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.