Freckled Frocks and Squishy Socks

I’ll be honest – my kids have driven me nuts more often than I like to admit.  From the incessant whining over not getting their ways, to being on the receiving end of repeated “no’s” when asked to do (or not to do) something to being awakened from a deep REM cycle virtually every night for periods of time to turn “Cal Can’t Help It” (Fergie) back on, I oftentimes find myself wondering if this really is typical and, if so, how in the world do people not walk around sharing the misery of it more with co-workers, friends and/or any sympathetic ear they happen to find?

I am not naïve to think that the Leatherman family is much different than other families as far as the stubborn, independence-seeking toddler phase goes.  There’s a reason there are articles about dealing with whining, meltdowns, smart mouths and general bad behavior. These articles don’t exist because of a handful of toddlers.  I get that and need only the occasional sympathetic ear to get me through the “Terrible 2s,” which, let’s be honest, are really the “Terrible 1’s through 4’s.”

What I find myself needing more frequently, though, are check-ins with others re: my kids’ quirks and associated melodrama that seem a little odd to me.  I mean, some of this stuff is just plain old weird. To fight it is to add unprecedented stress levels to daily life; to give in to it is to encourage such weirdness.  There’s a delicate balance to achieve here.  Luckily, I have lived my life by the motto “pick your battles,” which (I believe) makes me well equipped to take on or simply tolerate these quirks with patience.  Sometimes, I do lose it because at my roots, I just don’t understand why it’s such a big issue and can’t possibly make the situation better.  I mean, take a look at some of these quirks.

Cal’s Quirks:

1. “Squishy” socks (even the best-fitting socks might qualify if he happens to put them on crooked)
2. Pants with strings
3. Pants with pockets (even the simplest, most basic pockets)
4. Pants with “freckles” or “sparkles” (I’ve come to learn this means they’re gathered at the bottom)
5. Pants that are too long
6. Short pants and short sleeves (he doesn't like them, even in 80-degree plus weather)
7. Hooded jacket without the hood on his head
8. Jacket with zipper not zipped all the way up
9. Shoe laces not lying flat on his shoe
10. Shoes with Velcro fasteners not adhered tight to the shoes
11. Shirts that are too long*

* Exception: His ND leprechaun shirt, which hangs off of him, does not qualify as being too long

Ella’s quirks:

1. Not holding her blanket when it’s in sight of her (if she sees her blanket, she needs to be holding it)
2. Attempting to read to her the book she’s paging through (she wants you to read a different book)
3. Having a water bottle taken away from her

Admittedly, I had to dig a little to come up with Ella’s list.  I mean, they’re all true; however, on the weirdness scale, they barely register.  Except for the book thing.  Before bedtime, I’ll tell her to pick a book for us to read – she’ll pick one for herself and then one for me.  “Do you want me to read this one while you hold that one?” I’ll ask her, to which she responds, nodding happily that I understood, “Nyeah.”  I’ve tried to read the one she’s holding and paging through – this is usually met with voiced displeasure from Ella.  So there we sit, Ella paging through her own book as I read a different one to her.

Cal’s issues with pants have been at the root of much morning malcontent in the Leatherman house.  Many an argument has ensued from the simple request to get dressed for the day because most pants meet at least one of the criteria that Cal finds… upsetting?... uncomfortable?... I’m not sure.  Working with the supply my sister had given me, I recently took Cal through the exercise of eliminating from his options pants he would not wear, all to mitigate the risk of a “pants war” in our morning routine.  Here’s how that went down:

Me <holding up a pair of pants>: “Will you wear these pants?”

Cal <examining them>: “No.”

Me: “Why?”

Cal: “Because they have pockets.”

Me: “Okay, so these pants go in the stack of ones you won’t wear.  Once they go there, you won’t have the option to wear them.  Do you understand that?”

Cal: “Yes.”

Me <holding up the next pair>: “Okay, what about these?  Will you wear these pants?”

Cal <examining them>: “No.”

Me: “Why?”

Cal: “Because they have strings AND pockets.”

Me: “Okay, they go in this stack.  You won’t have the option to wear these pants. <Holding up the next pair> What about these?”

Cal: “No.”

Me: “Why?”

Cal: “Because they have freckles?”

Me <huh?> “Freckles?  What are freckles?”

Cal <pointing to the gathering at the bottom of a leg>: “This.”

Me: “Ah. Okay, they go in the stack.”

And this went on for each pair of pants.  In the end, I think we were left with three pairs of sweatpants, three pairs of jeans and a pair of small-pocketed khakis.  The jeans were only in the wearable pile because I overrode Cal’s “no” – they were the most basic, barely pocketed jeans you could find. And the khakis?  I told him he’s worn them a lot without issue, so they’re certainly wearable.

