Our Trip to AZ... A Work in Progress

It's been a comedy of errors getting to Phoenix this morning, and we haven't even taken off yet. The security line was a little long for me (Dan flew through that special TSA priority line, a benefit he has due to semi-frequent travel for work); but for me even to get through the line for regular travelers, I used my expired drivers license, which I hadn't realized was expired until I, along with the security person, quintuple-checked the label and year on the 'Expired' line - make no bones about it, it expired in March of 2015. I reassured her that I had renewed online; but without some sort of sticker or accompanying paper to prove it, it's hard to say for sure that I had. She let me through anyway. Guess who will be visiting the DMV on Saturday... if she makes it home, which is actually looking good because I'm not sure I'll even ever leave.

So when it was eventually time for us to board (later than planned, I'm not exactly sure how much later) with our fellow C45-50 people - yes, among the last to board - I had somehow "lost" my electronic boarding pass. Couldn't find it in my InBox, at least not among the emails where I found it earlier. After a slight panic, I searched for it and found it, I'm still not sure where.

Fortunately, I found a middle seat about 10 rows from the front, between two nice men of a "healthy" size. I feel bad even mentioning size, but I still haven't fully recovered from my claustrophobic flight from Philly a few months ago when I was squished between the plane's window and a very large man sitting uncomfortably in the middle seat. Shudder...

And it's smokin' hot on this plane now. We've been sitting on it for awhile now, and its engine and power were shut down to deal with two issues: 1) there was an extra person on board... someone who shouldn't be, and 2) the toilets aren't flushing.

So about this extra person... My first thoughts went south fast, as in this unexplained person somehow snuck on the plane and will now do bad things. Somehow, I managed quickly to suppress that theory and let my optimistic and rational thinking kick in. It was probably someone who was on the plane already with a layover in Chicago and didn't know to get off for his real connecting flight  (thank you for that theory, nice man to my right). And the flight attendants quickly determined who the extra person was, but not until after several pleas over the loud speaker for the person to figure it out himself, else they'd have to go person-to-person, validating ids and boarding passes... gulp!... we know mine aren't in great shape.

I don't know about the toilet thing. I only know about it because Dan texted me about it. I'm sure he overheard it from his seat at the front of the plane which he scored by boarding ahead of me while I scrambled for my e-ticket. All I know is I saw a maintenance person walk down the aisle, and I haven't seen him leave yet... and I have no idea how much longer it'll be.

Meanwhile, after easily an hour of sitting here, the only thing I have going for me is my Spotify music and an optimistic belief that we'll soon be getting to our fun New Years in Arizona with Aunt Sandi, Uncle Mart and thousands of Notre Dame fans (and I suppose a few Ohio State fans, too).

And look at that - toilets fixed (or will be fixed when pressure changes in the air and they unfreeze), and we're off with a promise for free drinks! Yea, optimism! Phoenix, here we come... I think!

... Mid-flight update... Science (or bullshit) did not work as expected, and toilets are still frozen. We're "making a right turn" in to Denver now for an unplanned stopover to fix it.  "Obviously" we can't fly under these conditions (I'll hold it if I need to!), and "hopefully it'll just be a half hour" (yeah, right). No drinks have been served "for obvious reasons." No kidding. I couldn't make this shit (pun intended) up if I tried. I suppose there are worse places to be than in Denver. I'm just glad it's without the Leatherkids.

Merry Christmas, Waterpark Style

I am at a waterpark this weekend with six kids under the age of 8 and three other adults. We, the adults, are outnumbered but managing okay.  I think it's because the kids get along so well (they're cousins) and the waterpark is indoor, meaning it's contained.

One view of our suite (when we first entered)

We have a three-bedroom suite -- five of the kids are in one of them (which has a bunk and a full-sized bed), Dan and I are in another and Dan's sister, Kelly, her husband and their year-and-a-half-old son are in the one in the loft.  Yes, we have a loft.  This was one of the factors that inspired Cal to exclaim repeatedly, "this is our own personal house!" when we first walked into our suite yesterday as he bounded from room to room and up and down the stairs.

Despite the three bedrooms, there's not a lot of room for personal space.  I mean, there are 10 of us.  There are kids running around and up and down constantly, yelling, laughing, screaming and sometimes crying for one reason or another.  I've been stepped on, run into and had my bed taken away from me but consistently treated with respect and with generally good listening ears.

I'm talking with Fiona, the three-year-old, right now who is repeating, holding up four fingers, "I can juh aw free tares."  The reason she was repeating it was that I... just... couldn't... understand... her.  Her mom, Kelly, my sister-in-law, finally added clarity, "I can jump off three stairs."  I never understand Fiona, yet talking with her is one of the joys of my life.  The kid just makes me laugh.

And now Ella and Fiona are going down the carpeted stairs on their bellies, and I can only think one thing -- rugburn.  Ella is in her bathing suit, and Fiona is in her... well... her birthday suit.  I've seen lots of naked buns, mostly on the part of Fiona but sometimes on the part of her younger brother, Nolan.  I'm looking at his even right now as he pulls down his diaper.

Since we have the suite, we have a kitchen; and since we have the kitchen, we're fixing all of our meals in this suite filled with people.  Kelly did most of the meal planning and grocery shopping; and so far, meals have hit the spot with the kids, animals who go from not hungry to starving in a matter of seconds.  How Kelly keeps her cool with her four kids who need to be fed several times daily, I'll never understand.  I can barely do it with two. But I do get to experience the feeding of a herd up here at the waterpark this weekend. I've learned that it's best to treat the plate prep like a machine -- slap some mac and cheese on six plates, throw a handful of chips on each, open the hot dog buns and put them on the plates of the ones who want a bun and then slap the dogs on the plate, three in a bun, two not in a bun but cut up and I don't remember what Fiona wanted.  I did ask three times who wanted what on his hot dog -- ketchup and relish for one, ketchup for two and nothing for another two.  Still, I don't remember what Fiona wanted on hers.

With the suite rental came 10 wristbands for playtime in the waterpark, a mere five-minute circuitous walk from our suite, a route entirely inside the warmth of the hotel. We walk (well, the kids scamper ahead of us adults) to the waterpark in our bathing suits and some of us also in coverups and flip-flops. That's all we take there because that's really all we need -- afterall, we plan on being in or headed toward a big spash in the water ALL DAY, with a brief break for lunch or dinner.

We've done the waterpark in three rounds so far -- once yesterday when we arrived and twice today (before and again after lunch) -- and have one more to go tomorrow morning. With kids of different sizes, capabilities and interests, we parents are barely spending any time together, each one of us taking responsibility for watching a kid or two in whatever pool or play area or slide he wants to enjoy.  When it comes time to leave the waterpark, we re-group and count little bodies -- 1-2-3-4-5-6 -- not even looking at faces.  It's entirely possible we'll leave the area with someone else's kid instead of one of our own. At least, that's the case under my watch.

