Are My Kids Weirdos?

Ever since I learned (the hard way) all of Cal’s requirements for wearable pants (no strings, no pockets, no jeans, no swishiness, no gathering at the bottom of the legs, no hitting the tops of his feet, and some indeterminate requirements), I periodically revisit the question, “is he weird or is this just typical of kids his age?”  While having to deal with such illogical quirks usually elicits an eye roll (or ten) out of me, I generally conclude that it’s typical.

With each oddball nit that Cal and now Ella have thrown at us, I ask myself that same question and come to that same conclusion – it’s all just typical toddler behavior.

Last weekend, I talked with my dad for a bit on the phone.  He’s a regular reader of my blog, and he mentioned having read one of my recent posts (see http://theleatherkidchronicles.blogspot.com/2014/10/decompressing-on-train.html).  Coming off the week of daily “A Good Thing That Happened” posts, I think he found it hard to read such a downer of a post.  This led to my describing what had happened that morning and then my describing a recent bedtime struggle with Ella, both complete disasters triggered by my kids’ quirks pulled out of thin air.

I described to him the too-light-backpack disaster with Cal and the not-enough-books-to-sleep-with bedtime struggle with Ella, and he was amazed.  He couldn’t relate – from where did these issues that my kids have thrown at us recently come?  He didn’t have to deal with that with Erin (my sister) and me.

This got me thinking… or re-thinking.  Maybe we’re not experiencing typical toddler behavior with some of this stuff.  Maybe my kids are weird.  Let me share some of their noteworthy quirks.

Cal’s shoelaces need to be double-knotted, lay flat and have bows and strands of equal lengths, else he has a meltdown complete with repeated pleas for velcro shoes which I tell him they don’t make in his size.  Is this weird?

Ella won’t wear a shirt, a dress, a jacket – you name it – if it has buttons on it.  Even a single decorative button unnoticeable by the naked eye is enough to qualify it as unwearable by her standards.  Is this weird?

Cal only likes his black-with-gray-heeled mid-calf-length socks and stretches them up and over his calves so much that one can see the skin of his legs through his socks.  What’s worse, he actually wears them this way with Crocs.  I’ve told him he looks like Grandpa Reiter, which he doesn’t understand, of course, and which I leave unexplained.  Unfortunately, I only bought a six-pack of these socks before realizing how perfect he thought they were; and I don’t remember where I got them.  I found what I thought was the same style but all black, which he’ll wear, but not until he’s made me miserable whining about it.  Is it weird that he wears his socks the same way as my dad does?  Is it weird that they have to be black and gray for him to like them?

Ella sleeps with a pile of books – not less than four, but sometimes as many as seven.  If we don’t lay them next to her (or if she doesn’t realize that we did) as she lay in her bed, she anxiously exclaims, “where are my books?!”  She doesn't have the same level of concern with a potentially missing, cuddly stuffed animal.  Is this weird?

If there’s a hood on a jacket and that jacket is on Cal, that hood is up and covering Cal’s head and that jacket is zipped up as far as it can go.  He looks like a Teletubby from the waist up.  This is Cal’s preference.  Is this weird?

Ella is finally cooperating with our requirements for dressing for the Fall weather and wearing leggings (the comfy, stretch-pants kind) underneath her skirts and dresses.  Sometimes she gets them on herself and sometimes she’ll ask for help.  Either way, I’m often dealing with her whining about “fixing” them.  I’ll look for wrinkles or twists in the pants on her legs, not see any and pretend to “fix” them with the hopes that she’s just looking for attention and not actual “fixing.” She proceeds to claim they’re not right and has a near meltdown about it.  Is this weird?

Cal likes to “read” the Lego manuals that come with his Lego sets.  You know, the ones that step you through piecing the Legos together until you’ve pieced together the final vehicle or, in the case of the Chima sets, weird creature contraption?  These are the "books" he chooses to "read" on his own at night just before bedtime without the goal of piecing a set together.  Is this weird?

Ella regularly claims that her socks “hurt.”  Not that they’re crooked… not that they’re twisted… not that they’re bunched up… all things that any reasonable sock perfectionist would describe as the problem.  No, Ella’s socks actually hurt her.  Is this weird?

Neither of my kids will wear a pair of jeans.  Jeans!  I think I can count on one hand the number of times Cal has worn jeans; and Ella never has.  Is this weird?  It's certainly un-American!

