Craving More than Turkey on Thanksgiving

I made it a point to get out for a 4+-mile run on Thanksgiving before heading to my sister-in-law's house where there would be a high risk of gluttony, kids pouring out of every nook and cranny of the house and noise... constant noise.  Having spent the better part of my morning with people and a din that's become all too familiar in my house, I needed this run.  I'm surprised I exited the house for it as nonchalantly as I did.  A sprint accompanied by a "ARGHHHHHHH!" would have more appropriately represented my disposition just before it.

This isn't an uncommon feeling for me.  It's just one that's exacerbated by the holidays... you know, the time of year when you're virtually obligated to take time off of work to spend with your family, most notably your kids who are off of school for a solid two weeks (2+ if you count the weekends, which you should because it's just another four days to be with them constantly and to find something for them to do else suffer the consequences of whining and complaining about being "bored" and wanting to buy Pokémon cards and constantly keeping score about who had more screen time or who picked the last show to watch).  And this is what I still have ahead of me.  It took a couple of days off for Thanksgiving break for me to realize... and admit that there's a part of me that's officially not looking forward to the Christmas season.

I'm sure that some of this is explainable by my not having yet come completely down from a recent big project milestone where long hours were needed to get to it and continued long hours, albeit at lower levels, have been needed to recover from it.  I still need to work and solve work problems even when I'm entitled to have a break from it.  It makes me happy. 

At one point on Thanksgiving morning, I was sitting in the kitchen and holding an iPad, trying to figure out how to best configure it to keep the Leatherkids from stumbling upon completely inappropriate sites, which one had the day before, I don't even want to mention the site that it was.  All four of us were in a small space that felt like 4 square feet but was probably more like 16.  One Leatherkid was pestering me with, "when can I go on the iPad?  Huh, Mommy? When can I go on the iPad?"  Another was already hounding me about licking the cake batter from the mixing bowl, cake batter which didn't yet exist because we were waiting for the banana bread to finish baking.  Or, that's how I remember it -- she may have been rambling on and on... and on about random topics, only stopping to catch her breath.  And Daddy was peering over my shoulder, seeing what I was doing to enable the restrictions, not really knowing how to do it himself.  I wanted to push everyone aside and run out of the kitchen.  I didn't, but the urge was there and suppressed; and simply imagining it play out that way gave me some comfort.

Anymore, I crave space.  I crave alone time.  It doesn't even need to be silence.  It just needs to be me, alone, not talked to, not talking, not touched, doing my own thing, watching my own thing, being in my own silence, whatever I need at the moment.  This craving is oftentimes the reason I stay up late while everyone else is asleep in bed.  This craving is the reason I instituted my work-late night during the week, where I stay at work as people trickle out of the office at the end of their days just so I can be alone with my own thoughts... a few solid, uninterrupted hours of whatever it is I need or want to do.  This craving is reason I do  escape to my bedroom closet, unannounced, when I feel like I can't breathe and can't  suppress it.

I think I've always needed my me time but didn't know it because I always got it at a satisfying level.  I lived on my own for many years.  I worked.  I played team sports.  I went out with friends.  I was around people all the time but always went home where I would be alone.  While that lifestyle is gone, I am no different.  Sometimes I need to be alone... perhaps, I'm learning, even more than sometimes.

Being a working mom is not conducive to getting this time, though. Work and train time don't count as my getting alone time.  Putting long hours in at work actually feed that mommy guilt that inspires me to try to spend more quality time with the kids on the weekends... and on holidays.  Aside from my runs and bike rides, I can't always allow myself have my needed  alone time during the day -- my husband needs a break, and my kids need, sometimes crave, me.  I can't be alone and feel okay about it.

So I have some things to figure out.  What I've been doing of late seems to be managing my introverted, alone-time needs okay; but with Christmas and extended periods of together time looming, I won't survive with a smile unless I figure out how to make time for me to be alone while still satisfying the needs of my family with whom, it must go without saying, I do enjoy spending time.  This may involve darting out the door, unannounced, to catch my breath and be alone; but I'm sure I can come up with better ways to manage it.

The Wonder of Trader Joe's Park

There are very few things in the Leatherkids' lives that give them greater pleasure than "Trader Joe's Park" (which I just learned is actually named "Gartner Park").  Early this afternoon when we found ourselves recognizing the beautiful fall day that it is, we collectively concluded that we should be outside.  Having spent the better part of yesterday afternoon outside doing typical things (raking and cleaning up leaves, riding bikes up and down our neighborhood sidewalk, and... let's just call it wrestling), we needed something different.  Ella even asked, "Can we go somewhere FUN, Mommy?"

"How 'bout Trader Joe's Park?" I asked her.  I had barely finished the "k" in park when Ella was running to Cal and excitedly asking him, "Cal, do you want to go to Trader Joe's Park?!"  Of course, he did.

The entirety of Trader Joe's Park

Trader Joe's Park is nothing more than a neighborhood park near the Trader Joe's that we frequent. It's got a couple of playground play sets, one for bigger kids and one for smaller, that are mostly describable as things to climb but also with a handful of fairly simple slides.  It also has a couple of varieties of swings -- even babies can enjoy their time here. There's also a see-saw, not the kind I grew up with where the guy left on the see-saw was screwed when the other guy unexpectedly jumped off, but one that is forgiving of that and safe.  I just noticed the sand pit, and I'll take credit for the fact that my kids don't even notice it -- they've been discouraged from any time in the sand at these parks since before they could walk.  I hate those sand pits.  And around the park area is some attractive landscaping that includes a couple of trees suited for, yes, climbing.  It is pretty nice, but really doesn't have much more than what they get at the park in their own neighborhood.

Leatherkids on the see-saw

I love having this park in my back pocket.  It's my go-to... my slam dunk... my "money" move.  I swear, you'd think it's Disney World the way the Leatherkids react to even the possibility of spending one minute at this park.  I typically use it as an incentive for them to be cooperative and on their best behavior while shopping for groceries at Trader Joe's -- if they're good, they know they can go to Trader Joe's Park; if not, we'll drive right by it with a certain mention of what could have been, "There's the park, Leatherkids!  We could have had sooooooo much fun there.  Oh, well, maybe next time."

The last time I used this tactic it was a cloudy day.  The possibility of rain was high going in to Trader Joe's and a reality when we left it.  The Leatherkids had been on their best behavior that visit.  With one-track minds and an inability to apply any reason and common sense to a scenario such that the conclusion wouldn't be the desired one, they asked if they could still go to the park.  It wasn't pouring rain, but it wasn't drizzling, either.  Not one to renege on my commitments (some might argue otherwise) and not applying common sense or exhibiting signs of a backbone myself, I told them that we had made a deal and that they could go.  After all, rain is just water.  "You have 10 minutes, and I'm going to sit in the car and watch from there," I told them.  And off they went, only to return 8 minutes later, drenched and ready to go home.