Me with the Bobbsey Twins

I've probably spent most of my time with Ella and Ella's favorite playmate, Fiona.  The two of them together is a riot, with Ella trying to boss Fiona around and Fiona listening only when she wants to.  I watched the two of them, non-readers, run past the "No Running" sign many times, which I find both amusing for obvious reasons and annoying at the same time.  Afterall, I did repeatedly insist they not run.  Aunt Carla is very effective at getting kids to listen.  NOT.

One source of much stress

I'd say most of my time has been spent in one of three places -- the lazy river usually sans a tube, the kiddie hot tub and the wave pool which shoots out maybe 5 minutes of constant waves every 10 minutes or so (a howling wolf is the indication it's going to start).  I did manage to get in a few slides with Cal -- three times down Superman on a mat, which is my favorite way to go down a slide, and once on a tube down some kind of Tornado slide with a steep, terrifying drop shortly after being shoved forward once situated and ready to go down it.  To do that one, I actually left Ella (after a lot of instruction and incentivizing) at the bottom of the slide, alone, and worried about her the whole 10 minutes I was gone. To my surprise, she was still waiting for me when we got to the bottom, which I praised excessively.  Blind faith.  I suppose getting some early practice of my comfort with separation and independence is not best done at a waterpark.

That I can even do waterparks still amazes me.  I've never been a fan of goopy and wet.  I cringe every time Ella has to use the bathroom with its certain wetness and globs of wet toilet paper strewn on the floor of the stalls -- we are nothing if not careful and efficient when we "go."  Outside the bathroom, I have to shelve the realization that I'm standing or swimming in water with hundreds, maybe thousands of strangers... practically naked strangers.  I regularly remind myself that the germs are certainly being killed by the excessive amount of chlorine in the water.  And I focus on my breathing and think good thoughts as I go down any small tube, overcoming an undiagnosed case of certain claustrophobia.  I don't know that I'd choose to go to a waterpark if it weren't for the kids... and even then, I'm not entirely comfortable with even that notion.  I mean, there's just so much opportunity to get lost... or worse, drown!  It's all very stressful, really; and I can't tell if the hawk-like lifeguards here are making me feel better or worse about this fact.  There's just so much stress!

The kids with their wolf ears on Day 1

What I am enjoying about this trip is seeing all of the kids interact, get along and kill the waterpark.  I've watched them hang all over each other down that lazy river many times, smiling the whole time and never getting frustrated with each other.  Dan and Kelly are close, almost best friends, with their cousins, and I imagine the same thing happening with these six... or, at least the first five of these knuckleheads.

And what is making me smile most is seeing them love the water.  Cal is never tenative and Ella only tentative about the big water slides. This is such a refreshing change.  Pools and lazy rivers are nothing for them to be afraid of anymore -- they jump in and out and swim and float without hesitation, always with big smiles on their faces... well, except when Ella swallowed a bunch of water from a big wave in the wave pool.  But she was in it!  I guess swimming lessons really are paying off.

This was our big Christmas gift to the Leatherkids this year, and it's turning out to be a good one.  It's not a toy that they'll play with for a month and shelve but later pull out to just throw on the ground immediately during a play date or birthday party.  It's not yet another stuffed animal to throw amongst the fifty others on their beds.  And it's not yet another set of Pokemon cards to duplicate... even triplicate... probably quadruplicate many in the collection we already have.  What it is is a big bundle of fun for the kids to experience and soon to throw in their memories.  I hope they're still talking about it with each other 20 or 30 years from now.

Dusty Robin

So, we have an elf.  His name is Robin.  Robin, Jr., to be specific.  Cal named him a few years (seems like decades now) ago when he first entered our lives.  If I could take back that moment, I would.  It seemed like a good idea at the time -- Robin would be the inspiration for good Leatherkid behavior during the Christmas season, good behavior that might even stick beyond the holidays and into the next year.  But he's become a mostly ineffective gimmick holding Dan and me hostage, having to remember for 25 days straight to move him every night.

Here's how it works... at least, how it works in our house: On the morning of December 1st, Robin miraculously shows up in our house somewhere visible to the kids.  How he gets there from the North Pole, no one really knows -- it's only ever described as "magic."  The kids excitedly point out his presence and say, "hi," and Robin proceeds to stay in that same spot all day, with the same exact pose, with his hands always crossed, with the same exact expression on his face, and with the same beady eyes constantly looking slightly to the right for some reason.  At night, he heads back to the North Pole to give Santa a report on the Leatherkids' behavior that day.  No one ever sees him leave -- we only know this because he's in a different spot in the house the next day, which the Leatherkids always point out in the morning.

Robin, hanging out in my stocking

This cycle of Robin magically travelling back and forth between the North Pole and our house goes on until Christmas Eve, his last day with us because he and the kids know that Santa will be (if all goes well) visiting our house that night, the culmination of all of the good reports from Robin, I'm sure.  Or, mostly good reports.  There have been days where we're certain Robin delivered a bad report to Santa, which we don't hold back communicating to the Leatherkids.

There is only one rule by which everyone must abide, and that is that Robin cannot be touched by any person else he'll lose his magic.  This is for obvious reasons, at least to any rational thinker.  Frankly, I'm surprised the Leatherkids don't question his "realness" -- I mean, Robin does always stay completely still, always has the same expression and is always looking the same direction.  How this is not questioned amazes me.  At least Santa Claus is a moving person in the movies.

There have been days where Robin appears to have stayed in the same spot as the day before.  We're not sure if that's a day he didn't make the trek back to see Santa the night before or if he just liked that spot so much he returned to it.  One year, he forgot to go back to the North Pole with Santa and was still sitting in our tree on Christmas morning. Oops.

Robin is really more trouble than he's worth for Dan and me.  One might think that remembering to move him (uh, yeah, so he's not magically flying back to the North Pole and returning overnight) every night is easy, requiring a few seconds of effort.  Really, that's what it takes; however, we'd probably need all of our fingers and toes combined to count the times where we didn't remember to move him.  Eh, that may be a little high.  But throw in the times where one of us (me!) had to reluctantly get up and out of bed, having forgotten to move him before crawling into bed, and we do need all 40 digits.  I can't really explain why this is... why is it so difficult to remember to move our elf?