And then there was Ella’s shouting, “I love you, Mommy!” from her room at bedtime… repeatedly and increasing in volume and frustration… until I’d respond.  This went on for months and just recently stopped with our completely re-vamped approach to bedtime.  But is it weird that she ever did that?

Or how about the couple of months where Cal would fall asleep on the mid-point landing of our stairs?  Was that weird?

Ella likes to draw “flags” (they look like kites to the experienced eye).  We might have 50 “flag” drawings at home by now, some of which have an impressive mix of colors.  Could she just occasionally draw a flower… or a tree… or a stick figure?  Nope.  Just flags.  Is this weird?

Cal’s still carrying all of those unnecessary books in his backpack, and now Ella is doing it, along with two seemingly randomly selected stuffed animals each day – is this weird?

Ella listens to the Frozen soundtrack at bedtime and has to be the one to turn it on, else she's throwing a fit.  It's played on an iPod, and she's not the most skilled iPod user; so this oftentimes ends in a fight that could be avoided if she would just let us - skilled iPod users - turn it on for her.  She insists on starting her music, a very insignificant step in the bedtime routine.  Is this weird?

Are Cal’s issues with most styles of pants (see the opening of this post) weird?

I think the fact that I ask the question actually answers the question - the Leatherkids are weirdos.  There are days when I really wish that they weren't, which are probably the days when I'm unexpectedly introduced to a new quirk and need to respond in an instant with no preparation or experience with it.  For the most part, though, their weirdness doesn't bother me as I've learned to manage most of it.  Don't like strings on your shorts?  I'll cut them off for you.  Want to carry a backpack full of books?  Okay, but I'm not carrying it.  Want to draw nothing but colorful flags?  Great - I'll frame my favorite and proudly hang it on a wall.

I love my weirdos.

Leggings and Hugs

It was the typical rush to get ready for school or work, depending upon the person, and out the door this morning.  Really, Dan and Cal had things under control and were ready to leave by the loosely targeted departure time calculated as this: T minus 7 minutes (to drop the kids off) minus 11 minutes (to drive to the train) minus 3 minutes (contingency).  But Ella and me?  Not so much.

One might think that, with two strong-willed, picky-dressing, temperamental (lunatic) kids under the age of six, I would have learned to give myself some time for the unexpected (or, even the expected but unpredictable).  But I continue to operate under this foolish estimation that I can be ready to leave in 20 minutes (I have… by myself… sometimes).  I set my alarm to factor in contingency for the unexpected (or expected but unpredictable), but I get up per the 20-minute plan.

So this morning, I had the pleasure of getting ready with Ella.  She needed help getting her clothes, so I had to take a break from my routine to help her.  She wanted to wear a dress?  I pulled out a dress for her.  It was a tank, so I threw in the rule that she needed leggings (what? I make up rules as I go), which she actually cooperated in selecting.  I announced I was heading back to my room to finish getting ready; and she followed me, her dress and leggings in her hands.

Once back in my bathroom and brushing my hair, I noticed Ella in the background with her hand “holding herself” and a painful look on her face.  This is the universal tell that a kid – certainly my kid -- has to go potty.

“Ella, do you have to go potty?” I asked her, really not asking her but being her trigger to actually head to the toilet.

She immediately ran to our toilet, turned so her buns were facing the toilet, started pulling down her undies, stopped and announced, “I have to go give Daddy a hug.”

She then pulled up her undies and scurried out of the room and downstairs to, I assume, give Dan a hug.

What?  I continued to get ready.

She returned maybe a minute or two later (I’m not really sure), used the potty and proceeded to get herself dressed.

I would love to be a thought bouncing around in Ella's head and seeing how other thoughts might affect me.  Clearly she had to go potty; but giving Dan, who was all the way downstairs, a hug before doing so?  I have no idea where that came from.  She didn't, either.  Maybe it's like my rule that she wear leggings if she's wearing a tank dress.  I like to think it's rooted in common sense, but...

Ella's Napkins

We ate dinner in the dining room again tonight.  It's nothing fancy, really.  Our dining room table is a long folding table that we typically pull out for family parties.  Our chairs are the folding chairs that complete the folding table set. Some of the blinds on the windows behind the table are bent, a result of being hit by something thrown by the kids, I'm sure.  There is a bar, our Pottery Barn purchase with some of our wedding money, that's actually a nice piece of furniture but is unfortunately covered with dust.  Priorities.