Cal's Favorite Outfit (right
down to the mismatched socks)

To say that our mornings are drama-free since this exercise would be a lie.  However, they are noticeably more consistently pleasant and absent the fight over whether or not a pair of pants is wearable.  We have since added three pairs of the plainest, un-pocketed, un-stringed, un-freckled, perfectly-sized sweatpants from Old Navy to keep our options fresh without having to constantly do laundry.  And while I clearly gave in to this quirk, I did secretly put a pair of pants that do not pass Cal’s wearable criteria in his cubby at school to be worn in the event he has some sort of accident in his pants. Should the accident happen, which it surely will, a little exposure to something different won’t hurt him, and someone else (his teacher) will make it happen.

Unsharing Fun

Cal and Ella play really well together.  There are times that one doesn’t share well with the other and need Dan’s or my intervention to resolve; but those are few and far between, certainly rarer than I would have expected.

A couple of those rare instances found their way to our day Sunday.  In the moment and still today, I found them more amusing than annoying or troubling.

Elmo

Instance #1: Elmo

Cal has MANY stuffed animals, and MOST of them were recently taken away for a month because he made the choice to not pick them up after throwing them all over his bedroom floor even after given the threat of having them taken away.  “I don’t know how” he claimed, which had only one response from me, “yes, you do.”

The ones that survived Cal’s poor choice and were not taken away include Puppy (he was hiding in a corner of Cal’s room) and a handful of stuffed animals shared by the kids. These “live” in a toy box downstairs, and among them is Elmo, for whom Ella has developed an affinity.  “Melmo,” she calls him.

Limited to these stuffed animals, Cal chose to play with Puppy and this big-eyed purple bunny (who hasn’t officially gotten a name as Dan’s plug for “Hoppyjon Jones” isn’t catching on).  And Ella, of course, chose Elmo.  Everyone was happy until Ella dropped Elmo on the floor for what toy, I don’t recall. As quickly as Elmo hit the floor, Cal snatched him up.  Ella saw this and immediately started screaming for Elmo. And then it happened.  Ella threw herself belly-side down on the ground, screaming louder and coming just short of thumping her hands and kicking her feet against the ground. She had entered her tantrum.

I probably shouldn’t do this, but I laughed out loud.  I think this is hilarious.  It is so over-the-top, so melodramatic, so completely not in line with the issue she’s dealing with.  What’s funnier is Cal’s expression as he takes in the scene – call it smug, call it mean, he’s certainly entertained by this, staring and smiling at her ridiculousness.  I don’t remember if we said something like, “Cal, please give Elmo back to Ella,” but he let the tantrum go on for a good minute or two after which he made the decent choice to give Elmo back to Ella.  Ella pulled Elmo close to her, giving him a good hug as she continued to lay belly-down on the ground and slowly recovered from her tantrum.

Instance #2: Trains

I didn’t actually visually witness this one – I heard it all from the kitchen.  Cal must’ve been playing with the “Thomas” trains we are borrowing from my sister's kids.  There are several of them, and they magnetically cling to each other to form, well, a multi-car train.

Lady

Ella likes to play with the trains, too.  Though she’s generally content playing with “Lady” (clearly the “girl” train), it sounded like she wanted in on the trains with which Cal was playing; and Cal wasn’t giving her any.  Ella started to make some noise about it.  No tantrum-throwing scene erupted, but it was getting intense enough that Dan needed to step in before it evolved to that.  Here’s how I heard it:

Dan: “Cal, you have 7 trains… you don’t need 7.

1-2-3-4-5 Trains

Cal: “I don’t have 7.”

Dan: “6 or 7… let Ella have one.”

Cal: “I don’t have 7. 1-2-3-4-5… I have 5.”

Dan: “Okay, 5. Let Ella have one.”

I don’t remember if Cal did give Ella a train or not.  Clearly, he was missing the point; but he was dead on with his counting!

Cal's Little Buddy

I think worse than the call from school that my kid is running a fever, has developed a rash or has puss pouring out of her eyes (which have all happened) is the call from school that my kid “just isn’t himself” today.  As a parent, I don’t have a choice on what to do for the former – I have to retrieve the kid from school per the rules in the school’s handbook. For the latter, though, I do have a choice, one that generally leans toward having my kid stick it out because, well, I do have to work. To say it that bluntly shouldn’t suggest that I don’t have a problem with that choice.  I do.  I feel like a heel.  I feel like a bad parent, and I feel like school teachers and administrators are judging me as such.  Whether they actually are or not doesn’t matter – my own perception is enough.