Robin's effectiveness has waned over the years, not for lack of really driving home the purpose of the elf on mine and Dan's part.  Early on, Robin was an effective motivator for the Leatherkids to be nice, cooperative and generally pleasant to be around.  Anytime they'd start to stray from the path of goodness, we'd say things like, "Uh, Robin's watching," or "You don't want Robin to give a bad report to Santa, do you?"; and, sure enough, they'd get back on the right path virtually immediately.  Today, Robin works about as effectively as my threats of "no books at bedtime" if the Leatherkids continue to not cooperate -- i.e., not at all.  At least they see me deliver on my threat -- I don't know that they think Robin ever gives Santa a bad report about them because they never actually see him do it.

That said, the Leatherkids do still seem to believe in Robin, his story, his relationship with Santa and his magic.  I know this because a couple of days ago as I stood in our dining room with the Leatherkids, I glanced at Robin who was hanging on a wine glass and noticed a dust ball on his "knee."  Instinctively, I reached up to dust him off when, fortunately, Cal caught me and yelled, "DON'T TOUCH HIM!!!"  He did this just in time -- I hadn't touched Robin yet and, therefore, hadn't removed all of his magic by doing so.

I have mixed feelings about this.  Had I touched him, Robin would just be another Christmas decoration in our house, similar to the elf with which I grew up and who did not have magical powers (lucky you, Mom and Dad!).  Dan and I would be off the hook for remembering (and frequently failing) to move him every night and coming up with semi-, not over-the-top creative ideas for poses and locations for Robin.  The kids may not like me for awhile, but they haven't liked me before and generally get over it pretty quickly.  But the panic in Cal's face when I almost ruined Robin's magic was enough to tell me that no matter how ornery he (Cal) may be despite Robin's presence, he really does appreciate what Robin brings to our house every Christmas.  A little mystery and a little fun.  So I can't take back bringing Robin into our lives; but I can keep him alive for the kids to enjoy for awhile.  Sigh.

Christmas, Giblin Style

They say that there are two things that a person can count on in his life -- death and taxes.  I've always wanted to challenge that as I've found that there are many things that I can count on -- my Ella refusing to wear socks during the worst of morning winter rushes when I have a meeting necessitating that I catch a train no later than the 7:32am, my Cal using his sleeve as a napkin to wipe the mix of spaghetti sauce and milk off of his mouth and chin, my Dan complaining about how most NBA players travel every time they touch the ball or an NFL lineman grossly celebrating his single tackle but never his missed tackles, old friends making me laugh, new friends asking me if I'm okay, my mom, my dad, my sister.

And the Giblin Christmas.

Every year on the Saturday before Christmas, many, many... a crazy many Giblins, either in name, in blood, in marriage or all of the above, gather on the southwest side of Chicago to celebrate Christmas together.  They've been doing this for longer than I even know -- I only started attending this affair after I had been dating Dan for a year, nine or so years ago.

I'll admit, it's still a little overwhelming, and I know all (most?) of the Giblins now.  There are just so many of them, and now that the cousins are getting married (goodness, not to each other, of course) the clan is only getting bigger.  Names are repeating and getting tougher to remember.  I've learned to be awkwardly comfortable with and get my "hello, Merry Christmas" kisses out of the way right away, finally knowing -- or thinking I know -- the name of the person I'm kissing for practically all kisses.  I don't, however, think I've yet kissed Nicky and/or Lea "hello" -- they are identical twins, and I just... can't... tell them apart.  This is not a knock against me, though -- Dan can't, either, and he's known them for 30-ish years.  But lots of hello kisses are something you can count on at the Giblin Christmas.

By the time we get there, most of the aunts (Dan's mom included) are in the kitchen preparing all of the food.  In my early years, I think it was all homemade; and it's been a mix of homemade and catered in recent years.  There's always a fantastic salad, sometimes chicken mornay and other times chicken alfredo and rolls; and this year was the first year I remember mac and cheese and chicken strips for the kids.  Whatever the specifics, it's always a good spread followed by homemade desserts.  But plenty of good food is something you can count on at the Giblin Christmas.

There are SO MANY kids running around, mostly Leatherman offspring but some similarly aged Giblins.  And the funny thing is that there are rarely any parents chasing them around or scolding them -- they're little magnets, these kids, stuck to each other from the moment they walk through the door at the Giblin Christmas party, through their half-eaten dinners, through the opening of their Christmas gifts, to changing into their jammies, and only pried apart when it's time to leave.  Yes, kids who are generally well behaved, contained and just naturally enjoying their time together is something you can count on at the Giblin Christmas.

Grandma Gibs, the matriarch, the single person responsible for all of these people gathering together that Saturday before Christmas every year, is always present, always beautiful and always smiling.  I often wonder what's going through her head as she witnesses all that's happening at the party.  Pride.  Amusement.  Pleasure.  Love.  That her ten children are so close to each other and seem to value family above all else is remarkable and falls on her shoulders, and this is something that you can count on witnessing at the Giblin Christmas.

Waiting for gifts from Gibs

And the gifts.  Grandma Gibs gives presents to all of the kids who are (I think) not of high school age.  The kids know this and, I'm certain, look forward to getting their gifts from Grandma Gibs every year.  In recent years, this one included, family friend, Tom, has played Santa and handed out the gifts to the kids, lined up around the Christmas tree and each patiently waiting for his name to be called.  Yes, the kids opening gifts from Gibs is something you can count on at the Giblin Christmas.

Perhaps my favorite moment at the Giblin Christmas is the first note sung as this signifies the start of the musical part of the evening.  I generally find a seat in the back, if I'm not already sitting, and prepare to listen to the acapella carols.  This year, I had tired Ella on my lap, making it entirely more peaceful than usual.  An aunt usually leads the kids for a round of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" and/or "Frosty the Snowman," almost never getting the words right, making it even more entertaining that it is otherwise.  The aunts and Gibs always sing "The Little Drummer Boy," each one having a specific role to play in the song.  Uncle Mike always sings "Oh, Holy Night," which he kills and gives me chills as this is my favorite Christmas song.  Cousin Bill always sings "Ave Maria" (or is it "Santa Maria"... or are they the same song?) fantastically.  Aforementioned twin cousins Nicky and Lea sing a couple of duets, generally not Christmas songs but beautiful nonetheless. Every once in awhile, this year excluded, Gibs sings "Danny Boy."  And this year, we even had a special "Grinch" skit performed very Grinch-like by Uncle Jim.  Yes, entertainment and beautiful singing is something you can count on at the Giblin Christmas.

The Giblin Christmas happens snow or shine, and sometimes people just can't make it. Aunt Nor, Uncle Dyko, Aunt Holly, Laurie you were missed this year -- Merry Christmas!

I love that the Leatherkids are a part of this, the Giblin Christmas, a strong family tradition and perhaps the first thing (other than Mommy and Daddy) that they've learned to count on in their lives.