No, our dining room is not fancy.  But the kids like it; and Dan and I have found that we seem to get better table manners and fewer potty words throughout dinner when we eat in the dining room instead of in our kitchen.  That's been true the past week or so, and we're going to ride this until it's not effective, like pretty much everything else we do.

Maybe halfway into our chicken taco dinner tonight, Ella got up from the table and disappeared around the corner into the kitchen.  Dan, Cal and I kept eating.  Ella getting up from the table isn't uncommon, and we typically let her slide a couple of times before insisting she stay seated.

Anyway, she returned with cloth napkins in her hand.  Ella is already green, not that she knows it.  I keep the cloth napkins in a basket on the counter, and she's really only familiar with that stash of napkins, not that I even really know where the paper ones might be.  She handed a cloth napkin to Dan... then one to me... then sat down with the last napkin she had for herself.  Cal didn't get a napkin.

So I asked her, "Why didn't you bring a napkin for Cal Daniel?"

She paused for a few seconds and responded, "Because he doesn't use napkins."

She was right.  Then I asked her, "What does Cal Daniel use instead of a napkin?"

She thought for a bit and answered, "His shirt."

Exactly.  I wish that weren't the right answer, but it is.  And that Ella knows it is pretty funny.

Decompressing on the Train

I'm sitting on the upper level of this train car, heading in to work and feeling nothing but negative emotions.  Angry.  Frustrated.  Disappointed.  Sad.  Regretful.  To add to that, I'm sweating, crampy and not feeling very attractive or smart.

Our morning started out okay.  I managed to roll out of bed just before 5:30am so I could get downstairs to get a run in.  It was a decent run, too.  At 2.4 miles, it was short; but I was strong.

Once done with my run, I made Cal's lunch in silence while I cooled down.  I didn't have Ella begging me to "help" or actually "helping" me and doubling the time it took to make the lunch as a result.

I even had time to catch some of Mike & Mike, and actually heard what they had to say.

I was in a pretty good mood.

Ella was the first Leatherkid to get out of bed.  It was probably 6:25am when I saw her as I started to make my way up the stairs to shower in what I thought would be silence.  I sensed that her mood was fragile, so I handled her delicately, suppressing the reality that we would be rushed through the rest of our morning so I could get them to school and myself to the train in time to catch my target train.

She followed me up the stairs and lay on my bed as I showered.  Her choice.  This was okay with me -- at least we weren't fighting.  It was peaceful.  I carefully informed her she could stay there until I was out of the shower, after which she needed to get dressed.

Cal was up and getting dressed by now.  His new pants didn't fit right, so he changed them himself.  I would need to return them, so I headed to his room to grab the pants and find the tag that he had ripped off.  I gave his bed the sniff test and realized his bedding needed to be washed again.  This has become part of the drill and didn't upset my morning.

After I had finished showering, I reminded Ella it was time for her to get dressed.  She got up from the bed and came into the bathroom where she wanted to dry her hair.  I let her while I got dressed, brushed my own hair and put some face cream and mascara on.  At least she was content.

Despite my suggesting that she wear a skirt and leggings (both in her dresser drawers), she insisted on a dress, which I needed to help her with.  A multi-tasker, I started brushing my teeth; and we headed to her room to get her dressed.  This went pretty smoothly, but did eat away at some of the time I needed to finish getting myself ready.  She insisted I stay while she picked out her socks, and I complied because I didn't want to fight -- had I left before she had picked out her socks, I would have surely had to deal with significant whining.  I just didn't want to.

I finished getting myself ready and informed the kids as I started making my way downstairs it was time to get their shoes on.  This rarely goes smoothly and usually takes a fair amount of time.  Neither kid had shoes on.  They both asked for a "Danimals" shake, which I told them they could have after they had their shoes on.  They accepted this condition.

Their shoes went on quickly and without a hiccup.  They drank their Danimals shakes.  We were a little late, but not too bad.  And we were happy.

And then Cal picked up his backpack, and things went downhill fast because his bag wasn't heavy enough, and he let me know it, having a complete meltdown complete with screaming and many tears.  Not five minutes earlier, he was happy... ecstatic because he had finally finished building the "ring of fire" and "ramp," the remaining two components of the Lego set he bought on Monday (see http://www.theleatherkidchronicles.blogspot.com/2014/10/the-kids-cashed-in-today.html).  He had been working on building this set all week, so this was something to be excited about.