Today's park time is also tied to a visit to Trader Joe's, this time after park time.  It being such a beautiful day here, I wanted the Leatherkids to have some long, quality time at the park without worrying that groceries in the car were thawing or going bad.  It's a risk for sure.  As I've been writing this, I've been visited three times by thirsty kids (I forgot to pack water) and twice by a teary-eyed, wronged and supposedly hurt kid (Ella, of course).  Other than that, it's been glorious so far with the Leatherkids darting from one play area to the next with no plan other than to have fun.  They've climbed, they've played "it", and they've see-sawed.  They've also almost run over a couple of smaller kids as they did so, not with malice but with a lack of recognition that anyone else exists.

Leatherkids throwing leaves

As I say that, I see the Leatherkids in a different part of the park, beyond the play area I described.  They're sitting beneath a yellow-leafed tree in a bed of leaves that have already fallen.  Cal is rolling around in them in his on world, and Ella is sitting with two other smaller girls in the sea of leaves surely telling them something. The three girls just stood up and are walking together, dragging their feet and kicking up leaves as they do.  They made their way to another tree with even more leaves beneath it.  Cal followed.  And now they're throwing leaves into the air and at each other.

Anything can and does happen at Trader Joe's Park.  I guess it is really is better than others.  I don't have high expectations for what's about to happen at Trader Joe's, though. Hopefully, I won't have a blog-worthy story to tell about it.

The Pain of Consequences

Her blue eyes were blotchy and wet as she peered into mine.  This was last Sunday.  This image will be burned into my memory for awhile, I’m sure.  What makes it stronger is that I can tie her sad, scratchy Ella voice to it.  “Bye, Cal,” she said, waving to Cal who was already sitting in his seat in the back of the car.  She stood in the middle of the garage.  “Bye, Cal, I can’t go, have fun without me” she said, tears streaming down her face.  It's possible I was being played at the time, but it sure did sound genuine.

I knelt down in front of Ella and looked down at her shoe.  The lace was all knotted up.  Did her pleas for help start out pleasant?  I was kicking myself.  Maybe they didn’t.  But I couldn’t help but think they did.  Had I helped her right away, she’d be in that car, likely getting under Cal's skin, but she’d be in it. As I worked on the knot and tied her shoe for her, I calmly yet firmly explained to her why she wasn’t going with us to the apple orchard, complete with its fun tractor ride and haystacks.

Sad choices… again.

Disrespect of Mommy and Daddy… again.

Mean words… again.

Didn’t listen… again.

As I talked with her about why she wasn’t going, she looked at and listened to me.  Our eyes met and locked in.  She didn’t challenge my words.  She didn’t beg me to let her go.  She knew she was in the wrong.  She knew there was no going back.  She knew she wouldn’t be going, that Cal and I would have an afternoon together at our favorite orchard while she stayed back with Dan.

And as I talked to her, I battled giving in to her and letting her go.  She was so sad.  It hurt me as much as it hurt her not to be able to go with us.  Maybe more.  This is an annual trip that I’ve grown to love and look forward to despite some of the stresses that accompany it.  It’s the place where I take pictures of the kids that land on our Christmas card.  The kids love it, too, valuing their time on and in those simple haystacks beyond what I can even comprehend.  Oh, how I wanted to use her seemingly sincere acknowledgement of her wrongdoings and her clear hurt over not going as a justifiable reason to let her go.

Ordinarily, I might have.  Strike that – I’m sure I would have.  But 24 hours earlier I had demanded of Dan that there be consequences to her yelling at us and treating us with disrespect as we were in the middle of handling a really tough round of it, where we were each handling her differently and not necessarily agreeing on the effectiveness of either approach.  I couldn’t back down so quickly after that; and I used that as my motivation to stay the course on our decision after another tough round of Ella’s attitude on Sunday.

I give her a lot of credit.  I suppose I really don't know how much she really understood why she wasn't going and that the behavior she exhibited is never acceptable, but she handled it with a calmness rarely seen in these circumstances.  I fully expected to have to pry her out of the backseat, furthering our struggle and risking brevity to Cal's day at the orchard that he deserved to enjoy to its fullest.  Yet Ella handled it with grace and acceptance.  She had to have understood at least some of it, else, I'm certain I'd be telling a story of defiance and meanness, righteousness and yelling, utter disrespect.  But I'm not.  Having witnessed this, I know the likelihood of her learning to control herself and treat others with respect is high if I hold my ground on hurtful consequences as much as it might equally hurt me to enforce those consequences.

Oh, that image of Ella peering into my eyes with her wet, blotchy, beautiful blues!  It hurts.  But, oh, how important it is to raise a respectful child!

Socks Leatherman

I can't remember a time since Cal has been dressing himself that he hasn't had a strong preference for socks pulled up to his knees.  Black socks, now that I think about it.

The kid has an abundance of socks in the top drawer of his dresser, reflective of my many attempts to find a style that he actually likes... or tolerates.  His requirements?  I'll describe it in a series of can'ts - can't be ankle high, can't be loose such that they don't hold their position around his calf, and can't be white.  These requirements have never really been spoken; rather, they've been learned through many failed attempts -- sometimes painful -- to satisfy the kid.  You'd think I was asking him to poke his eyes out the way he reacts to my suggesting that he just try to wear the ankle-high socks.

No sock in Cal's abundant collection of socks that has actually landed on one of his feet hasn't been stretched beyond its crew-length limits.  No sock hasn't been stretched so far that its threads scream, "help us!" or so thin that one can see the skin of his calves.

And the fact that they're always black socks, again, pulled at least mid-way up his calf, has elicited many "you look like Grandpa" comments from me.  Maybe that's not so bad as my dad is pretty cool; however, black socks and Crocs make him a fashion conspiracy that no 7-year-old should be comfortable replicating.  But Cal has no problem doing so -- that he looks like Grandpa is a compliment to him.

You'd think as precious as the socks that he actually wears are to him he'd treat them better.  Common sense might say one way to take care of his socks would be to wear shoes outside... or, at least wear shoes when wearing his treasured socks.  Nope.  Even with my threats that I'm "not buying you any more socks because you have a drawer full so you'd better wear shoes if you want those to last!" he bypasses shoes.

That's an empty threat, though -- I oftentimes find myself in the kids' sock section of a store poring through the sock selection and applying what I believe to be the same assessment of them that Cal might -- are they long enough?  Are they tight enough?  Are they durable enough?  Are they black?  If the answer is "no" to any of those questions, I leave, disappointed yet okay because HE STILL HAS PLENTY OF SOCKS IN HIS DRAWER!

Socks Leatherman with his new socks

My latest sock purchase came with great success.  Despite them meeting the aforementioned criteria, I naturally had my doubts that they'd actually be met with... acceptance.  But what I got yesterday morning was better than acceptance.  I was in the shower, the first step in my getting ready for my workday, when Cal burst into the bathroom, the biggest smile plastered on his face.  I looked down and saw the reason for that gigantic smile. I saw two legs covered entirely in black, half by long shorts, and half by his new socks.  Yes, I hit the jackpot -- these new socks stretched beyond where any other of his socks had gone before, reaching and even passing his knees.  Yes, the tops of these socks hit the bottom of his thighs.