Ella and the Chickmunks

On our way into the City for our annual, New Guy-coordinated Friends' Christmas dinner, we found ourselves sitting in the crazy, fully expected yet optimistically hopeful that it won't be so bad traffic on the Eisenhower.  There was a Hawks game to get to, I'm sure many special dinners and shows to enjoy and, well, bad drivers just itching to get some practice in.  The Eisenhower was apparently the place to be (or not to be, depending upon one's perspective).

But that's not the point of my post...

So we're in this crazy traffic with plenty of opportunities to read the billboards that line the highway, and Ella exclaims from the backseat, "The Chickmunk movie!!!"

I looked up and a bit to my right and, sure enough, an electronic billboard advertising the latest Alvin and the Chipmunks movie was in full view.

"Where, Ella?" Cal asked.  The sign had already changed.  Fortunately for us (or unfortunately, again, depending upon one's perspective), we were not moving; and by the time it came around again to shine bright in the sky, Cal was able to see it.

"You're reading, Ella!" I told her, excitedly.

Ella proceeded to talk more about it, calling them "chickmunks" every time.  Dan decided to educate her.

"It's Chipmunk, Baby Girl," he started.

"Chickmunk," said Ella.

"ChiPmunk," said Dan.

"Chickmunk."

"ChiPmunk... with a 'P'," he tried.

"No, Daddy, I'm talking about the Chickmunk MOVIE," Ella said, frustrated.

And then the education kind of fizzled out.  Could it be that she doesn't associate Alvin with being a chipmunk and really thinks that chipmunks and chickmunks are two different things?  Not sure that we'll ever know, really.  I'm just going to enjoy how she says it for now.

Santa Called!

Picture with Santa, 2014

I had this plan to take the Leatherkids to see Santa Claus every year.  They'd sit in his lap, clearly and cutely articulate what they wanted for Christmas and then smile big for a picture that I'd place over the previous year's picture in a wintery frame dedicated to share my kids' Christmas joy with everyone who visited our house during the holiday season.  Every year this would happen.

Yeah, right.  If I've learned one thing about kids, it's that things rarely actually go as planned.  Take last year's picture (left) as an example.  One can imagine the events that led up to this gem.  Now, Dan and I certainly didn't plan on being in the picture, nor did we plan on Ella being completely and utterly terrified of Santa.  Santa peering and laughing at Ella while Cal sits on his lap as if nothing unusual or ridiculous is going on as the picture is snapped makes me laugh every time I look at it.  Amusing? Yes. Worth the $20 we paid for it?  Not so much.

This year, I'll admit, the idea that we'd once again pay Santa an in-person visit did cross my mind.  I even verbalized it, suggesting that we go to Bass Pro Shop for this year's photo op a Saturday ago -- it'd be free if we donated a toy.  Thankfully, Cal got an invitation for a play date that derailed even the loosest of plans; and we haven't yet made it to the velvetty red lap of the jovial gentleman nor do I now expect we will.

Truth be told, I'm glad.  I felt like I was the only one in this family even remotely interested in the sitting-in-Santa's-lap tradition, and I think that was really only because that's what kids are supposed to do.  Cal couldn't care less but cooperates if that's what we're doing.  Ella is probably still terrified of the man.  The wait would surely be long, creating an environment prime for the Leatherkids acting up -- running around, bumping into people, climbing on things, whining, yelling -- and this would get on Dan's nerves to no end.  And I would be watching it all happen and trying to keep everyone happy because it was my idea in the first place yet inside wanting to just explode and run away from the scene altogether.

Thursday was Cal's 7th birthday.  We went to a restaurant of his choice for dinner and then to Yogurt Beach for a birthday dessert.  We were home for a few minutes when the phone rang and the phone announced the number, unfamiliar to us, that was calling.  Ordinarily, if we don't recognize a phone number, we don't answer the phone.  But something clicked in my head, and I told Ella to run and get it.  I had a feeling I knew who was calling despite not being familiar with the number.

She picked it up, "Hello?"  I could hear a voice on the other end.  A deep man's voice.  I couldn't make out what he was saying, but I knew who it was.  I remembered at that moment having arranged for this call.  It was Santa.  I grabbed the phone from Ella and put it on speaker so we could all hear him.

He first asked for Cal, so I handed the phone to Cal who's expression told us he was a bit shocked at what was happening. Santa knew that Cal is in first grade and the school he goes to.  He asked Cal what he wanted for Christmas and when Cal froze, unable to answer, Santa threw out a couple of ideas... Pokemon Cards?  Baseball Cards?  Cal's eyes lit up, and he wondered how Santa knew this. I don't recall Santa's exact response, but it was some flavor of the lines from "Santa Clause is Coming to Town."

Santa then asked if Ella was there, so Cal handed the phone to Ella. Santa went through a similiar spiel, asking her hold old she is now and stating the school she goes to.  When asked what she might want for Christmas, Ella also froze; so Santa through out a couple of ideas... maybe a Rapunzel doll or an Ariel doll?  Ella smiled from ear to ear.  He also asked Ella if she could do something for him, and that was to leave a couple of cookies for him on Christmas Eve. Ella said she would.

Santa closed by saying that he'd better get going, that there was still a lot to do and that he was already starting to load up the sleigh.  He'd see them... well, not see them but pay a visit to their house on Christmas, which math-loving Cal of course declared was 15 days away.

It was great.  This call, while surely pretty standard, was interactive and perfect for the Leatherkids.  They were engaged and genuinely happy to be talking with Santa, a complete 180 from how they feel about sitting in his lap.  I think I may have found a nice alternative to paying a visit to Santa to sit in his lap and have a picture taken with him.  Sure, I don't have a physical memory of it; but the kids thoroughly enjoyed the call and I know will remember it for years to come.  And isn't that what's important?

It's Gonna Be a Pokemon Birthday

For reasons beyond my comprehension and I would imagine any rational thinker's comprehension, Cal is crazy interested in and borderline obsessed with all things related to Pokemon trading cards.  Why this one stuck and collecting and trading baseball cards (actually, stickers) didn't stick is beyond me -- he started doing them at essentially the same time, yet his collection of Pokemon cards is far more impressive than that of his baseball cards.

I'd include the names of some of the Pokemon characters that he's told me about in this post if I could -- I either can't spell them, didn't really understand his pronunciation of them or, to be honest, just wasn't listening when he was talking to me about it a time or two... or ten.  Pikachu and Mega Charizard EX are the only two that come to mind -- the former I had to Google to know how to spell, and the latter I only know how to spell because I asked him how to spell it once after hearing him talk about it fifty times.