But his darn backpack wasn't heavy enough because the night before I had taken all of the books he's been carting around in it but not using.  Too many times I heard him say that he couldn't carry all of his stuff, blaming most of it on his heavy backpack.  I thought I was being thoughtful.

Frustrated, I told him he could put two books in it.  I don't know why two -- staring at the stack of maybe seven I had removed the night before, two seemed like a decent compromise.  It's always two, though.  Ella can bring two stuffed animals to school, not the five she wants to bring.  Cal can have two cookies.  Two.  Two.  Two.

As Cal put two books into his backpack, I started shuffling Ella toward the door to start our departure.  Lucky for me, she had her backpack on.  No coat because I didn't want to have THAT fight.  No, her coat was in her backpack.  But she was happy.  As she and I made our way out the door, Cal was screaming at us to wait.  I didn't.  He made it out the door as I had started getting Ella into her carseat.  He was still crying and yelling at me.  His backpack was still too light.

I yelled at him to get in the car and ran inside to get the rest of the stack of his books that he's been carting around in his backpack.  Sweat was now pouring off of my forehead.

I made it back to the car, yanked his backpack from his hands as he sat in his booster and shoved the books into his backpack, yelling the whole time.  Oh, I laid into him, explaining that he doesn't need to carry all of those books, there was a reason I took them out and that I didn't want to hear him tell me that he can't carry all of his stuff.  Oh, no, I would not be carrying his lunch bag or coat going forward -- he was responsible for it, heavy backpack or not.

I laid into him.  I'm pretty sure I dropped the f-bomb.  I backed out of the driveway at about 60mph and continued my rant as we headed down the neighborhood streets faster than we should have but not dangerously fast (I did have some control over myself).  I know I yelled "dammit" a few times, mostly directing at myself for losing it.  I also informed him that if I missed my train I wouldn't be able to catch an early train home and he would not be able to play with his Legos.

Ella was quiet the whole time.  Before we got to school, Cal's tears had stopped and my words were just bouncing off of him.  My yelling was completely ineffective.  I was releasing a lot of frustration that I think had been building up inside me without my knowing it.  Handling the delicate mood of Ella.  Clearing the bedding off of Cal's bed.  Getting Ella dressed.  Avoiding fights outright by telling the kids they didn't need coats.  And the backpack.  That darn, apparently not heavy enough backpack.

This train was my target train.  I had to sprint the quarter mile from my car to catch it, but I did.  As negatively emoted as I am right now (I'm not even sure if that's a word), I do intend to catch the earlier train home so that Cal has time to play with his new Legos that he finished assembling.  I do look forward to that, assuming he's happy when I actually do get him early, which isn't always the case.  Until then, I'm not sure what kind of day I'm going to have.  I'm not feeling too good about myself, my actions, my appearance, my parenting skills (or lack thereof).

But I'll come around... with a new approach... I always do.

The Kids Cashed In Today

The Leatherkids each have an "I Can Do It!" reward chart hanging on the fridge.  Each chart has six goals, and each goal has seven spots for a star, one for each day of the week.  Depending on the goal, stars are awarded either first thing in the morning or just before heading up to bed - if the goal was achieved that day, a star is velcroed to its spot on the chart; if the goal was not achieved, the spot is left star-less.

At the end of the week, each kid counts his stars and gets a coin (quarter, dime, nickel or penny) for each star he earned and puts the coins in his piggy bank.  After an undefined amount of time, each kid takes her coins to the bank to deposit half and takes the other half to a store of her choice to spend it on something she wants.

Some goals, like Cal's "Get Dressed" and Ella's "Go to Bed and Stay in Bed" are easy to assess as there's really no room for interpretation.  Others, like Ella's "Say Please and Thank You" and Cal's "No Harming Others" require some leeway, are not quantifiable and are subject to the moods of Dan and me, the ultimate judges of good behavior in this household.  We do accept the kids' input, which, over time, has actually become pretty consistent with our own opinions, as in:

Me: "Ella, did you use mean words today?"

Ella: "Yes."

Me: "Yeah, you used a lot of 'potty' words.  Should you get a star?"

Ella (smiling): "Nooooo."