We were both very pleased with ourselves, and it made me smile all day (as I'm sure it did him, too).

I don't know if he'll grow out of this, and I don't know how well it'll go over with his classmates that he wears his socks like this.  As things are right now, I wouldn't expect it to end anytime soon; and Cal's personality is likable enough that he might actually get away with it as being quirky and not weird with the kids at school.  I think it's more likely that he'll inspire the nickname "Socks"... "Hey, there's Socks Leatherman on the court!"  "I'm going to have to run this past Socks."  Oh, yes.  I'm going to start working on that nickname now.

And I Walked Away

"I don't want to be by you anymore!"  This followed an exchange that Ella and I had in the pool at my sister-in-law's house this afternoon that ended with me just walking away.  Ella delivered this message to me.  At least I didn't yell back.  I yelled yesterday, made my two Leatherkids cry and then made them listen to me preach about the importance of compromise.  But that's another story.

I made the right choice today by walking away... only, Ella didn't think so.

How did we get to that point?  Well, a few minutes before, the cousins were ganging up on their oldest cousin and trying to tip her off of her innertube and into the water.  Everyone was having fun.  Ella was one of the tippers.  In fact, she was the smallest tipper; and when they finally tipped the tippee, Ella was left crying.

I hopped into the pool when I saw her, concerned that she might actually be hurt (and I really don't like to see my baby cry), and held her in my arms.  I began questioning her.  "What happened, Boo Boo?" I asked.  Ellie... Boo Boo... these are my pet names for my girl.  She tried to tell me what happened, and I failed to understand right from the start. You got kicked in the nose?  No, run over.  Run over by what?  THAT.  By what?  THAT.  Madi?  No, THAT.  The floatie?  Whaaaaaa?  I think the floatie had been sitting on a fly earlier, and the fly survived.

"YES, I TOLD YOU!" she yelled at me in that edgy, frustrated tone that really gets under my skin and generally sets me into my rant about my being her mother and that she needs to show me respect.  But I refrained from ranting and calmly told her that I was trying to understand and help and that she needed to relax and treat me with respect.  She didn't bite and yelled at me again.

So I walked away.  As I did so, I told her that we'd talk later when she was calm and ready to talk.

She didn't like this, of course, insisting she was ready but still yelling at me.  As I sat in my chair, she added her "I don't want to be by you anymore!" More than anything, this was actually kind of amusing, really.  I mean, if you ask Ella at any time on any day of any week who she wants to be by, she'll more often than not tell you, "Mommy."

Anyway, she said this a few more times in between insisting she was ready to talk, again, in that biting tone; so I knew she wasn't really ready to talk.  And then I thought I'd take a chance when I saw her, quiet and sad, sitting on the edge of the pool.

I walked over and sat near her  and asked her to come sit next to me so we could talk.  This wasn't an unreasonable request; but she wasn't reasonable.  She yelled at me again, I'm sure about the fact I wasn't sitting next to her, perhaps even more.  I explained to her my reasoning -- the concrete is bad for our bathing suits, whereas the pool steps are not.  I figure if I can explain my reasoning so she knows it's based in something sound, one day it'll stick.

She wanted nothing to do with moving, and I certainly wasn't.  I noticed all of her cousins were on the other side of the pool; so I told her that if she continued to be mean like she was, no one would want to be with her.  I then told her that I love her, and I stood up, the first step to walking away.  This garnered this response, "I won't say 'I love you' ANY MORE!"  I told her this hurts my feelings (it really doesn't hurt, not anymore), but walked away, again throwing out the suggestion that we talk when she calms down.

I sat down in my chair across the pool from her, and we exchanged a few more words.  I honestly don't remember what they were; but I'm sure she was mean, and I was childish. Eventually, she stormed off into the house, but not before getting this jab in: "I don't want to live in our house ANY MORE!" (she used this one yesterday), as if this had anything to do with the situation.  She quickly made her way back out without my noticing and sat with the adults on the deck near the pool.  When I saw her, I made my way over to her and gave her a kiss on her head.  She didn't smile.  In fact, she frowned an angry frown. But she said nothing, and I walked inside the house for a few minutes.

As I approached the door to head back out, Ella was walking in.  She looked at me with her beautiful blue eyes.  And without a smile, she started to hug me.  I knelt down so we'd be of similar height and hugged her back... for a long time.  We didn't say anything -- no kidding -- we just hugged for a long time.  Once we were finished, we went back outside to continue to enjoy the pool.

Eventually, the pool cleared; and I found myself alone by it.  What an opportunity I was given to be outside and enjoy some silence!  I decided to climb into that same innertube that I believe had run over Ella and made her cry and just floated in the pool.  I did this for maybe five minutes before Ella was standing at the edge of the pool wanting to join me.  I asked her if she wanted to sit in the pink floatie "just like Mommy," and she did.  So I helped her into that one and climbed back into mine; and we floated together, me ensuring we stayed side-by-side by holding her tube with my hand.

I don't know how long we floated together before Ella's cousin came out and joined us.  Fifteen minues, maybe?  Whatever it was, it was nice.  We were pleasant with each other, talked about what we were doing and "worried" about bugs as if nothing had happened earlier.

We were fine.  And we never did talk about what had happened between us earlier.  That ship had sailed.  That moment was gone.  And that was fine... I think.  The last thing she needed was another speech from me.  I don't know if she really understands what respect is, anyway, even when I explain it.  I think just walking away from her when she was completely unreasonable and unpleasant was the right response to, the right consequence of her yelling at and being mean to me.  Because she actually wanted me to stay. And she really does love me.

My July 4th Weekend

I sit on the couch in front of the TV in the family room.  Behind me, I know there are unwashed dishes in the sink and a dishwasher that's not completely functioning properly.  I also know the kitchen island is cluttered... more cluttered than I am comfortable with.  There is a plastic beaded neclace lying on the coffee table in front of me... and Ella's t-shirt and socks... and Cal's White Sox hat... oh, and the Band-aid box.  My running shoes sit along side the table, left there after yesterday's run.  And a plastic frog lay belly-up beneath our newly-acquired rocking chair.

I know there are piles of clothes to fold and messes elsewhere, but it's 10:44pm on July 4th, and I'm done.  I can't, and won't, clean this messy house up.  And I'm almost okay with that.

During my fantastic bike ride this afternoon, I thought about my weekend.  Whereas I typically think and beat myself up about the things I didn't do, I, switched gears (in my head, not on my bike) and thought about that I actually had done.  Too often, I highlight my shortcomings, which negatively affects my mood; this time, I decided to celebrate all that I had done over the course of this July 4th weekend, in brain-dump style.

I...