From one day to the next, the set of cards with which Cal leaves the house in the morning isn't entirely the same as the set with which he returns later that day, having made some big trades with his classmates at some point during the day.  And sometimes it's literally been a "big trade" -- a time or two, he returned with a giant-sized Pokemon card, a big score in his eyes... at the time, anyway, as a few days later he had traded the giant-sized card for a regular-sized one or more, most likely getting some "Mega"-prefixed one or an "EX"-suffixed one, which are apparently the "stronger" cards of the Pokemon variety.

Not only does he like to have the cards, but he also likes to just look at endless pictures of the cards, spending most, if not all, of his allotted computer time Googling "Pokemon cards".  How.  Exciting.

For a couple of months now, Cal has been counting down to his birthday, I suspect less about the prospect of turning 7 and more about the prospect of getting more Pokemon cards.  He's written a few wish lists and has been verbally expressing near daily reminders that he wants more... MORE... MORE... Pokemon cards for his birthday, which will officially be here on December 10th.

The first hand-written birthday wish list that I can recall actually had on it something to the effect of "1. that Pokemon set that I almost bought at Target but bought the other one instead," as if I have a chance of remembering what that was.  His latest list is very detailed and quite compelling, leaving ZERO possibility that he won't get this for his birthday:

Cal's Latest Birthday Wish List

He gave me this on Monday.  Initially, he gave me two options to select, "Yes I will do it" and "No I will not."  It wasn't until I suggested that there was a third option, a Maybe option so as not to spoil any surprise, that he added the "I might do it!" option, which was the one I selected by circling it.

So while I don't and never will fully understand the allure of the Pokemon card collecting hobby, I do enjoy Cal's genuine excitement and passion for it.  How can I not support and encourage him to go bigger in this world of Pokemon?  Sure, I told him he needed to add a "Maybe" to the options for me to consider on his birthday wish list; but mentally, I've already circled "Yes I will do it."

A Little Football with the Leatherkids

Like his Mommy, Cal can actually throw a pretty decent spiral with a football.  Sure, it's one of those miniature footballs; but his hand is a third the size of mine, maybe even smaller.  I'm not even sure when he developed this skill, really -- he's played some catch with his dad, I know... perhaps more than I've actually witnessed because it just seems to me that practicing throwing a football requires two people.  I know he'll throw this mini football straight up in the air with a tight spiral and catch it when it comes back down; but his throwing it forward seems to have been limited to what he can do in our living room against the wall or the couch by himself (not much for fear of breaking something, not that there's much to break) or with Dan (maybe more than I think).

Over the past week or two, he has asked me excitedly to play some catch with him in the living room.  I haven't always obliged, but when I have, Ella has usually joined us.  The bit is usually the same -- I throw to Cal, Cal throws to me, I toss to Ella, Ella throws to me... and then we start all over again.

I got home from work just before 7pm tonight.  The Leatherkids were already fed and showered and were looking for some Mommy time... or perhaps some football time with whatever warm-blooded creature might be up for it.  This warm-blooded creature bit.

We assumed our usual positions in the living room.  Cal positioned himself by the door, Ella by the pseudo (folding) dining room table and I by the kitchen.  And we started throwing and catching.

I have to say, Cal's spiral wasn't as tight tonight as it usually is.  I'm not sure why.  He seemed to be more interested in doing trick tosses than throwing a good ball.  Our right-handed Ella actually stepped and threw with her left foot (progress!) most of the time. And me?  I continued to work on my spiral with that miniature, light-as-a-feather, small-as-a-softball football, applying mechanics I learned from watching Ella toss it to me (no kidding -- it's different than throwing an adult-sized football) and just firing it hard to Cal and his bricks for hands (we're working on it).

We were probably five minutes into our tosses to each other when Cal changed things up and lined up next to me.  This was my sign to say, "set, hike!" at which time he'd run his pattern, which was basically a fly, if it could really be called that in our limited space.  He'd run, I'd try to lead him, and he'd drop it.  He'd hint (very nicely) that my passes weren't good; and I'd respond with, "if it touches your hands, you should catch it" (things I've been told many times by my male social club football teammates, not to suggest I dropped very many passes in my day).  Ella also lined up and ran her own version of the fly; and I gently tossed the ball to her when she turned around to catch it.

They took turns at running their patterns for five, maybe ten minutes, sometimes catching, sometimes dropping, usually smiling.  Once, Cal played defense on Ella, which was met with a tearful reception; so that ended abruptly.  She's soft -- another thing to work on once we nail the stepping-with-the-left-foot thing.

When they got tired of their patterns, we assumed our positions for playing catch.  Ella declared that we should count our consecutive catches.  She tossed one to me to start... "1"... then I threw it to Cal, who dropped it, and we started all over, this time all of us focused and committed to not dropping the ball.  Cal to me, me to Ella, Ella to me, me to Cal.  We set our own record at 24 in a row before Cal dropped one, a bullet and not-so-good-spiral thrown by moi.

And at 24 catches in a row, we called it a night... a fun night... a fun, football night with the Leatherkids.  I'll take that over any Pokemon-card talk any day!

Ella the Cat?

I can think of only 10 months of my life when I did not have a cat, so I am very familiar with their behaviors and personalities.  One of those behaviors is the way they curl up next to or on a warm body to sleep at night.  I've spent many a night with a cat nestled snuggly between my legs or a cat's "elbow" leaning up on one of them; and I truly enjoy it. For many years I wouldn't move for fear of disrupting my kitty's sweet sleep; and then I learned that it doesn't matter -- move, and the sweet kitty moves with you.

Strong personality, extrovertedness and dislike for anything with buttons aside, Ella is my mini me.  She, too, enjoys a good night's sleep with cats, specifically our cat, Zoe.  She covets it.  Really, Ella likes doing anything with Zoe; and Zoe seems to feel the same way about Ella. If Zoe darts out the door in the evening (we prefer she stay indoors at night), it's Ella who runs after her and hauls her back in... successfully nearly 100% of the time.  Ella regularly finds Zoe in the house, picks her up and just loves up on her; and Zoe lets her, hanging in Ellas arms like a ragdoll.

Of the three beds in our household, Zoe makes her way to Ella's bed more than the other two, though mine and Dan's is a close second.  So Ella and Zoe have spent many a night together.

Looking back over the past couple of weeks, I'm thinking Zoe may have actually been in our bed most nights or at least a block of nights early in that timeframe. I say "looking back" because Ella has been exhibiting a new, somewhat strange behavior the same couple of weeks, and I'm starting to wonder if it's somehow tied to or influenced by Zoe.  The strange behavior?  Crawling up onto our bed and lying at the base of it (like, by our feet), sometimes curled up like a cat, sometimes stretched straight between the two of us and once even between my legs.  Sometimes Zoe is lying with or on her; other times, Zoe is no where to be found.  And Ella always has Blue Blankie (her treasure) and a stuffed animal lying somewhere next to her.  Short of preening herself and purring, she's acting just like a cat.

