Ella's Sports Bra

Last Saturday, Ella informed me she wanted a "top that goes up like this" as she moved her hands up from her chest and stopping at her shoulders... as if that even described anything other than basically every type of top.

I asked her to clarify -- it might have been as blunt as "I don't know what you're talking about" (I didn't) -- so she said the same thing.  "I want a top that goes up like this," again, moving her hands up from her chest and stopping at her shoulders.

It was the Wiggly-Wrigley thing all over again.  A year or so ago, Ella told us about her new friend, "Wiggly."

"Wiggly?" I asked.

"No, Wiggly," she responded.

"Wiggly?"

"No! WIGGLY." she got frustrated.

We went back and forth with this several times -- me somewhat entertained, Ella ramping up her frustration with me every time I said "Wiggly" -- until I realized that she was actually saying Wrigley, in her R-less, Ella way.

By some miracle, I figured out the kind of top she wanted.  I don't recall the exact chain of the conversation that brought me to the right conclusion (it really was a miracle), but I determined it was a sports bra.  I found this to be amusing and cute and complimentary, all wrapped up in a tight, stretchy band of fabric.  Of course she needed a sports bra -- she's a runner, and runners (the girl variety) wear sports bras.  She learned this from watching me.

This was one of those nutty requests that I feel like I had to oblige.  Clearly she doesn't need a sport bra and won't for several years.  But if it gets her out and active and proud to do so, I'm happy to help facilitate that.  Being out and active is a big part of who I am, who my friends are and how I got to this point in my life, and it's a path I'd like my kids to be on as well.  Worst case, they'll be in good shape.

So, with "sports bra" at the top of our clothes shopping list, we headed to Old Navy, not sure we'd actually find one her size there but feeling pretty good about it.  And what do you know?  They had a few.  The smallest size we could find was a 6-7, which turned out to be perfect for Ella.  It's hard enough putting a right-sized one on myself; a little too big for Ella meant it would still cover her privates but be loose enough to pull on without too much of a struggle.

So we bought it, along with a running tank to go over it.

I'm not sure where she got this, but she had no interest in putting a tank over her sports bra.  I always do -- no one's interested in seeing my abs (or, truth be told, trying to find them), and I'm not interested in letting them try.

It was chilly last weekend, and we really don't want her, at 4 years old, running around in a sports bra; so we introduced this rule: No sports bra without a top anywhere outside the house.  Inside, she could wear it sans cover; outside, she had to cover it.

On Sunday afternoon, Ella wanted to test out her new sports bra and go for a run.  She was already dressed and ready.  Knowing that I had already taken my post-run shower that day, she informed me that I didn't need to run with her, that I could walk since I had already showered and wouldn't want to "get sweaty."  Plus, I didn't have my own sports bra, or any bra for that matter, on.  But she'd run... in her sports bra... with her running top over it.  So cute!

Ella and her sports bra

A stickler for routine, Ella grabbed her water bottle, filled it up with water and ice and handed it to me to put in the BOB (jogging stroller).  We always take a water bottle when I take her running with me.  She told me that she wouldn't be able to push the stroller because she'd be running, so I'd have to.  A natural problem solver, I suggested that I just carry the water bottle and we leave the stroller here.  She agreed that was a good idea.  

Pre-run stretch

We headed out the door and asked Cal, who was playing basketball, if he'd want to join us.  He did and, for the most part, stayed behind and walked with me.  Ella ran and Cal and I trailed behind, sometimes too far behind for comfort.  With Cal and me yelling at her to stop, she made sure to stop at corners and wait for us and get a drink of water, and we never actually crossed a street. I saw a couple of cars slow until they saw me, either making sure she was okay and with an adult or getting ready to call the cops on me.  This was a high-stress run for everyone, and it would be the last time she'd run without me by her side, also running, for awhile.

Ella probably ended up running a good .75 miles before she was done.  As soon as she got home, she went inside to get some more water (her bottle was empty) and came back out without a shirt over her sports bra.  She was already breaking the rules.  When asked, she said she took it off because she "was sweaty" and had to cool down.  We were sitting on a couple of chairs just outside our garage watching the boys play basketball, so I let it slide.