Got home from work on Friday and watched half of "Despicable Me," (the Leatherman Family Fun Friday movie of choice) after having rushed to catch the 5:22 only to be delayed 20-ish minutes due to "locomotive" problems... cuddled with Ella and actually fell asleep with her for an hour or so before waking up to try to catch Bill Maher, but fell asleep with him, too... woke up Saturday at 4:30am, unable to sleep more, and moved to the couch where I did sleep for a couple more hours... woke up and worked a couple of hours, knocking some things off that I had wanted to get done on Friday but hadn't... took the kids, all three of us on our bikes, to the ball field at the kids' school where we played baseball, however they wanted to do so... at Ella's request, painted mine and Ella's finger and toe nails a mix of blue and red... fixed the Leatherkids lunch, creative stye as we didn't have a bunch of supplies (e.g. bread) here... went for a 3-mile run and actually didn't struggle (my runs have been brutal the past few weeks)... showered and got myself ready to head to Ribfest for unlimited drinks, ribs and some good music (Sister Hazel and Sheryl Crow would be playing -- yea!)... met some friends at that fest, drank IPAs and ate ribs... danced and sang along... dropped my phone in the toilet, reached in immediately and grabbed it (yuck), dried it off and found it to be working... slept well that night and got up Sunday at around 9am (whaaaaaa?)... hunted down my dad's wallet (he lost it while out with the kids on babysitting duty on Saturday)... washed clothes and sorted them... went to and tolerated the crowds and expense of Ribfest with the family... encouraged, coaxed and sometimes begged the kids to go on rides... ate more ribs... saw an aligator and a snake and pleaded with the kids to touch them, this was their chance, but they didn't (who can blame them?)... returned home to find that my phone wouldn't charge... felt sad, really, really sad... went for a 3-mile, music-less run... walked, unplanned, with Ella after my run... went to the grocery store with Ella, after declaring it "Mommy-and-Ella time"... listened to my dad read to the kids at bedtime and then saw him off... tried to watch a movie recommended by a work friend (movie was "Mother of Mine," work friend was Chandra), but couldn't stay awake for it (I'll try again sometime this week)... slept in again on Monday... battled the sadness of not having a functioning phone... "soaked" my phone in dry rice to try to draw out any water that may be in it... worked some more on Monday morning, but outside where I could watch Ella swing (at her request)... did more laundry and sorted it... walked to Walgreens with Ella to buy a couple of things... played wiffleball in the backyard with Cal and tried to include Ella but succeeded only so much before just walking away, frustrated, from it... colored my hair... made my gaspacho salsa and some cherry bombs for the Reinkes' July 4th party... went for a 13-mile bike ride by myself... showered and went to the Reinkes' for said party... drank pineapple vodkas and sangria and ate some food... watched the Leatherkids enjoy themselves in the pool with just the two of them and then later with some college kids (is it wrong?)... went to the Reinkes' friends' house to eat desserts, have one more drink, a cosmo, and watch fireworks... actually watched the fireworks... drove the family home... put the kids to bed... and here I sit amongst the signs of the busy weekend I had.

I wish my house were picked up and clean, but ain' nobody got time for that during or at the end of a busy of July 4th weekend.  Perhaps the mess will stick around all week and serve to be a nice reminder of the weekend we did have... except for that darn phone -- I'll remedy that today.

Ella's Natural Inclination

Dan and I took the Leatherkids to last Saturday's White Sox-Blue Jays game.  Cal's a big Josh Donaldson fan (for the MLB uninformed, he's the Blue Jays' third baseman and last year's AL MVP) and an even bigger White Sox fan.  Throw in that the giveaway for that game was a White Sox beach towel, we couldn't not go.  That it was sunny and 90 degrees was a bonus... well, the sunny part of that equation was. 90 degrees is a little too hot for mine and, I learned through her whining, Ella's likings.  And that the White Sox hit 7 home runs and still lost made for an interesting game.

But that's not what this post is about.

Dan and Cal had somehow gotten far ahead of us as we walked from our parked car to the ballpark on Saturday.  I think it's funny I say somehow as I know exactly how.  They were on a mission to just get to the ballpark.  Ella and I, not so much.  We ran into the peanut guy and had to buy a bag.  And Ella's got little legs and doesn't cover a lot of ground giving the same effort to walking that the rest of us do.  In other words, we were just slow.  I don't really know how Dan felt about this, but I know I didn't care.  It gave us an opportunity to talk.

So, as we walked, we were given unsolicited directions for actually getting to the park. Instead of parking in one of the formal Comiskey Park lots, we parked in a nearby church lot; and the path to the park wasn't exactly clear.  I mean, it was virtually on top of us; but the getting there required a jaunt down an alleyway next to a building and around some small trees.  Figurouttable, yes; but we accepted the directions nonetheless with a polite, "thank you."

Our thank you had barely reached the gentleman's ears, and he was pulling out an id that identified him as belonging to a homeless shelter.  I couldn't tell that by looking at the id and only know this because he explained it as he pulled it out of his pocket.  Once that introduction was complete, he asked if we could help him out.

Nuts.  I lived in the City for a good 15+ years; and over the course of those years, I hardened a bit.  I knew what he meant by "help out," and I politely told him as I shook my head slightly from side to side, "I'm sorry" and continued walking with Ella.  Right or wrong response, I don't know and really do struggle with; but that was my answer.

We had only walked a few steps from this man when Ella started asking questions.  "Who is he?"  "What did he want?"  I explained to her that he was a homeless man who wanted to know if we could help him out and then proceeded to explain what it meant to be homeless.

"He can live with us," Ella responded once I was done.

"That's nice, Ellie.  Where would he stay?" I asked.

"We have a room in our basement," she told me.  We do.  It's where our guests sleep when we have them.

"We do, don't we?" I replied.

I don't remember exactly how the conversation went from there, but Ella basically verbalized all the thoughts going on in her head around letting this guy live in our basement... with his friends... for a long time.  So sweet.

We eventually made it to the ballpark where we found Dan and Cal waiting for us near the gate.  We entered, each grabbed our giveaway and slowly made our way up the ramp to the level where our seats were.

After the game, as we retraced our steps back to the car, I was, again, walking with Ella. Being in the same spot where we had talked about the homeless man staying with us, I was naturally reminded of the conversation we had had before the game.  And then I thought about how wonderful it is that her natural inclination was to help this man -- this complete stranger -- out. Still so young, she is not tainted by negative experiences or horrible news stories or even judgmental commentary in everyday conversations with people to have any reaction other than the one she had.  Her mind is so pure, so naive and so innocent and her heart so warm, probably not too unlike many other kids her age.

Having recognized that, I thought about the influence that I, her mother, can have on her. I know it's unrealistic and probably little dangerous to strive for her to maintain that same level of considerate, kind-heartedness as she gets older; but I do like the inclination and will do whatever I can to encourage that with an appropriate level of skepticism to keep her safe.

And then I wondered (not for long as I found this very uncomfortable and disturbing), what if she were Donald Trump's daughter with that same inclination at the same age? She'd certainly be taken on a different, incredibly selfish and judgmental path where her reactions would not be so kind-hearted.  And it wouldn't necessarily be her own doing, really.