I don't always know it when it's happening.  Sometimes, I do and take her back to her room; other times I do and, well, don't take her back to her room because I'm just... so... tired (and maybe it's because I just think she's so darn cute).

Did she "get" this from Zoe?  Is she acting like a cat?  Or does she just simply find it crazy comfy at the base of our bed.  I don't know that we'll ever know for sure, if there's even an explanation for it.

Today's Early-Rising Fun

I got up early this morning to get a workout in before getting ready for and heading to work.  Early was not as early as I had intended when I set my alarm and went to bed last night; but it was early enough to do a half hour's worth of damage, and, really, early enough to do so alone.  It was 5:40am when I got out of bed, and 5:45am by the time I was heading out my bedroom door to get it started.

I had barely stepped through the doorway to my bedroom when I almost bumped into Cal.  Not startled by me at all, he didn't skip a beat and announced, "Mommy, guess what?"

"What?" I asked, showing as much interest as I could muster AT 5:45AM, which was about as much interest as I muster when he talks about his Pokemon cards.

"There are only TWO undefeated teams!" he declared right away.

After spending some brain cycles on figuring out what season we were in (afterall, it was 5:46AM at this point), it clicked... football!  Before I could even remember which teams played last night and who it could've been who fell, he told me, "the Bengals lost!"

News to me!  Cal has a clock radio in his room now and listens to it when he goes to bed and when he wakes up.  Surely, he had just learned of this information minutes before running into me.

"So what are the two undefeated teams, then?" I was fully engaged now and actually knew this answer.  So did Cal.

"The Patriots and the Panthers," he answered, immediately.

"That's right, Baby Bear!"  I'm sure he said something about Odell Beckham, Jr. (somehow every football conversation with Cal involves good ole Odell) after that, and then I turned toward the stairs and announced to him that I'd be getting a workout in.  As I started down the stairs I noticed that Ella was also up and going potty in the bathroom, door wide open.  I continued down the stairs without acknowledging her because I had some working out to do and didn't want to get sucked into a conversation about whatever it is that Ella might want to talk about at 5:47am, not to suggest that there's ever a conscious theme or scope for what she has to say.

I was about halfway through my workout when Cal emerged on the landing of the stairs to the basement.  Now, I don't mind a little company when I work out, but my kids talk a lot... I mean, A LOT... incessantly, really.  Both of them.  About anything and everything. Not only was it way too early to be having any substantial conversation; but I was doing a lower body workout, the kind where you have to count repetitions.  I could not participate in much of a conversation and still count, even to 12.  So I really wasn't sure how welcome Cal's company really was.  And not long after he had made his way to the basement, Ella was there, too, both of them talking up a storm as I squatted and lunged and raised.

Turns out, while distracting and loud, it was fun -- they were entertaining and fully interested in what I was doing.  Cal announced ridiculous things like, "I can lift 100 pounds all the way up to my head," while Ella grabbed a couple of two pounders and did squats herself (after a little instruction from me).  They both hopped on the not-moving treadmill and pretended to run on it... together.  There was no fighting, a lot of talking, and a little too much bravado from my first born.  The best was when Cal came back to earth and said he could lift the 35-pound dumbbell because "Ella's 38 pounds and I can lift her," and proceeded to pick her up off the ground to demonstrate.

So while I entered the morning thinking I'd have some quiet, alone time, I ended up having some quality time with my kids doing what I enjoy and what I enjoy showing them I enjoy.  I've been working a lot of hours lately (thank you, Leatherkids and Leatherdaddy, for understanding), and this has taken away some of my opportunities for quality time and sometimes general patience with them; so to have some unexpected interaction and fun with them in the wee hours of the morning today, I am happy.  I think they were, too.

Crocs and Socks, Ella Style

I ran 11.5 miles today.  I wouldn't say it was by choice -- it's a necessary evil to running a half marathon.  Sign up for one, gotta train for it.  Look for a blog post on that topic -- the actual race -- in a couple of weeks.

Anyway, I had maybe taken 11 steps into the house after I finished running when I was bombarded with questions.

"Mommy, can I have a treat?"

"Mommy, can I watch an episode?"

"Mommy, can we go for a walk?"

I was able to fend off the first two with an "I just walked in the door... I just walked in the door... NO."  It was that last one that got me.  I had promised Ella a walk last weekend and failed to deliver; so we ended that week with me apologizing and telling her that I now owe her two walks to be used whenever she wanted (with some judgment).

I was hurting but not more than I knew than I would be later, so I told Ella to get her shoes on and that we'd go now.  The words had barely left my mouth when I saw she had her new, sparkly shoes on (no socks, of course -- at this point, I didn't care).

My shoes and socks were feeling pretty uncomfortable on my feet at this point, so I asked Ella to go upstairs and get me my Crocs and a pair of socks for our walk.  For whatever reason, there was no discussion about where she'd find my Crocs -- I was certain they were beside my bed and that she couldn't miss them.  I tried a similar tactic with a pair of socks.

"My socks are in the top, left drawer of my dresser," I started.  Ella kind of knows right from left, at least when I instruct her to turn.  I clarified, "it's the top drawer closest to the window."  Yeah, that should do it.

"So Daddy's dresser is..." she started, and I cut her off with, "Daddy's dresser is the tall one; mine is the short one.  Just grab a pair of socks from the top drawer closest to the window."  I didn't care which pair -- in this drawer, they are all athletic socks.

Crocs and black socks in action

Off she went.  She returned a couple of minutes later with my Crocs and, yes, a pair of socks from the middle drawer, not closest to the window.  "Here, Mommy," she said, handing me my Crocs and a black, argyle pair of dress socks.  Then she added, "I didn't grab the fluffy ones, just these."  She was so proud of herself, certain she had delivered per my request.

"Thank you, Ellie," I told her and put them on my feet.  I looked like my dad, maybe worse.  A real fashion conspiracy when combined with my teal running shorts.  It would be a short walk around the neighborhood, so wearing this get-up was a small price to pay for an altogether happy Ella.

Ella's and My Harvest

The joy of gardening is completely lost on Cal -- he has zero interest in caring for plants and flowers in our yard and zero patience to watch them grow over time.  Sure, he talks a good game, wanting to plant the few seeds from his apple and grow a tree in our backyard; but one day after planting the seed in my brain to actually attempt this, he's no longer interested.  Meanwhile, I have 8 seeds drying in a wadded up paper towel and shoved into a shot glass waiting for me to mix them in some peat moss, put them in a ziplock bag and shove them in the back of the pantry for six weeks... at least, that's what I think I read as the next step.  I'll have to check because while Cal has lost interest in the project, I have not.