We've been doing this latest round of reward chart activity for a good couple of months now.  Neither Leatherkid has had a 42-star week, the maximum possible.  I'd say typically Ella's in the upper teens and Cal's in the lower twenties, an unimpressive feat, if these numbers even qualify as a "feat."

With half the possible stars being the norm, Dan and I were feeling like our reward chart system is ineffective.  Minimally, it was time for the kids to cash in on whatever was in their banks, which happened to coincide with Cal's bank being too full to fit any more coins in it (it's small, really).  Today, Columbus Day, was a perfect day to do that... well, kind of.

I took the day off to stay home with Cal who did not have school today because of the holiday.  We sent Ella to school (preschool) because... well... it was just better that we do that.  Before we did so, though, we committed to picking her up early (post-nap early) to cash in on the coins in their banks and hit the store.

My day with Cal went fantastically -- it was easy, had no hiccups and was actually pretty fun for both of us.  When I realized just before we were leaving to pick Ella up from school that it was Columbus Day and banks would be closed, I figured our perfect day could not be disrupted -- there was an alternative in Jewel.

Cal and I picked Ella up from school, and then the three of us made our way with the kids' piggy banks to the Jewel in the neighborhood where I knew there was a Coinstar, not that I've ever used it or really knew how it worked.

By the way, it was raining.

When we got to the Coinstar inside our Jewel, I had to read the instructions.  With Ella screaming at me to pick her up or, really, I'm not even sure what she was so upset about, I could only concentrate so much and managed to figure out that I either could get a voucher for our coins but at a fee OR put our coins toward a gift (e-) certificate at no fee.  The latter wouldn't work because we needed to deposit half of each kid's money into their savings accounts; and I didn't like the former because, well, a fee?

So we walked to the other side of Jewel where we found that the TCF was open but that they didn't have a coin counter.

"Are banks open today?" I asked.

"Well, we are," the girl responded and then told us the closest TCF with a coin counter.

So off the kids and I were to first see if "our" bank was open (it wasn't), to see if another bank on the block was open (it wasn't) and then to head to the closest TCF with a coin counter, which was about 15-20 minutes away.

I'm sure there was another option -- I just didn't know it.

When we arrived at the Jewel with the TCF with a coin counter, it was pouring rain.  Of course.  The image of me carrying two full, ceramic piggy banks in the rain as I repeated the phrase, "stay close to Mommy" to my likely-to-stray-in-a-parking-lot kids and then dropping one of the banks triggered my thinking I should come up with an alternative to getting us inside.  I threw (gently) the piggy banks into Ella's backpack with her fleece separating the two and unloaded the kids.  I carried Ella and her backpack, and Cal walked alongside me (he's good about that); and we made our way in the rain into the Jewel.

Once inside, we moved swiftly thanks to me.  I didn't want Ella to have any time to realize how wet she was.

"Do you have a coin counter?" I asked the TCF banker who, without flashing a smile and quite possibly without saying a word, pointed us to the coin counter just past her counter.

"Thanks." I said, setting Ella down on the ground and continuing past the counter, believing the coin counter was actually nearby.  It was.

There were two buttons - a Start/Stop and a Print -- and maybe a 4-bullet list of instructions, which I followed to a tee, this time with Ella just clamoring to participate in the counting of her coins, which was more realistic than the Coinstar machine given this TCF coin counter was Ella's height.

Emptying a piggy bank full of coins is a skill that, really, only an adult can do... it's certainly not something that a toddler can do in a reasonable amount of time.  I declared I'd empty Ella's coins into the tray and she could push them into the counter, and this was surprisingly met without a fight.

As the machine counted her coins, I saw the sign -- TCF would charge a 8+% fee for non-TCF customers cashing in on coins.  Whatever, I conceded, remembering that surcharge that Coinstar would have charged us maybe a half hour earlier.

With all of her coins counted, we printed Ella's voucher and then went through the same process with the coins in Cal's piggy bank.

We took our vouchers back to the TCF banker to cash them in with the same, non-smiling banker we had encountered when we first arrived.  Next to her was another banker, an older man, focused on some paperwork at the counter.

The non-smiling TCF banker asked me if I bank at TCF, and I responded grudgingly that I didn't; and she told me that there'd be a fee.  "Okay," I said and then turned my attention to my kids who had wandered down a nearby aisle.  As I coaxed them back to the counter, the man walked over to the non-smiling banker and said something to her, I wasn't exactly sure what at the time.  The next thing I knew, the TCF banker was giving each of my kids the full value of their coins -- no fee and delivered thoughtfully in increments that would make them feel like they had a lot of money.