On Monday, I got such a call.  Cal’s eyes were bothering him.  They were red, swollen and watery, and he was applying wet paper towels to them to soothe them.  I didn’t “need” to pick him up but “if I happened to be working from home,” maybe I could.

I wasn’t.  I was a good hour and a half away with meetings and stuff I needed to get done.  This would set me back a bit.  In the end I decided I would compromise and just leave work early to get him.  I’d attend my meetings and just take work home with me to tackle that evening.  I also set up a doctor’s appointment for that evening in case there was something more wrong with him than the common cold.

This, of course, posed some transportation hurdles to get over since Dan and I commute together to and from the train.  I’d need to get Cal and Ella, hang out at home for a bit and then motivate us all back to the car to go pick up Dan from the train station.

When I got to school to get Cal just after 4pm, I was pleasantly surprised at how bad he actually looked. History tells me the school teachers are pretty liberal in their judgment and description of how bad my “not-himself” kid’s condition is. In Cal’s case yesterday, the teacher’s description was spot on.  Red, swollen eyes. Watery. Even his cheeks were red. Clearly he had been rubbing them a lot that day. My eyes teared just looking at him. Fortunately, he ran to me with a big smile on his face (bless his heart), happy to see me pick him up early and ready to get out of school for the day. Ahh… I knew I had made the correct decision to pick him up early, confirmed he was okay and concluded that he really did need to see a doctor.

We proceeded to complete the plan and grabbed Ella, went and hung out at home for a bit and then headed back out to pick Dan up from the train station.  On the way there, the doctor’s office called and said they had a cancellation, could we come in 20 minutes earlier.  With that new schedule, the idea that we just grab some dinner after getting Dan and then all heading to the doctor’s office popped into my head. Dan was amenable to this and suggested to everyone in the car, “how about C-H-I-K-A-F-I-L-A?”  to which I whispered, “you’ve got an extra A in there” and let the thought that a C might be missing, too, go. Hopeful that Cal would figure out what he was spelling and providing a lot of assistance in getting him to figure it out, Dan announced we’d be going to Chick Fil-A but that we wouldn’t have time to play in the playground there because we had to get to the doctor. This was cool with Cal.  Afterall, he had to get to the doctor who was going to “make him feel better.”

Once inside Chick Fil-A, Cal picked our table, which was the one right outside the window to the playground, with a clear view of all of the action in the playground. Against my better judgment, we stayed and ate our dinner there, having to fend off only a couple of Cal’s requests to play in the playground.

Finished eating before Ella and unable to actually go into the playground area, Cal had his face plastered against the window to the playground, presumably living vicariously through the little 15-month-old running around. The youngster eventually noticed Cal’s gaze and smiled. Cal, 3-1/2 and so much bigger than this kid, responded sweetly, scratching the window with his pointer finger, as I might to a little puppy, “Hey, Little Buddy.”

Dan and I, of course, cracked up. Our conjunctivitis-stricken Cal may have not felt well, but he certainly was himself.

A Typical Conversation with Ella

Ella on counter, reading (August, 2012)

That Ella hasn't gotten as much "play" in my blog posts as Cal has to date is not reflective of her impact to the day-to-day lives of the Leatherman family.  She’s just as entertaining, funny, stress-triggering, puzzling and delightful as Cal is, only in different ways… and ones hard to replay in words.  So I thought I’d give it a shot.

Here’s how a kitchen conversation with Ella might go (with some creative liberties applied to ordering and recollection of the complete "non-words"):

Ella <unsolicited, in my arms and on my hip>: “Si dow… si dow… si dow.”

Me: “What, Baby Girl?”

Ella: “Si dow. Si dow. <pointing> heah.”

Me: “Ah ha! You want to sit down on the counter?”

Ella: “Nyeah.”  It always sounds like she’s got a leading ‘N’ on her ‘yeahs.’

Me <setting her down on the counter>:”Okay, let’s not tell Dr. Persak we do this.”

Ella <nods>: “Soch… soch.”

Me <I know this one>: “Yes, that’s your sock. Can you say ‘shoe?’”

Ella: “Soo.”

Me: “That’s right, Baby Girl. Shoe.  Can you say ‘Ella?’”

Ella <pointing at herself>: “Mommee.”

Me: “No… <pointing at myself>… I’m Mommy.”

Ella: “Mommee.”

Me: “Can you say ‘Ella?’”

Ella: “Da-dee.”