But Ella... Ella loves to garden... or maybe loves to help me garden... or maybe a little of both, I'm not sure, and, really, I don't care.  Whatever it is that gets her out there with me, I'll take and hope it sticks when she's on her own and I'm no longer there.  I think gardening is fantastic.

This past Sunday, it was a beautiful, sunny, slightly chilly afternoon.  I made my way to the cherry tomato plants still growing in the garden beds on the side of our deck.  These things are monsters and have been producing cherry tomatoes for many weeks now.  I had just started picking the red and orange ones when Ella joined me asking if she could help.  I hadn't really planned on picking, so I didn't have a bowl with me and asked her to run inside and ask Daddy for a bowl.  She did so and quickly returned with a good-sized one.  I threw the handfuls that I had already picked into the bowl and instructed her to look for red and orange -- not green -- tomatoes to pick and to go ahead and pick them.  We did.  Ella talked the entire time, of course; and as usual, I really don't remember what it was she said.  I just remember genuinely enjoying the time -- she listened really well to my instructions, and I just let her judge for herself if a tomato was ready to be picked.

We filled the bowl and didn't see any more red or orange tomatoes on the plants, so we moved to the "other" garden where I knew we had some kale to pick.  I grabbed a bag and some scissors, and we headed to the back corner of our yard.  The kale looked great; and next to it I saw the leaves of the carrots that Ella had seeded at school earlier in the summer.

"Ella, your carrots!!!  Let's pick your carrots!!!" I exclaimed, genuinely excited about the opportunity in front of us.  She was all in, of course.  Now, I've never grown carrots and know that that part of our yard still has a lot of clay despite it being my garden area for a few years now.  I figured these things were either completely shrivelled or just locked into the ground, never to emerge... never.  I gave the leaves a little tug; and when they didn't budge, I decided to run to the garage to get a shovel.

This turned out to be a good call.  With one scoop, I was able to dig up Ella's carrots -- a whole bunch of them -- which were small but still in tact and, from what I could tell, edible.

"Ellie!" I shouted.  "You grew these!  These are fantastic!"

She was smiling and talking (of course, I'm sure something about the carrots, but you never know).  I asked her if she wanted to carry them inside to show Daddy; and she asked me to carry the bunch still attached to the leaves and she'd carry the others that had fallen off.  So we shook the dirt off of the carrots we were each carrying and went inside to show Dan.  We were both smiling.  While inside, we threw them in a bowl; and then we returned to finish up our gardening "chores."

So I'm not sure the right way to get the kale leaves off of the plant, but my way is to cut the leaves off with scissors.  When Ella realized that I had scissors and she didn't, she ran inside to get her green, plastic, safe-for-kids scissors -- so sweet... she was being just like Mommy.

There were two rows of kale in a really tight garden bed, so I assigned us each a row -- she'd cut the leaves off of her row of kale, and I'd do the same with mine.  I showed her where to cut each leaf (as if I really knew) and instructed her to not cut the yellowed or "holey" leaves.  "They're icky," I said.  And away we went with our cutting.

Ella and our tomatoes, kale and carrots

So Ella is a rule stater -- once she hears one, it's stuck in her head and coming out her mouth as if she is the master of whatever it is that she's talking about.  Once she heard the rules for cutting these kale leaves off of the plants, she was tell me how to do it.  "Don't cut the yellow ones, Mommy" and "That one's icky so don't cut that one, Mommy."  Of course I pretended that I didn't know those rules, asked her for clarification (as in, "you mean don't cut THIS one?" as I held up the deadest leaf imaginable).

We were a great kale-cutting team and cut until our reusable shopping bag was full of kale leaves.  There were still some good leaves left on the kale plants, but the full bag seemed like enough for me to call it quits for the day.  We walked the bag back to the house where we showed Daddy and then laid our pickin's out on the table on the deck to take a picture of what I'd like to call our accomplishments.  These were all started from seeds mid-spring -- I enjoyed watching them grow and produce edible veggies and enjoyed even more that I could share it with my daughter.

Whatevs

I fell asleep on the couch this past Friday night.  I got through enough of Bill Maher that I remember the special guest coming out, not that I remember who it was.  This was maybe around 9:30pm, give or take a few minutes.

I woke up at around midnight (12:03am, to be exact).  The TV was still on, and I remember changing the channel to ESPN -- I wanted to see who had won the Royals-Blue Jays AL championship game 2, not that I really care much about that series other than finding myself quietly rooting for the Blue Jays because Cal likes them.  This post-season, I am a Cubs fan.  Yep, I said it -- I'm rooting for the Cubs.  That feels a little weird. Anyway, I figure I was awake for 33 seconds before I was asleep again.  I never did find out who won, at least, not until Saturday.

The next thing I knew, it was after 3am.  I popped up off the couch, immediately turned off the TV, grabbed a glass of water and headed upstairs.  When I got to my room, Dan was out cold and snoring, and a little person was lying in my spot next to him.  It was Ella.  For a moment, I considered moving her back to her bed, except that she had her arm curled around Zoe, our cat, who was snuggled up tightly along the line of Ella's armpit.  I didn't have the heart to break up this adorable couple, so I quickly decided I'd continue my sleep in Ella's bed.

So, Ella is really good at getting up and getting herself dressed in the morning.  She generally does so very quickly and without much, if any, noise.  She pops out of bed in her jammies and emerges from her room fully dressed (well, minus the socks that we struggle to get her to wear) in no time at all.  And since we've added a low-hanging pole to her closet to hold her dresses, we haven't needed to help her at all -- she does it all herself.

That I was half asleep in her bed when she came into her room first thing (i.e. before 7am) Saturday put me in a prime position to witness Ella get dressed in the morning.  I don't know why for sure, but Ella didn't acknowledge my presence in her bed when she came in to get dressed for the day, nor did she do so at any point before she left her room fully dressed.  She came in, went right to work and left without saying a word to me.

And here's what I witnessed:  Ella took her nightgown off first, and then her undies. She was mumbling something, I don't think I ever knew what.  Still mumbling, she threw both in the hamper in the corner by her dresser and proceeded to grab a pair of clean undies from her underwear drawer.  When she slammed that drawer shut, her Chris Sale stretchy guy (the giveaway for that White Sox game we went to at the end of the regular season), which was propped up against something because stretchy guys don't stand on their own, fell on her dresser.  Ella, still mumbling, noticed this, stopped for a moment and said aloud, "Whatevs," and then picked up where she left off with mumbling and continued to go about her business of getting dressed for the day.