I thanked her enough that she knew that I appreciated what she had done.  It was the right thing for her to do.  That was my kids' hard-earned money and they deserved to get every bit of it before they're aware of how the world works.

Ella had already picked a small stuffed animal to buy from Jewel.  We stood in line so she could buy it (she handed the cashier her money), and then headed back to the car so we could hit our end destination... the store of choice for this round of reward-chart-money purchases... my personal favorite (though it's becoming more manageable)... Toys 'R Us, where Ella found the thing she wanted to buy with the remainder of her spendable money after only ten steps into the store and where Cal did a lot of analysis and negotiating in the Legos section of the store before deciding what he wanted to buy.

And then we took our "toys" to the checkout where the kids checked out separately.  Ella bought her unicorn pillow and Cal bought his Chima Legos sets.

As I write this, I'm sitting across from the fridge where the kids' reward charts hang.  I see six stars on Cal's Monday column and five stars on Ella's.  I hold out hope that cashing in and seeing some tangible benefits (toys) to their good behavior will have a positive effect on their behavior and that we'll see star counts into the thirties and forties.

A Good Thing That Happened on Saturday Was...

… Cal read a library book to Dan.  Since he started school a couple of months ago now, Cal’s brought home a handful of library books from the school library.  Never more than one at a time, these books are more challenging for him than the letter-recognition and sight-word exercises that he’s doing in class… more challenging, but certainly readable by Cal.  We haven’t had a conference with his teacher yet, so these books have meant to me that the school is recognizing and acknowledging that Cal is pretty far ahead of what the average Kindergartener is capable of, specifically when it comes to reading.

Shame on us, but we haven’t spent very much time at all reading these books… at least, at home we haven’t.  That changed on Saturday morning when Dan asked Cal if he wanted to read his latest library book -- "Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins" -- to him, and Cal said that he did; and then they sat side by side on the couch, Cal manning and reading the book and Dan listening to every word intently.

Cal Reading

I was blogging at the time, so I didn’t hear the story.  I just heard Cal’s voice uninterrupted for several minutes.  While the book had pictures, each page had anywhere from 10 to 30 lines of words on it; and Cal read every one of them, at least as far as he read in the book.  At one point as Cal appeared to be tiring, Dan asked him if he wanted to stop.  He did.

Saturday had its share of good things, notable ones being Ella accompanying our cousin Julie to the store to pick out the yarn for her good-bedtimes blanket and the kids spending some happy, quality time with their cousins whom they don't see very often.  But I decided early that Cal reading that library book to Dan was the good thing about which I wanted to write.  It wasn't a loud good thing.  It wasn't flashy or funny or a noteworthy feat.  It was simple.  It was pleasant.  It was unassuming.  It was a good thing for sure.

Good Things That Happend on Thursday and Friday Were...

... the kids rode their bikes home from school on Thursday and Cal quietly tied his shoes entirely on his own on Friday.

I had been wanting to do the bike thing for some time now but needed to think through the logistics of making it happen, luck into some good weather on a day I was either working from home or had taken off from work, set enough time aside for it all at pickup time and then assess my appetite for a handling a frustrated Leatherkid or two which would surely happen at some point during the ride home.

Thursday was the day it finally all came together.

I estimated it would take 45 minutes to get the kids home once I kicked off the process.  I stopped working at 5pm and headed to the garage to get the kids' bikes into the car.  Last summer, this was much easier -- Cal was still on his Dora trike and Ella wasn't big enough to pedal, so she'd either sit in the wagon or on the back of my bike.  I could transport all of this in one shot to school without a car.  Gone are those days.  Once in the garage, I loaded Cal's bike into the car first and then threw Ella's in a space just big enough next to Cal's.

I then drove to the school, unloaded the bikes and put them next to the building, got back in the car and then drove home.  Ella would need some help from me throughout our trip home, so I couldn't ride my bike to get back to school quickly; so just as soon as I was home from dropping off their bikes, I was headed back to school on foot.