We went out for a second run with Ella's sports bra yesterday.  This time I, too, had my running gear on and was ready to run alongside her.  About 10 steps in, she stopped to walk... started running after 20 walking steps... and stopped again shortly after.  It was a pattern I wasn't thrilled about, and, of course, I asked her, "why when I wasn't prepared did you run the whole way?"  It was a question lost on Ella whose sudden lost interest in our run was bugging me.  So I proposed something.

"Ella, how 'bout this?  We'll make some lunches and Mommy will run with you in the stroller to the prairie path where we can have a picnic lunch?" I thought it was brilliant.

Ella's eyes were wide.  She liked it.

I clarified, "so, Mommy will run first and then we'll stop at the picnic area at the path. We'll eat our lunches there, and we'll walk back home.  You can walk and push the stroller home after lunch <ugh> if you want."

It was a great idea in both our eyes.  So we went back home, packed some lunches in Ella's Minnie and Disney princesses lunch bags and headed off toward the path, me running and pushing Ella, her sports bra, and our lunches in the stroller.

I figure I got about 3 miles in before we reached the picnic area.  It was 3 miles complete with reminders at every half mile that I was getting my run in first but "don't worry, we'll get to the picnic area where we'll eat in about N <once it was 14, thrice 10 and once 3> minutes."

We made it to the picnic area where... of course... of all the days that this would be so it was when Ella and I had some plans for it... someone had rented out the picnic area and was having a party in it.  Ella actually handled this really well, first insisting that we could find an empty spot to sit and then quickly accepting my proposal that we just head to the park in our neighborhood instead.

So, after walking for a bit (she was out and pushing the stroller on our way back to our 'hood for lunch in the park), she complained it was taking too long.  Um, yeah, I know.  I jumped on this and told her that it would be faster if she hopped in the stroller and let me run ourselves to the park. To my surprise, she took me up on this.

Our lunch spread (it's not Ella's birthday)

Ella, her sports bra, our lunches and I got to our neighborhood park pretty quickly, found the benches to be too hot and just set up our lunch spread on a platform of one of the playsets there. It was just the two of us outside in the park for awhile, and I think we both enjoyed every bit of it.  I like to think Ella's sports bra played a role in that, justifying her having one at such a young age. We might have gotten out of the house anyway, but I know for sure her sports bra was behind our run and fun yesterday.

Ella's "Friends"

I watched Ella get picked on last night.  I was doing double duty, watching Cal's baseball game as best I could while keeping an eye on Ella as she played at the nearby park.  I was close enough to see everything going on at the park but far enough away that I couldn't hear any words being exchanged amongst the kids.  So I don't really know how it all went down.  I probably never will.  But I do know what I saw, and I didn't like it.

Ella had already made a few trips back to our seats on the sideline to check in and finish eating her "snack" (her term; a more accurate term, which she didn't realize at the time, was "dinner") -- the second half of a sunflower seed butter and jelly sandwich and the three sandwich crackers of the six that I didn't eat.  She actually took the sandwich with her back to the park only to return a few minutes later to inform me, complaining, "my friends told me my sandwich is stupid."  (We don't use the term "stupid" -- Ella knows this very well.)

Nice friends.  This was probably the first sign that playtime at the park wasn't as pleasant and friendly as it seemed from a distance.  So I upped my attention to it a bit.

Between the batters and plays and instruction happening on the field, I scoped out the park area, my mommy radar programmed to hone in on a salmon, tutu'd dress and bold Elsa-and-Anna leggings.  It was a 10-second cycle of tension followed by relief once I did spot the aformentioned dress-leggings combo scrambling up and down the slides, scurrying across the bridge, hanging from the monkey bars or sliding down the fireman's pole. Watch, scope, breathe easy.  It was a 10-second cycle from which hindsight is telling me I probably should have spared myself by situating myself in the play area to watch the game from a distance.

And then I saw her little "friend," a five-year-old snot who, the week before, didn't have nice things to say to or about Ella even then, kick Ella... twice, maybe even three times. Yes, she kicked my little girl.  I was shocked. I instinctively marched over there with no clue what I might say or do.

I am passive aggressive to a fault.  I virtually always choose the "high road" and as a general rule just avoid conflict altogether and don't have a use for it other than to set my kids on the right path to personhood. I believe there are "right" fights to pick.  I also know that Ella can be bossy and mouthy, two traits that wouldn't necessarily be a good base for a budding friendship or even a friendly playtime.  Lucky for me, I saw her throw some wood chips as I walked over, which I used to interject myself into the scene because this was a fight I was picking.