I found this to be so amusing.  "Whatevs."  What 4-year-old kid says that, matter of factly, alone in her room when something tumbles on her dresser with the closing of a dresser drawer?  "Whatevs!"  Clearly, Ella does.

My Hurt Heart

We had an unplanned play date at our house for a good chunk of the afternoon today. A couple of Dan's co-workers came to our house to make a Plinko board for an upcoming golf-themed function at work (they did a great job - it looks good!), and one of them brought her two daughters (4-1/2 and 3 years old).

This was the first time the Leatherkids had met these new friends, and they got along really well right from the start.  There was no activity not done by this crew -- they played on the playset in our backyard, they dressed up in princess gowns (well, except for Cal), they rode bikes and scooters outside, they ate yogurt and grapes, they made tents with every blanket imaginable and they colored mermaid fins and tops and pinned them to their clothes (again, except for Cal).

I think it was when they were making tents that there were instances of laughter turning into tears... familiar tears... Ella's tears.  And each time, I learned from Ella that Cal was somehow behind hurting her.  The little scratch on her finger -- yep, he did it.  Her "red legs" -- yep, Cal did it.  Her sore mouth (when clarified, actually inside her mouth) -- Cal did it.

It's a fine line that we walk when dealing with this -- we don't want to encourage tattle-telling and we don't want Ella to be a pansy; yet we don't want Cal to beat his sister up. I heard the sounds of the kids playing this afternoon -- it wasn't tea-with-stuffed-animals play, it was pretty active.  It wasn't necessarily surprising that someone got kicked or bumped unexpectedly.  I didn't doubt Cal wasn't careful with his sister, so one time when Ella came down to tell on him, I called him down, too.  Instead of telling both of them to just keep their feet and hands to themselves as I had done the previous times, this time I just wanted to ask him his side of the story.

I forget which incident this was, if it was after he supposedly kicked her or after he supposedly pushed her down.  What I do recall is his reaction to my asking him about it. The kid is super-sensitive and doesn't like to disappoint us.  I had barely started my sentence (I was using the "tell-me-what-happened" angle) and he was already denying Ella's version of the story.  He told me, frustrated, that they had tried to block him from getting into her room.  He was clearly upset, crying; and he told me, "I hate you."

This wasn't the first time I've had to hear those words directed at me.  My first response was, "Cal, don't say that, I know you don't mean it."  When he said it again, I used a tactic that a friend of mine at work told me that he and his wife have used on their kids when they've said this and that I have used with Ella a handful of times.

"Cal, that hurts me.  That hurts me right here," I said sadly and very seriously, and I pointed to his heart.  I continued, "when you say that, it hurts me in my heart," and I pointed at my own heart.  I probably said this a couple more times, pointing at our hearts each time; and then I turned to the girls to tell them that they needed to let Cal play with them, that there should be no blocking of the door.  I reminded Ella how she felt when Cal and his friend did the same thing to her the previous week (which, when I said it, I didn't know that that it was necessarily true -- I think the boys were actually great with her!)

A few minutes later, Cal was still sitting next to me.  The girls had just decided to head back upstairs to continue playing and building their tent.  I asked Cal if he wanted to go upstairs with them and play, and he told me, "in a little bit."

He then turned to me, gave me a hug and said, "I love you, Mommy." And then he asked in his sweetest voice, "Did that put your heart back together?  When I said I love you?"

"It did, Cal.  My heart feels better." I told him, smiling inside that my kid had actually heard and understood me and that this tactic had actually worked.  And my heart actually did feel better.

Red-Tinged Autumn Leaf

I went for a walk around the block tonight, completely unplanned.  It was just after 8pm. The Leatherkids and Leatherdaddy (who's been battling a nasty cold for awhile now) were already in bed, and I had just taken the garbage out.  The pavement was still damp from the brief, gentle rain that had fallen shortly before.  The sky was dark yet many of its clouds still visible.  I don't remember if I heard crickets or not -- seems like I did, but that could just be because I always expect to hear them at night.  It was still fairly warm, probably in the high 60's at the time.  I marvelled in how peaceful it was, smiled and just started walking.  Without giving it much thought, it just seemed like the perfect thing to do at the time.

I didn't do anything special on my walk -- did a little thinking, took some deep breaths and just enjoyed the peacefulness of the autumn night.  I walked down our block, turned the corner and then turned onto the next block and kept walking, having naturally fallen into a (non-)plan to just walk around the block.  About halfway down that street, I glanced at a tree on my left and noticed one of its leaves was tinged with red around the outside of it.  I'm sure the contrast against the green was a big factor, but I found the red color to be so striking and beautiful that I couldn't help but smile looking at it.

Carrie Newcomer, a folk singer whose music I really enjoy, sings a song called "I Believe." I think the song is fantastic -- very poetic and simple, acknowledging that we are not without our faults and recognizing the little, difference-making things that happen so naturally and effortlessly, things that just are.

I believe there are some debts that we can never repay... I believe there are some words that you can never unsay... and I don't know a single soul who didn't get lost along the way...

That's how it starts.  And somewhere in between is this chorus:

I believe there's healing in the sound of your voice... and that a summer tomato is a cause to rejoice... and that following a song was never a choice... never really...

My Autumn Leaf

And this is how I get back to the leaf -- instead of a summer tomato, I think she could have sung about this perfect, red-tinged autumn leaf that, without the red, would have gone unnoticed and just blended in with all of the other leaves.

I picked the leaf off of the tree and continued my walk, smiling and singing these lyrics in my head, so grateful that the night had invited me for a walk.

Ella's Selfies

So we went to the White Sox game this past Saturday, Dan, Grandpa, Cal, Ella and I.  It was a cold one -- I think it dipped below 50 degrees, which didn't factor in the windchill. This might deter the occasional Sox-game attendee from going to the game, but not these occasional Sox-game attendees.  No way.  Afterall, we have a son crazy interested in MLB baseball right now, and it was Chris Sale Stretchy-Guy Day -- we had to go.

While we were there, Ella took some selfies; and that's the point of this post -- I just wanted to share Ella's selfies.  She's not a fan of baseball just yet, but the selfy?  She loves it.  And I love it because it keeps her entertained for a decent chunk of time better than anything else does.  Here are a few gems, all actually taken by Ella:

Ella's first selfie -- it was a good one... I only helped frame us

Ella took control

Not sure what's going on with her face here!

"Make a face, Mommy!"

Her expression cracks me up!

Here comes the tongue! 

Look at me sneaking back in!

"Do this with your tongue, Mommy!"

How fun is that?  Very.  And we made it through 7 innings (after having gotten there an hour and a half before gametime), and the White Sox won.

Good times.  Good times, indeed.