I don't know.  At that moment, walking down the path where we had encountered a homeless man hours before, it just struck me as powerful and a bit scary the influence that we have as parents to mold our kids into people who naturally think the way we want them to think.  Ella can probably go any number of directions right now, and I'm going to do what I can to keep her where she naturally finds herself right now.

I Watched You...

I watched you on Wednesday evening.  I watched you and really took you in.  I took all of you in.  You are so wonderful, Cal.

I watched you from foul territory along the third-base line.  I was sitting with the other parents and grandparents.  It's finally happening.  I was sitting where Grandma and Grandpa had sat for so many years while I stood in your position.  It's my turn to be them, to watch my child play a team sport, to cheer for him and his teammates... to hurt, to press, to enjoy and to celebrate as he does.

I watched you while you waited for your turn to bat.  You were so put together.  Your shirt was tucked into your baseball pants so neatly.  You wore your green belt which matched your jersey.  That green belt is not functional, but it sure does contribute to your looking like a real baseball player.  Your white pants were already stained on the knees, which I learned from Grandma had happened during a play at the plate the inning before I had arrived.  Your green socks were, of course, tight against your calves, as every sock you wear is.  I wondered if you liked your new, low-top cleats. They're different.  You don't like change when it comes to shoes.  If you don't like them, I couldn't tell -- you strutted that sideline in them as if you'd been wearing that style for years.

I watched you lead cheers and chants for your teammates as they batted.  I didn't notice any other kid leading cheers.  You did.  "Let's go, Garrett, let's go!  Let's go, Garrett, let's go!"  Your teammates joined in immediately to make the cheer louder.  It didn't matter the skill level of the batter, either.  You supported every batter equally when you had the chance.

Prompted by your yelling to me, excitedly, "Mama, watch, I'm up next!", I watched you take your aggressive practice swings from the on-deck circle.  As if I needed a reminder.  I love that you're a righty who bats lefty, just like Robin Ventura.  I've always thought left-handed batters' swings were so much prettier than their counterparts'.  Your swing is already pretty.  I've seen it many times in our backyard; and I love that I am finally seeing it in action during a game.  I know you'll get 8 pitches to hit it fair, but my heart hurts a bit with every swing and miss.  It's not that I doubt you'll hit it fair; I just want it to happen for you and happen early in your at-bat, just in case you worry it won't happen as your at-bat progresses.  Not that you do worry.

I watched you playfully interact with your teammates, all of whom you only met within the last few weeks.  The way you talked and laughed with each other, it was like you'd known each other for months, possibly years, and not the few weeks that it really has been.  You don't hide from anyone.  You seem to draw people to you.  You're so likable, Cal.  Seeing this prompted me to tell Grandma about your friendship with Aria.  I told her how Aria's mom told her that she could invite one friend to her big brother's tenth birthday party a month ago, and she picked you!  As your mom, I couldn't have been prouder of you for being a likable kid -- friend -- to so many.

I watched you take your position at shortstop during one of the later innings.  I've already forgotten what you told me when I asked you what your favorite position was because it seems that you were meant to play the left side of the infield.  I watched the first three batters get on base, a common start to every inning for this league.  I watched the next batter hit a soft line drive toward you.  I watched you set yourself up to catch it.  You told me later that you were nervous as you waited for the ball to reach you.  If that was true, I didn't notice it; I knew you were going to catch that ball, and you did.  Of course the runners were running -- very few know not to at this age.  An unassisted triple play was actually possible!  I watched you try to figure out what to do next.  Go after what runner?  Tag him?  Tag the base?  It is confusing.  There were unsure runners everwhere.  It was made worse by everyone giving you directions.  You eventually made your way to third base before the runner did, so he was out; but the kid who had been on second somehow made it back before you tagged him.  No worries -- you got him with the next batter who hit a ground ball to you -- you fielded it cleanly and proceeded to tag the runner as he ran in front of you.  This was the second game where I saw you make all three outs in the inning!  You smiled so shyly after doing so, and I thought, "Smile big, kid!  Smile and show everyone how much you loved doing that!"  Oh, I was proud -- you should have been, too!

I watched you, Cal D.  I watched you be wonderful.  I watched you be the kid that I know you are.  Happy.  Thoughtful.  Skilled.  Handsome.  Proud.  Forgotten as I did so were the fights and tensions we've had to correct some bad choices you've made... hitting your sister, lying about sneaking snacks, not cooperating when we ask you to do something. These are such insignificant things in the grand scheme of being you.  They were easily forgotten as I watched you.  What I saw on Wednesday night when I watched you througout your game epitomized the grand scheme of being YOU.  I'll revel in that forever.

I love you.

Ella Gave Me a Sticker

Yesterday morning, Ella was up early, excited that it was Water Day at summer camp, which is just a summmer extension of the school year at the pre-school she's been attending since before she was even able to walk.  She was already dressed in her bathing suit, and I was happily giving her "Anna braids" (I do love them) at the kitchen island when she started flipping through her new Fairies coloring/sticker book.  She had earned this book the previous day by helping her teacher clean up the classroom and was pretty pleased with herself.

Ella was in a fabulous mood.  She flipped her way to the sticker page and asked me, "which sticker do you want, Mommy?"

I still hadn't showered or done much of anything to prepare for my workday, and I had a screaming headache.  I really didn't have much time and wanted to defer the sticker selection to her but managed to focus on the page full of pastel-colored fairies, hearts and butterflies and found a blue fairy that I "liked."

"This one," I said, putting my finger on that blue fairie.

"This one?" she asked, pointing at the same one.

"Yes," I answered.

"Maybe you should have a heart sticker so you know I love you," she suggested.

This was so sweet, and I wasn't married to that blue fairie sticker; so I told her, "Oh, that's so nice, Ellie.  You pick one for me.  But don't give it to me now.  I need to go shower, so give it to me after my shower."

She smiled, fully understanding the "why" of that plan and likely proud of herself for having suggested I take the heart sticker.

Ten or so minutes later, I was out of the shower and dressed and brushing my hair when Ella entered my bathroom.

"Here's your sticker, Mommy," she said, handing me my sticker.  It wasn't the blue fairy one that I had chosen, nor was it a heart.  It was a butterfly that, looking closely at it, had four hearts, one on each wing.

Anyway, I thanked her for it and placed it on my shirt, over my heart.

My Butterfly Sticker & My Heart

I wore that sticker all day.  Some people asked or said something about it, but most didn't, as if it were perfectly normal for an adult to be wearing a sticker all day at her workplace.

I ended up taking a later train home.  When I got home, both Leatherkids were in bed.  Cal was already asleep; but Ella was lying in bed wide awake.  So I paid her a visit and talked with her for a bit about her day.  Talking to Ella about her day rarely gives me any insights into her actual day and oftentimes involves answering a lot of "why" questions and surviving her long sentences about random thoughts that hadn't been fully baked when she started talking about them.  Last night was no different.