"Ella, I don't want to see you throw wood chips again," I directed to Ella who was standing on the bridge of the park playset.  This isn't the first time I've uttered this phrase, which clearly falls on deaf ears.  She and Cal throw wood chips all the time around the playset in our own backyard.  It drives me nuts.

The little snot -- the one who kicked Ella -- was standing next to me.  I don't remember if she said something to me first, but I naturally turned my attention to her and scolded her, pointing my finger at her as I did so, "And you.  I saw you kick her," you little snot.  "We DON'T kick people.  It's not nice."

The little snot said something about Ella, I don't remember what.  I do remember that it wasn't accusatory, where Ella's actions led this snot to react by kicking her.  I do remember thinking it was just downright mean, and I do remember she was almost proud as she said it.

I really don't know how much I am allowed to scold another parent's kid.  This is all new to me.  I'm just making this up as I go. In a moment of weakness, I acknowledged Ella's... well... Ellaness, and added, still directing my words and pointing my finger at the snot, "Ella isn't always an angel,but that doesn't matter.  We DON'T kick people.  I DON'T want to see you do that again."

I then asked Ella if she was okay, and she responded that she was.  So I started to walk away.

There's a scene in the movie Meet the Parents where Jack and Greg (father and future son-in-law) are sitting in separate cars at a stoplight.  It's a race to get back to the house first.  One of them, I don't remember which one, pointed his pointer and middle fingers at his own eyes and then his pointer at the other guy to say, "I'm watching you."  I don't know that I actually made that sign to her, but I felt like I did.  I was watching her.

I made it about 3/4 of the way back to our chairs and stopped to keep a closer eye on Ella and her "friends," which included the little snot, a boy maybe twice Ella's age and a couple of other little boys.  I saw the little snot look back at me periodically, so my being there was keeping her in check.  My attention was on that 8-year-old punk now -- he just seemed to be on the verge of doing something not so nice to my kid.

My legs were shaking.  I watched Ella run to one of those bouncy horsey rides (I think it may have actually been an alligator or a dragon).  The punk, the two other little boys and the little snot followed her.  As Ella scrambled to get onto the horsey/alligator/dragon ride, her "friends" pounded and pulled on it to make it was unstable and difficult for her to get on.  I wanted to jump in and jump all over these kids, but I resisted.  I don't know if that was the right thing to do. My intentions were in the right place -- I wanted to let Ella try to hold her own, to battle through a situation herself and know that she can withstand it.  I knew she was safe.

She eventually did get on to the horsey/alligator/dragon ride despite her "friends'" best efforts to prevent her from doing so.  I still couldn't hear what they were saying.  But eventually, I saw Ella scramble off of the ride and come running to me, crying.  Once she reached me, I learned that she had bumped her head on the horsey/alligator/dragon ride because the kids had been mean to her.  That she was hurt wasn't unusual -- Ella gets "hurt" often... not that I liked how this getting-hurt situation went down.

I hugged and kissed her and then told her that she could go back and play in the park and didn't need to play with those kids.  I knew she was okay at that moment, and I really didn't want some mean kids to keep her from having her fun.  To be honest, though, I don't know that she IS okay.  I don't know how yesterday's non-friend-making went down, but I have my ideas.  Not that anyone EVER deserves to be kicked or ganged up on, but I don't think that Ella's helping herself by being bossy or by being a tattle tell or by telling people she "hates" them, all behaviors or words that I wouldn't doubt Ella used during yesterday's stint at the park.

To date, I've been finding comfort in Ella already showing signs of being strong and her own person.  Ella doesn't do things that Ella doesn't want to do.  She certainly doesn't follow.  These are going to be excellent traits for my kid when she's a teenager.  But she's got to lighten up or she's just not going to have any friends to even risk following as a teenager.

Again, I don't know exactly what it was that resulted in Ella's "friends" picking on her; but I do know that I need to keep a closer eye -- and ear -- on it so that I can react accordingly, not that I know what that reaction should or will be.  I'm sure it'll involve a little righting Ella's ship, so to speak, along with a little sticking up for her, not that she necessarily needs that.  She does that pretty well on her own.  But I need her to know I'm there for her, sticking up for her, too.