Me: “Yeah… <pointing to Dan>… that’s ‘Daddy.’ Can you say ‘Ella?’”

Ella: “Caow… Caow.”

Me: “Yep… <pointing to Cal>… is that your big brother, Cal?”

Ella <probably thinking, ‘what’s a brother?’>: “Caow… Caow.”

Me: “Can you say, ‘Ella?’”

Ella: “Ya-Ya!”

Me: “YA-YA!” This bugs Dan because he thinks we should say it the right way so she hears it the right way and learns to say it the right way.  I can’t help myself.

Ella grins ear to ear.

Me: “Can I set you on the ground, Baby Girl?”

Ella: “Nyo.”

Me <I don’t dare set her on the ground with that response>: “Mommy’s got to fix dinner.  Do you want some grapes?”

Ella <nodding>: “Nyeah.  Gape… gape… gape.”

So then I cut some grapes up for her and let her grab them as she pleases, still sitting on the counter, monitored but certainly not not at risk of falling off.  She sits pretty still and content; and as long as “Caow” doesn’t come along and yank on her legs (it happened once), I’m fairly confident (is that an oxymoron?) she won’t fall off.  After a long day at work and not more than an hour and a half to do dinner, cleanup, baths, jammies, reading and tucking in, my brain can’t handle the alternative, which almost always consists of Ella crying, "Mommy!" and wrapping her arms around my legs as I navigate the kitchen.

When dinner is almost ready, I move Ella and the remaining grapes to her place at the dinner table. Eventually, we all make it there, and his is how the conversation with Ella might continue:

Ella: “Pate… pate… pate.”

Me: “What, Baby Girl?”

Ella <holding up her plate full of food now, ever so slowly tipping more and more one direction> “Pate… pate.”

Me: “Oh, plate! <grabbing the plate>… that’s right, Baby Girl!”

Not sure what she wants, I set the plate back down in front of her and take a seat. Ella, now frustrated and crying a bit, pushes her plate toward me and starts wriggling in her booster, grabbing the straps as she does so.

Ella: “De de de de.”

Me: “De de? I’m not sure what you mean.”

Ella <crying>: “De de.  De de DE DE DE.” She points at her plate now near me.

Me: “Do you want to sit in my lap and eat?”

Ella <relieved>: “Nyeah.”

Sometimes I oblige the request, and other times I don’t.  As much as Ella likes to sit in my lap, one would think she’d be pretty good at it.  She’s not.  She’s a wriggler, adjuster and up-and-downer.  She’s also a very unskilled utensil user. Whether I let her sit in my lap to eat is usually driven by three things: my level of tolerance for food in my lap and smudged on my arms, how far along I am with my dinner and how strongly I feel that day that sitting in her seat for dinner is the best thing for Ella. My conversations with Ella are generally hard work but entertaining and oftentimes include actions that are not necessarily in the best interest of Ella but that keep her content.

Sorry, in Cat

Since having kids, my availability for after-work happy hours has dwindled to basically zero.  Certainly not without planning at least a day in advance, preferably more.  Dan and I do a pretty good job of coordinating and respecting the need for advanced planning to participate in post-work outings, and last Thursday night was my turn.  I went out for drinks with a former boss who had just returned to work for the company in a different capacity.  It was a nice night highlighted by good adult time with someone whose company I’ve always enjoyed.

I came home shortly after 8pm to a quiet, dimly-lit house, except for the faint sounds of Metallica, a treadmill and a runner’s footsteps coming from the basement.  Oh, good, Dan’s getting his run in for the day.  There were no sounds of kids.  Ahh… no stress, no fighting, no dealing with crying, whining or short attention spans for me tonight. While I did miss my kids that day, I'll admit that it’s nice to get a break from even the anticipation of some sort of bedtime struggle every once in a while.

Shortly after arriving home, I went upstairs to get into my own jammies and surrepticiously deliver some bedtime kisses only to be startled by a dark outline of a person the size of Cal at the top of the stairs, blanket in hand, pillow lying in the middle of the hallway floor between our room and his, the door to his room closed.

Hmm… I immediately started to wonder what events may have led up to this scene.  Was Cal an obstinate participant (i.e. non-participant) in the bedtime routine?  Did he want to wear his “dino jammies” which are dirty and, therefore, not an option?  Did he miss me and want to be sure to catch me when I came home?  What’s with the closed door?

So I started asking questions of the figure now confirmed to be Cal to get the scoop.  To be honest, it was a fairly dull conversation per the standards we’ve come to expect from Cal, until we got to the part that explained the door being closed:

Me: “So why is your door closed, Baby Bear?”