We talked for 10 minutes or so before I was telling her that it was past her bedtime and she really needed to go to sleep.  We exchanged kisses and a hug.  I told her that I loved her and "to have good dreams."  As I pulled away from her, I saw her eyes fixate on the part of my shirt covering my heart.  She smiled.  The sticker she had given me in the morning was still there.

"I wore it ALL DAY, Ellie," I told her as I looked at her with her big, beautiful, toothless smile.

And we said nothing more than the signed "I love yous" and blown kisses we exchanged as I left her to fall asleep and start having those good dreams I told her to have.

Ella's NOT a Caterpillar

Walking back from Walgreens on Sunday after spending some family time at a neighborhood park and then having to adjust our lunch plans when we realized the local pizza joint was closed, Cal was still exhibiting some... strike that, many of the traits of being a complete crankpot.  He hadn't handled well our plans being disrupted by an unexpected pizza joint closure, and I chose to make light of it.

"Who thinks Cal's a big crankpot?" I asked, and then I shouted, "ME!"

Ella, always game for this kind of fun, especially at Cal's expense, chimed in, "ME!"  I don't remember if Dan did (Ella and I were loud), but let's say he did.

Cal was quick to respond with a "Who thinks..." of his own.  "Who thinks Ella's a big tattle teller?" he asked.  She is.

Ella was quick to respond with an angry, "I AM NOT A CATERPILLAR, CAL!"

Behind inner smiles, both Cal and I quickly corrected what she had thought she'd heard -- we both knew the meltdown to which it could lead, and that was something that, unspoken, we both agreed we didn't want to experience.  "No, a TATTLE TELLER," Cal said; and I added, "Yeah, Ellie, Cal said TATTLE TELLER."  I think it's funny that we all knew that this was the better of the two names to call Ella, at least in Ella's mind.

But that's the thing -- it is better because Ella knows that she's a tattle teller, which is something we've accused her of being a lot recently and something that we're working with her to correct.  It's not easy -- she's really good at it, and teaching a kid to understand when it's okay to tell and when it's not okay to tell has plenty of gray area.  I mean I want her to tell me when Cal's tying a rope around her neck (it's happened... more than once... sometimes with her full cooperation), but I don't want her to tell me that he's not putting the black crayon away when he's the one who used it.

Coming up with and communicating the rules and guidelines for her to apply to her thought process before deciding to tell us something has been a challenge, and getting it right was recently exacerbated by something that I learned from her teacher that had happened at school.

Ella's teacher noticed that Ella was scratching herself around her privates on occasion.  She did it at naptime one day, and Ms. Tawania asked Ella about it.  Does it hurt?  Does it itch?  Are you okay?  Did you tell your mommy about it?

Ella at first said it was okay but then eventually said that it was itchy sometimes.  And why didn't she tell her mommy?  "Because I don't want to be a tattle teller."

Ms. Tawania and I talked a bit about this, and she said that it is difficult to teach children the difference between the tattle-tell type of telling and the for-the-good-of-yourself-and-humanity type of telling.  No advice was given, but I always feel a little better when a professional child rearer sympathizes and shares the same challenges as I, a novice child rearer, experience. But clearly I'd want to know if something was itching her, so we needed to be clearer about what qualifies as tattle telling so she'd feel comfortable telling me about it.

On Sunday, I noticed I started using this rule with Ella: "If it affects you, tell me; if it doesn't affect you, don't tell me."

"Do you know what 'affect' means?" I asked her as she gave me a blank stare.

"No," she responded.

So I proceeded to tell her.  I find myself having to provide definitions for words on a regular basis, and this is no picnic, having to avoid using a word to define itself and actually knowing synonyms or equivalent phrases that sub-10-year-olds would understand. "Affect" was a relatively easy one as I was able to use things like if it hurts you, itches you, scares you or worries you, it affects you; and you should tell me.  If it doesn't hurt you, itch you, scare you or worry you, it doesn't affect you; and you shouldn't tell me.

I then gave her an example of each, right or wrong using Cal in the example (if he kicks you, it affects you; if he sneaks a cookie, it doesn't) which led to a Q&A of what qualifies as affecting and what doesn't. For some Q&A exchanges, it was Ella asking the questions and I answering them; for others, it was Ella doing it all herself.  She's notorious for learning rules and telling you everything about them.  But she seemed to understand.

We put it into practice immediately, where she'd tell and I'd tell her she was telling.  Each time I pointed out she was telling, she grinned; and that continued throughout the rest of the week.  She seems to be on board.  In fact, at one point later on Sunday after having been told she was telling a few times, she suggested a goal for herself.  "Mommy, if I don't tell on anyone until the end of May, we'll do something special," she said, not literally, but that was the summarized version of it.  No kidding -- this was all her idea.

Being the goal-oriented person I am and really wanting to nip this tattle telling in the bud, I jumped on board immediately and agreed we'd do something special, whatever that may be.  I'm not holding her to this rule 100%, and she has slipped a couple of times since stating it.  But it's been she who catches and acknowledges it herself... and then tells me it doesn't count, which is fine with me because it's still progress.

There's a small part of me that regrets going down this path altogether, though.  It has been nice to know that if Cal's sneaking treats into his room and eating them in his closet or if he's peeing in the backyard, we'll find out about it without even trying.  With our tattle teller in the house, we know everything.  But for the good of developing Ella into a well-rounded, well-liked person, I'm willing to try a different method of finding out Cal's doing stuff he really shouldn't be doing.

So after we successfully convinced Ella that she hadn't actually been accused for being a caterpillar and instead was accused of being a tattle teller, everyone was happy, even crankpot Cal.  Since we all seemed to enjoy the "Who thinks..." banter, I continued it, at Cal's expense.

"Who thinks Cal wears floods?" I asked.  He does.

"ME!" Ella and I answered.  Cal may have even chimed in with a "ME!"  I don't remember hearing Dan.

"Who thinks Cal pulls his pants up to his chest?" I asked.  He does.

"ME!" we answered again.

Yes, finding pants that fit Cal even when he pulls them up to his chest is another Leatherkid challenge with which we're dealing.  That he's doing this and making it impossible for his pants to be anything but floods is so obvious and unavoidable that Ella doesn't even need to tell us and we'll still know it.

Computer Time... Lost

I'd say the Leatherman household is a little behind the times as far as technology goes.  Not far behind, but I wouldn't describe us as caught up.  To date, this as been a conscious choice basing our technology purchases more on need than on desire.  We don't have an iPad... don't need one.  My personal flip phone stopped working a few months ago, and Dan's Blackberry doesn't get much use.  I despise our laptop -- its usability is horrendous, I think -- and only use it when I need to.  My computer time is spent almost entirely on my work laptop.

The kids don't share the same feelings about our personal computer.  In fact, computer time is so desired and treasured around our house during the weekends that it oftentimes leads to fights... take this morning, for instance.

Dan has instituted some rules for earning computer time... for the kids, that is.  His rule is two minutes of reading time for one minute of computer time; and I typically adjust it slightly, making it one-for-one to make it a little less daunting for them.  Admittedly, I've been known to abandon the rule entirely, just to get a block of time with peace and quiet to re-acquire my own sanity; but that's a topic for another blog post.

