew for the contest and bring it in.  And I did.

A few days later, I got the same call from school and had the same feelings of dread that I usually do when I see the number.  I reluctantly answered it.  It was Ally again.

“Hi, Carla.  Don’t worry, everything’s fine,” she started.  Relief.  “Cal won third place in the Metra contest!” she relayed, once again really excited about it.

“What?!?!!” I exclaimed, as a huge smile planted itself on my face.  I then rattled off another explanation of the contest, that they use the drawings for their tickets and other posters and told her I’d get her the details of it so her whole class can participate next year.

Cal's Participant's Certificate and Entry into Metra's Poster Contest,
displayed on his classroom door

It turns out, Cal did win third place in the Kindergarten age group with his entry titled “Don’t Go Extinct” followed by the mandatory words “Look Listen Live.”  It was a perfect mix of dinosaurs and trains.  He won $100 for it.  When I asked him what he wanted to do with his $100, he told me -- and I’m not making this up -- that he was going to save it so that he could buy a car when he gets older.

When Cal told Ally his plans for his winnings, Ally said, “I’m sorry, no 5-year-old says that.”  Of course, she knows that our 5-year-old does.

Five Short Ella Stories

Short Ella Story #1

One day last week, Ella put her running shoes on without socks, a common occurrence which I just cannot understand.  With both shoes now on her feet, she whined, “something’s wrong,” and somehow communicated to me that it was the left shoe that wasn’t “right.”

I told her with all of the attitude I could muster (which pales in comparison to the attitude she regularly gives me… but I digress), “Sure something’s wrong – you’re putting your shoes on without socks.  You’re going to get blisters.  I hope you get blisters so you learn to NOT wear your running shoes without socks.”  And then I helped her fix it and actually succeeded in doing so, I have no idea how.

We made it to the car; and as I strapped her into her carseat, Ella happily announced to all of us (Dan and Cal were already strapped into the car themselves), “Mommy hopes I get blisters.  Yeah, because I didn’t wear my socks.”

I’m sure she announced this to her teachers later, which will be yet another hit to my quest to be Mother of the Year.  I don’t really hope she gets blisters.  I mean, Ella with two unblistered feet is tough enough to handle, but with blisters?

Short Ella Story #2

This morning, I had my morning shake (one of those EAS Myoplex shakes that Dan and I “eat” while we’re on “the program” (Body for Life diet and exercise program)) sitting on the counter in the bathroom.  I was in the shower and not really in a position to fend off my little vultures who might come looking for a sip, so I had pushed the shake back toward the mirror, still reachable by said vultures but not without some effort.

Now, these shakes aren’t the greatest tasting things, but our kids love them.  They enjoy the pasty, semi-sweet taste of them as well as the “Papa moustache” (Dan’s dad, until recently, had a white moustache) the shakes leave on their upper lips after they each take a sip.

Mid-shower, Ella entered the bathroom.  She stood on a stool in front of our bathroom counter and looked at herself in the mirror.  Then she started fidgeting with some of the things on the counter.  I kept my eye on her because I knew at some point she’d make a move for my shake.

She finally did, but subtly, just with her eyes.  I immediately said, “Ella, noooo,” like one would to a dog warning him not to step outside the boundaries of the yard.  And I followed it with, “Hey, Boo Boo, why don’t you brush your hair?” with a really up-beat, excited tone, as if I hadn’t scolded her only seconds earlier.

“NO! I was not checking your shake, Mommy,” Ella said loudly and sternly, angry that I’d even suggest she was… which I wasn’t… well, sort of wasn’t.

“I didn’t say anything about the shake.  I just suggested you brush your hair, Boo Boo,” I responded.  Clearly, I was talking about the shake – she knew it and got the message.

Short Ella Story #3

A recent morning conversation with Ella:

Ella <sweetly>: “Mommy, can I have my animal crackers?”

Me <leading>: “Animal crackers… ?”

Ella <sweetly through a smile>: “Please.”

Me <recognizing a teaching opportunity>: “Ella, if you just always say ‘please’, I’ll be SO PROUD of you.”

Ella <in one ear and translated a bit>: “I’m proud of Zoe.” (Zoe’s our cat.)

Me <following>: “You are?  Why?”

Ella: “Because… because… because she put her fur on.  She put her undies on and her fur and… and… and her shirt.”

Me: “Zoe wears a shirt?”

Ella: “Yes!”

And I left it at that.  Why I didn’t challenge the "undies" part of her declaration is beyond me.

Short Ella Story #4

One morning last week, Cal was sitting pantless on a stool at our kitchen island, either drawing or eating animal crackers (or maybe both).  I don’t know why he was pantless.  I don’t think I even knew why at the time.  Normally, he emerges fully clothed from his room in the morning.

Ella arrived in the kitchen dressed, glanced at Cal and started to climb onto the other stool at the island.  As she did so, she commented on Cal’s half-nakedness:

“Cal, you have a penis and you’re sitting on the stool with no pants on.”