None of this had been cleared with the Leatherkids, by the way.  I didn't know what their appetite for riding home would be, so I was definitely taking a chance.  Ella's been pretty enthusiastic about riding her bike since she learned how to pedal earlier this week, so I felt pretty good about hers.  But Cal?  I wasn't sure.  He's generally up for a bike ride, but clouds were rolling in and rain appeared to be imminent -- Cal doesn't like rain.

As I walked, I did some work, responding to emails from co-workers.  Ahhh... technology.  I can work remote with just a cell phone.

When I got to school and lay the bike news on the kids, Ella was excited and announced to her teacher and friends that we'd be riding our bikes home.  Cal's initial response was one of disappointment; but once we got outside, he was fully on board, despite the drizzle.

The ride (walk for me) home wasn't too bad.  Ella probably rode half of the distance without needing me to push her while she pedaled -- for the most part, she rode entirely on her own on the flat or downhill parts, and needed my help for any uphill grades.  She was happy all the way.  Cal rode ahead of us most of the time and got cranky on the uphills.  "I can't do it!" he declared a few times and then mumbled something to the effect of not liking his bike or biking in general.

Cal also got cranky when I suggested that he try to balance himself more.  He has a tendency to lean left and rely on his left training wheel, so we've been suggesting to him that he work on straightening himself out.

In the end, it took us about 55 minutes from initial loading of the bikes in the garage to putting the bikes back into the garage.  I enjoyed it, and I'm glad we did it.  I don't know that we'll do it again, though.  At least, not the same way.

So that was Thursday.  On Friday, I didn't get a lot of Leatherkid time.  It was a co-worker friend's last day at work, so we had a lunch and happy hour planned with him.  This meant I needed to go in to work, would have a rushed morning and would be home later, possibly after the Leatherkids had gone to bed.

The good thing that happened actually came early.  Cal's known how to tie his shoes for a few months now and has been doing so, sometimes without a squawk and sometimes with a lot of squawking.  Lately, it's been a lot of he latter.  All of a sudden, his shoelaces and how tight they are and how long they are and how they lie, when tied, on his shoes bother him unless they're perfect.  He wants Velcro shoes!

"I hate these shoes!  Why can't I have Velcro shoes?!" he exclaimed once.

"Because they don't make Velcro shoes for kids your size," I told him.

"Yes, they do," he informed me.  "Alex has them."  And I responded that the Velcro shoes are cheap and hard to find and probably light up (I hate light-up shoes) and it was time for him to wear good shoes with shoelaces.  This was during Thursday's meltdown.

So he's been asking for help.  Dan's pretty good about not helping so that Cal learns to tie his shoes on his own; me, well, I'm good about not helping him only sometimes -- depends on my tolerance for the whining or my ability to resist my mom instincts to just help my kid when he says he needs it.

Cal's struggles with his shoes of late were the reason he has a new goal on his Reward Chart -- "Get Dressed."  It was one of the pre-defined ones that came with the chart, so we've explained to him that this really means get dressed all the way to putting his shoes on and tying them.  He's really good about getting dressed in everything pre-shoes.  So if he gets dressed in the morning, we reward him with a star; at the end of the week, we count all of his stars and give him a coin for every star he has.  He puts the coins into his piggy bank (actually, fish bank); and after several weeks, Dan takes him to the bank to deposit half of the money in his piggy bank into his savings at the "bank bank" and then to a toy or book store where he can spend the other half of it.

Heading into Friday, Cal had two starless "Get Dressed" boxes (days) on his Reward Chart.  Shoe time on Wednesday and Thursday mornings had been ugly, and Cal hadn't earned a star on either day.  (I think we were pretty generous with them on Monday and Tuesday, too, so it's not like those days were a walk in the park, either.)

On Friday, though, I didn't even know he had his shoes on.  He did it all on his own without being prompted by Dan or me.  No squawking.  No tears.  No words at all.  He just showed up next to me as I stood at the fridge and asked for his star.  When I looked at his feet, I saw those beautiful, bright blue New Balance running shoes with tied shoelaces.  I praised him and handed him his star.  This was a good thing indeed!

A Good Thing That Happened Yesterday (Wednesday) Was...

... I got to sleep a bit with Ella in her big-girl bed.

Ella has periodically asked me to do this since we got her big-girl bed a few weeks ago, one of the steps in our 5-step process for making Ella's bedtime pleasant... heck, we would have taken tolerable.  I hadn't yet obliged her request for two reasons: a) I wanted to see some improvement out of her before doing so and b) I actually have things to do after the Leatherkids go to bed.