Anyway, whether it's two-for-one or one-for-one, it seems to be a good rule and encourages reading... kind of.  Most of their time reading is spent checking on how much time they've accumulated.  Cal's buns had barely hit the couch this morning when he was asking, as he opened up his Star Wars whatever book, "Mama, how much time do I have?" I'm not sure how I responded, perhaps with rolled eyes, perhaps with a smart-ass "1 second" or perhaps with, "You just started."

Cal's asking, of course, triggered Ella, who was already a few minutes into her reading, to ask, "How much time do I have?" to which I responded, "Five minutes."  It was a rough guess as I technically hadn't started timing her, but it seemed reasonable.

It was quiet for a few minutes, atypically more than a few, actually.  Then a check happened.  "Mama, how many minutes?" Cal asked.  "15," I told him, and this is with no assessment of the quality of his reading.  For all I know, his eyes glossed over the words most of that time, if they even went over the words at all.  There's a lot of unearned trust in the current implementation of this.

Anyway, since Cal asked, Ella asked.  "20," I told her.  "Can I go first?" she asked.  I told her that, yes, she could; afterall, she was 20 minutes in and would hit 30 minutes sooner than Cal, at 15 minutes in, would.  I'm not sure exactly how the 30-minute target came about, but it did... so I just stuck with it.

Two minutes later, I was being asked again.  And again, 30 seconds later.  At this point, it was ridiculous; so Dan instituted the "if you ask how much time you have, we're going to take a minute away" rule.  Ella didn't like this and completely flew off the handle in classic Ella style, a style we really haven't seen in awhile.  It's been sooooooo nice.

I don't remember all that she said, but let's just characterize it as spewing jibberish and nonsensical statements while flailing her body onto the couch and off... and on... and off, all the while kicking and screaming her jibberish when she could.  Cal started teasing her and laughing, which garnered a "Stop it, Cal, you're making me not read!" from her.  Cal kept laughing.  I started laughing.  And then Dan started blowing her kisses.

Hindsight is telling me we probably shouldn't have teased her so much.  I mean, it was hard not to because it was amusing at this point.  She completely lost her mind.  Minutes were being taken away from her.  Couple that with not actually reading, and she fell behind Cal.

BOOM!  She technically hadn't fallen apart to this point.  But with the news that Cal would get to 30 minutes and the computer first, Ella completely lost her mind.  And once I actually got him started with his computer time, it got even worse.

So while Cal did his usual Lego video watching on the computer -- yes, he searches for Lego things and watches Lego-assembling videos -- Ella and I had a back and forth complete with me trying to be stern and deliver completely logical responses to Ella's... insanity.  Of course, this approach didn't work and eventually led to me insisting she go upstairs to calm down because "I didn't want to talk to her anymore."  Getting her to cooperate on her own at this point was like moving a mountain, so I had to up my volume and participation in getting her up there.  I helped her get her books, Blue Blankie and unicorn stuffed animal balanced in her arms and sent her to her room again.  She stood on the landing of the stairs still complaining about not getting computer time first; and I told her if she said that one more time and didn't go up to her room she wouldn't get any computer time.

I really wanted her to have her fucking computer time and wished I hadn't said that, but I did... so I had to stick to it.  She complained about not going first one more time and I said, "That's it! No computer time for you today!"  Ugh.  As expected, this didn't go over well, and she still wasn't in her fucking room.  So it wasn't over, and I had no sense for when it would end.  If I could just figure out the magic word or the magic response...

The next several minutes involved me yelling at her -- still the logical stuff (the general theme being that she chose this, not me), just at a heightened volume -- and her yelling back at me that I'm mean and she really wants to go on the computer.  I left her and headed back downstairs.  Ella stayed in her room and eventually calmed herself down... after Cal's 30 minutes were up.

Calm, she made her way downstairs and apologized to me.  This was my in!  I picked her up, set her in my lap and gave her a hug.  I spoke calmly about how she needs to learn to control herself and keep herself calm.  I told her the rules were simple and she just needed to follow them.  I told that she needed to trust me if she does follow the rules and explained what that meant.  I told her not worry about Cal.  I told her I love her and I'm really proud of her.  And then I told her that since she apologized, I'd let her earn computer time if she wanted it.  She's have to start over and could do it all at once or in chunks -- I'd keep track of it.

She then calmly went to "the library" (our shelf of books downstairs) and grabbed a book.  After 15 minutes of reading, she got excited about the proposal Dan laid out that we go to the park.  That led to another short-lived meltdown between the three of them; and, as I finish this, Ella is now sitting next to me with her toy toolbox and pounding wooden nails into wooden washers with her wooden hammer.  It's loud, slightly annoying and not great for my focus and sanity, but I'll take it over the computer time debacle anytime.

Mommy Gets Arrested (a possibility)

I generally keep this under raps, not because I think it's necessarily wrong but because it's sort of illegal, but I've been known to relax the seatbelting/carseating rules when I'm on drop-off duty in the morning before school starts.  I drive the "work car" (there are no carseats in it), and it's a five-block drive through our subdivision and one block outside of it -- my adult assessment of the trip is that it's a pretty low-risk drive.

By the way, when I say "relax" the rules, I mean flat-out just don't do.  Not one strap and not one buckle.  The kids' buns may not even be touching the seat, and I'm already backing out of the driveway.  I do make it a point not to speed too bad as I make my way down the main drag out of the subdivision, and I do pay close attention to cars arriving from side streets or even sitting idle at intersections.  Afterall, I'd really prefer not to encounter a police car.  I fear the risk of getting caught doing this more than that of the harm that might come my kids way because they're not strapped in.

Knowing how kids, particularly my kids, have no filter and tell anything to anyone, you'd think that I would not say anything to them about the wrongness... wait, strike that... the illegality of what I'm doing; but they fully know how wrong... wait, strike that... illegal it is.  But they know because I told them.  I think the first time I said something, I was highly stressed.  I was late, they were fighting, we were all yelling and I said something to the effect of not worrying about anything because we were all going to be arrested for their not being strapped in.

Yes... yes, that's right.  I told them that they had some responsibility in the decision to not only not be in their carseats but to also not be wearing their seatbelts and that they could actually be arrested for it.  And since that time, I've repeated it... on many occasions, stressed or not stressed.  Their teachers haven't pulled me aside and questioned me about it yet; so I really think that our doing this has, until now since I'm blogging about it, stayed within the confines of our car.  I'm not sure how, but I am not going to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth and am just going to not question that part of it.

This past Thursday, our morning was a little rushed but not too bad.  Dan had already left for work, an unusual non-work-at-home day, so I was on drop-off duty.  My goal was just to get them into the backseat and myself into the front seat so we could just start making our way to school, so I had no seatbelting expections nor did I iterate any.  For some reason, Cal buckled himself in.  Once we started moving, he decided to tell on Ella.