She could not have been more right.

Short Ella Story #5

Ella regularly asks Cal for help.  Washing her hands: "Cal, can you help me?"  Drawing a picture: "Cal, can you draw a lion for me?"  Writing her name: "Cal, can you write my name on this paper?"

And he does.

I love that she's comfortable asking him, and I love that he usually does help her without question.  I hope it's always this way between the two of them.

My Mother's Day Gems

If I've learned anything in my 5+ years of being a mom it's that MY DAY just will not live up to the sun-is-shining and everyone's-smiling expectations that I may have for it.  While I want my kids to enjoy planting flowers with me, I know they might "help" me for a short time only to discover that planting flowers doesn't just mean digging in and flinging dirt.  I may look forward to a dinner at "B-Dubs" but am certain it will be tense throughout as we try to keep the kids in their seats, happy, if we even make it out to dinner at all.

Really, my expectations are that it will be like any other day, complete with timeouts and hugs, poor listening skills and small successes, big messes and surprising cooperation, tattle tells and best friends, sharp tongues and kisses, tears and smiles.

My Mother's Day, 2014, was pretty nice, really.  Sure, it was comprised of the mix of the good and bad I described above.  I also had breakfast in bed.  I planted flowers and herbs in the yard and in planters.  I went for a run on the prairie path with Cal and then shared a post-run PowerAde and cookies on the bench near Walgreens.  I enjoyed a glass of wine.  Yes, I was pretty content for most of the day on Mother's Day, except for a brief moment after I conceded that we would not be making it out to dinner due to misbehaving kids and a couple of parents not wanting to reward the misbehavior in any way (except that Dan did go pick up some "B-Dubs" for us to eat at home instead).

The best part of my Mother's Day, though, was being on the receiving end of these gems (below), hand-made cards and booklets from the kids.  I absolutely eat these things up.

My cards, including one from Dan and one from Mom
 

My card from Ella... hmm... a lot of my "favorites" happen to be her favorites
 

The inside of Cal's "I love you bunches, Mom" card
 

Cal drew a picture of me - I'm smiling!
 

Cal knows me a little more than Ella does - he got phone, Chapstick and money right... trash?
 

A couple of excerpts from the "book" Cal made for me - love it!
 

A couple more excerpts from the "book" Cal made for me - I'm so polite!

Ella's Fruit-Loop Necklace

One of Ella’s teachers told me a story yesterday while I was picking the kids up from school.  She started it by telling me that they’re working on Ella’s listening skills (sweet – Mommy and Daddy need some help); and at the center of this listening exercise was a Fruit-Loop necklace, handmade primarily by Ella by looping a string through a bunch of Fruit Loops and then tied together by her teacher to form a necklace that she could put on or off herself by simply pulling it over her head.

One can imagine the temptation that a Fruit-Loop necklace might present to a kid, particularly one who doesn’t usually get to eat Fruit Loops.  We regularly buy Frosted Mini Wheats (“Daddy’s cereal”), Honey Bunches of Oats (“Mommy’s cereal”) or Oatmeal Squares and (unfortunately) have a half-eaten thing of tastes-like-eating-bark Grape Nuts from a diet attempt that’s just taking up good cereal space in our pantry.

Needless to say, Ella gave in to the temptation soon after putting her new necklace around her neck and ate a Fruit Loop off of it.  Her teacher, Ms. Cece, saw this and politely told her that she was not supposed to eat any of the Fruit Loops off of the necklace until Mommy and Daddy said it was okay to do so later.

Ella proceeded to eat more of them.  Ms. Cece reminded her of the rule and specifically asked her not to “eat all of the Fruit Loops” off of her necklace.

Some time passed by, and Ms. Cece looked again at Ella and noticed that most of the Fruit Loops were now gone from Ella’s necklace (three were left) and confronted her about it.  She asked her why she had eaten "all of the Fruit Loops" after having been asked not to do so a couple of times.

Ella responded with shock in her tone, “Ms. Cece, I didn’t eat all of the Fruit Loops!” and showed Ms. Cece that she still had a few on her necklace.

Ella & what's left of her
Fruit-Loop Necklace

Ella had gotten Ms. Cece on a technicality.  Ms. Cece knew it, and I’m certain Ella knew it.

Ella managed to make it all the way to Cal’s swimming lesson that night without eating her three remaining Fruit Loops.  Half way through his lesson, Ella actually asked me if she could eat them.  I told her that she couldn’t because they don’t allow people to eat food in the pool area.  She proceeded to eat them… all three of them.

No technicality there – she had completely disregarded my direction.  I didn’t even do anything about it.  I just did my “whatever” smirk, shook my head slightly back and forth and rolled my eyes.  I really didn’t want to get into it with her at that moment over three Fruit Loops.  I just wanted to watch Cal swim and also knew that still ahead of me was our daily battle getting her into bed for the night.  I wonder if we can recruit Ms. Cece to help with that.