The truth is, I've been clamoring to lie next to her in her bed at bedtime.  An opportunity to cuddle with a relaxed Leatherkid in silence is rare, and I cherish those moments.  They remind me of the also rare moments where a very young Cal fell asleep on my chest as I lay on the couch or a very young Ella fell asleep on my shoulder as we rocked in the glider after I fed her.

Plus, Ella's bed is pretty darn comfy.

We've had some good successes with the new routine (all five steps taken and in action) lately; so during bedtime on Tuesday, I told Ella that if "we" (yes, I do believe that Dan and I are in it with her) had a good bedtime and a good day, I'd go to sleep with her in her bed the following (Wednesday) night.

We had a good bedtime and a good day, so I fulfilled my promise.  Dan and I read books to Ella first and then to a patient Cal (step 4 in the new bedtime process); and then I returned to Ella's room where she was "reading" a book (How Dinosaurs Go to Bed, step 5 in the new bedtime process) while she patiently waited for my arrival.

I climbed in on the wall side of her bed (this has become my spot per her directions during pre-bed book-reading time) and lay next to her.  We didn't say much.  At first I closed my eyes, my attempt to influence her to do the same.  But I quickly became curious to know what she was doing as I did that, so I opened my eyes to find her "reading" that same book.  I watched her eyes dart back and forth over the pictures.  Occasionally, she looked at me and grinned but quickly returned to the book.  I closed my eyes again.

This went on for several minutes.  She eventually put the book down and rolled on her side so she could put her arms around me.  She then insisted I get under the covers with her; and after I did that, I found myself lying on her arm and shoulder, you know, like I might do with Dan... she was holding me.  This didn't last long, and she eventually pulled her arm out and lay on her back.  I did the same.

And then we fell both asleep.

For whatever reason, I woke up an hour later and crawled out of her bed.  She didn't budge, and she didn't ask me this morning why I wasn't there when she woke up.  I don't know if she forgot that I had lain with her; but I didn't forget... it was too much of a good thing to forget.

A Good Thing That Happened Yesterday (Tuesday) Was...

... we did our new Presidents of the United States puzzle.  I credit myself with this even being a candidate for "A Good Thing That Happened...", but I do have to give Cal some credit.  Afterall, he pulled it out of the closet reminding me of its existence.

I bought this thing at a nearby half-priced bookstore figuring Cal would love to put it together.  He's interested in the presidents and pretty good with puzzles, so it was a natural fit for him.  The pieces are a little smaller than the others that we have, and I figured it would be a good yet conquerable challenge for him.

It went unused for a few weeks.  When he pulled it out, he tried (the Cal level of trying, which is fairly unimpressive) to open it, failed and started to put it back in the closet.

"Wait, let's do this puzzle, Baby Bear," I said while intercepting the puzzle from him.  I spent the better part of the next five minutes trying to open the not-yet-used packaging; and by the time I finally had, he had moved on to something else... downstairs and out of sight... surely distructive... with his sister.  I had dinner already cooking on the stove and figured I'd fill the time until it was to be ready by sitting down at the kitchen island in silence to do the puzzle myself.

By the time I had the border pieces together to create the frame, the kids had made their way back upstairs and pulled chairs up to either side of me where they set up to breathe hot air down my neck "help" me finish the puzzle.

Now, this puzzle isn't the biggest of puzzles and takes up very little space.  So imagine what it was like with six hands grabbing many little puzzle pieces and trying to find a home for each -- 2 hands experienced and methodical, 2 fairly agile and 2 all over the place.  It was a test of patience on all of our parts; and, to my surprise, we all passed.

Our Completed Presidents of the United States Puzzle

Once they were involved, I became more of an orchestrator than a doer, suggesting that Cal look at the numbers on the puzzle pieces to help him find their homes and directing Ella to look for "purple" to find the one piece that fit in the spot I decided to have her focus on.  Doing a puzzle with Cal is easy -- he works pretty independently and logically and is sure handed; with Ella, doing a puzzle can be frustrating, particularly when she has the right piece for the spot but has is turned the wrong way... and with every "turn it a little" she turns it 180 degrees (too far)... well, there was a lot of that, and I managed to keep my frustration at a minimum.  Afterall, we were enjoying doing a puzzle together and completed it; and I call that a good thing!