"Ella doesn't have her seatbelt on!" he exclaimed.  "She's going to get arrested."

I don't know why I chose to clarify the law, but I responded with, "She's not going to get arrested.  I'm the one who'll get arrested."

Cal didn't question that I said Ella wouldn't get arrested.  He very logically concluded something, though, and responded, "But I won't be able to go to school if Daddy's at work and you're arrested."

I thought this was incredibly funny and very amusing.  His world -- and I'm sure Ella's, too -- is so small, so practical and so immediate.  His only thought about my getting arrested for not strapping my kids in to carseats was about himself and what he's supposed to do.  He wasn't worried about me being thrown behind bars and he wasn't afraid of any emotions he might experience if I were to be arrested and he and Ella separated from me.  I'm sure a lot of it is due to his just being young and selfish and some of it due to his being naive and untainted by movies and daily news.

This observation of his isn't going to change anything, of course.  In fact, today I expanded my doing this to a quick trip to Walgreens a few blocks from our house in the opposite direction of school.  This time, we didn't speak a word about the illegality of it all.  Perhaps that's what I'll encourage as we do this going forward... which we surely will because I really don't think it's wrong.  I think it's safe, practical and, to be honest, fun to joke about.

My Mini Me

I opened the door to the garage on my forehead this past Monday morning during my scramble to get out of the house.  It's really one of those things that you want to keep to yourself.  I mean, it's not like I chose to do it.  "You know, I haven't had a good headache in awhile... I'm going to open this door so it bangs my forehead really hard." Really, I generally don't like to admit I do sloppy, careless things like this.  I have enough flaws that others see; why should I tell them I actually have more? I share it because it highlighted some synergy Ella and I have had recently -- 12 hours earlier Ella did essentially the same thing when she stepped out of my in-laws' house and immediately turned left only to have the storm door which she had pushed open slam into her forehead.  I saw it.  I heard it.  I even felt it.  She cried.  I held her.  I cried when that similar thing happened to me on Monday.  And I know she would've given me a hug had she been around to witness it.

My mini me and me

Ella and I are close.  As much as we bump heads (in the figurative sense) and as much as she wears pinks, purples and tutus and I, well, I just don't and never have, we are very alike and actually seem to enjoy each other's company these days.  I say "seem to" because if there's one thing I've learned as a parent it's that any peace and balance we may be enjoying at the moment could turn on a dime.  Even if it were to turn, this does not change: Ella is my mini me and I her mega me.

As I write this, Ella is organizing the DVDs.  I didn't ask her to do so, she just did.  I'm sure my mom has a memory of me doing this when I was Ella's age, with books instead of with DVDs.

Besides inadvertently banging our heads on doors and sharing an appreciation... strike that... a need to organize things, here's how we're images of each other and/or enjoy being with each other:

We both enjoy gardening and digging in dirt.  Ella is always a willing participant in my gardening activities. Actually, I should call it "our" gardening activities.  She helps me plant, helps me water, helps me weed and helps me reap veggies from the garden.

Ella shovelling mulch

Last weekend, we had a big mound of mulch delivered to the end of our driveway.  I had a 3-hour window before I knew we had to leave for Dan's parents' house; and I chose to use that time making a dent in the pile and moving it to its proper place in our yard.  And whom did I ask to help me?  My mini me, of course.  And, as any good mini me would respond, she said she wanted to help me.

Ella filling my wheelbarrow

So we headed out to the mound, me with my wheelbarrow and shovel, she with her pink Minnie wagon and snow shovel; and we worked for a couple of solid hours shoveling, wheeling and spreading mulch.  She needed only a little direction early on and even worked independently when I took a break from spreading mulch to transplant a few lillies.

I loved sharing this time with Ella, teaching her how to do something new, encouraging her to enjoy this "chore" and not dread it and influencing her simply to enjoy being outside.

We do girl things together.  I have to admit, I like having a daughter with whom to share the stereotypical "girl things," like painting our toenails, shopping and baby showers.  It's been awhile, but we've been known to have matching painted toenails, sometimes even patterned where every other toe is pink and the ones in between are purple.  If anyone thinks this is my influence, it's not -- it's I being her mega me.  Ordinarily, I'd opt for a single, certainly non-purple color; if my following her lead with her whimsical toenail painting makes her happy, I'm game.

Ella never passes on an opportunity to go shopping with me.  That she is with me on my shopping trips is nothing short of a miracle given the many struggles we've survived on said shopping trips, maddening experiences that led to many threats that I'd never take her shopping with me again.  Unfulfilled threats.  It's not that I enjoy the fights -- I just enjoy her company when we're not fighting.  She's a good helper, and I like giving her responsibilities and choices as we shop.  And the thing is, she does well.  She chooses well.  She chooses things that I would choose myself.

Sporting our pony braids

The best is responding "2" for baby showers to which I have been invited, where she and I are the "2."  She's pretty good company for these things which I typically find, and I'm sorry girlfriends and family, painful, the explanation for which is an entirely different topic.  But it's nice to have Ella's company.  The last two showers to which we've gone, I made it a point to dress similarly.  For the first, we were wearing the same colors -- black and bright pink (yes... yes, I do have some pink clothes).  For this latest one, she was already sporting a pony braid, so I chose to wear a pony braid myself.  Many people asked me about it (I don't typically wear a pony braid), and it was fun telling them how it came about.

Ella's strawberries

We are artistic and take our time with our art.  I've done my share of drawing and painting in my lifetime.  I've got some skills and am very careful and slow about my art. I'm not sure if that's because it's not entirely natural or if it's that I'm a perfectionist. Whatever the explanation, I see similar traits in Ella.  She carefully colored the strawberries in a big coloring page over the course of a week.  She started with one or two on a Sunday and then proceeded to come back to it when she had the time and inclination.  She knocked a few more strawberries out before leaving for school a few days that week and revisited the coloring a time or two in the evenings before heading to bed.

And there's nothing sloppy about her coloring job.  She stayed within the lines.  She even colored the strawberry seeds black and the strawberry stems green.  She also colored a couple of the flowers and leaves. In the end, the page itself wasn't entirely finished; but the strawberries sure were!

Interest in gardening, sharing girl things, approach to art.  These are just a handful of things that Ella and I have in common and enjoy sharing.  There are more.  This makes me happy and proud.  I enjoy having my mini me with me as I do these things.

Ella helped me fix dinner tonight.  I had already gotten most of it going by the time she asked if she could help, so I gave her the job of setting the table.  She's a good table setter, doing everything from getting plates and forks to filling our cups with beverages to even making sure that we have lime juice (she thought it was lemon) to squeeze on our fish.  At one point, she had to get both the butter and cups on the table; and instead of taking the cups first and then coming back for the butter, she carefully balanced the cups on the container of butter and carried them together.  If I had a nickel for every time I carried more than my hands could technically hold for the sake of minimizing trips... Needless to say, without giving it a second thought, my mini me was doing what her mega me would've done under the same circumstances.