Cal and Zoe (May, 2012)

Cal: “Because I’m afraid of Zoe <our cat>.”

Me<what?>: “Aw, you shouldn’t be afraid of Zoe.  She loves you.”

Cal: “But she squishes my legs.”

Me: “She just loves to sleep with you, Baby.”

Cal: “But she scratches me.”

Me: “She doesn’t mean to, though.  She’s just playing.  She loves you.”

Cal: “Yeah, and she says, ‘meow meow.’ That’s how cats say, ‘sorry.’”

And then he followed it with a bit about dogs say “woof woof” for “sorry,” and then, unsolicited, started walking toward his bedroom  to eventually crawl into bed, give kisses goodnight and ask me to turn “Cal Can’t Help It” back on… a pleasant request which I was happy to oblige.

I really never did get the full scoop.  Conversations with Cal often go places I don’t expect.  I like to think that night the kid just wanted to be sure to see his mommy before going to bed for the night.

Whatever...

We all know that kids really pick up on things adults say, so we adults have to be careful with what we say.  Most people, myself and Dan included, are pretty good about not dropping the “F” bomb and other words that fall into the category of swear words.  I think it’s generally understood that swearing is a no-no in front of impressionable kids.

Not unique to the Leatherman family but perhaps less generally practiced, we also make it a point to not use the word “stupid” around Cal and ask him to do the same.  It’s not that “stupid” is a bad word; but it’s a word that can be downright mean if used in a particular context.  We don’t ask others to cooperate with this rule, but we also don’t ask Cal to hold back telling others that they shouldn’t say “that word,” even in a harmless context.

Recently, I was on the receiving end of a dismissive “whatever!” delivered by Cal when I asked him to do something.  I was floored.  This kid is saying “whatever!” to me?!?!!  Where does he get off doing this?!?!!  Little snot!!!  Then I thought for a second… oh, oh… it’s my fault.  I use “whatever!” all the time in roll-your-eyes fun, as in: “You think you did a poor job?  Whatever!” or “You’re going to tear all of the pages out of your books because I insisted you wear shorts in 100-degree weather?  Whatever!” (yes, that was an actual statement). I may cross the line between being fun and being disrespectful on occasion.  But I know how to use “whatever!” in the right context and without being disrespectful, and I am able to recognize when I don’t and correct it or apologize for it.  Cal was disrespectfully dismissing me outright, making no bones about the fact he was ignoring my request.

We had uncovered another “stupid.”

So I wanted to nip this one in the bud before it became a problem in our house. I was already annoyed, and we were still early in the “whatever!” phase.  Rather than treat it like “stupid” and insist that we never use the word “whatever,” I thought I’d try to teach Cal the context in which it is okay to use the word “whatever” and when it is not okay to use it.

I acknowledged to him that I do the same thing, it’s a problem and we can work on correcting it together.  Then came the tough part – context.  I explained that saying “whatever” when it’s just “whatever” is not okay.  If I say, “Please don’t close the door in your sister’s face,” he shouldn’t respond with, “whatever.”   I then told him that we can use it with a lot of other words to follow, such as “whatever you want to wear” or “whatever the number is.”

This was probably a couple of weeks ago that we started working on “whatever,” and I think it’s going pretty well.  There’s been a fair amount of reinforcement and reiteration of examples of when it’s okay to use “whatever” and when it’s not okay. To be honest, I catch myself breaking the rule more than Cal breaks the rule.  The most recent rule breakage went something like this:

Cal <whining>: “I don’t want to go to school… I want to wear long sleeves and long pants… carry me downstairs… my socks are squishy…I can’t do it!..”

Me: “Whatever, Dude!”

Cal <pouting>: <no response>

Me: “Doh!  I just said ‘whatever.’ Nuts! I have to work on not saying that.”

Cal <cracking a smile>: “We can say… <thinking>… ‘whatever the word is,’ but we can’t say ‘whatever.’”

Me <smiling>: “That’s right, Baby Bear… that’s right.”

Context.  He gets it!  Now, if we could just solve that “squishy”-sock problem…

Facebook Posts: Q1, 2012

Ella on her First birthday

Here are my Leatherkid-related Facebook posts from January, February and March, 2012. They are unedited and should generally be assumed to start with “Carla Reiter Leatherman…”

It was during this time period that Cal went through his phase of selecting Ella's outfits.  It seemed that every day for a couple of weeks he'd beat me to Ella's room to pick a shirt, bottoms, socks, diaper and headwear that would make up her outfit for the day. And he'd always lay the ensemble out on the floor by her changing table.

While I did get a kick out of that phase (and almost always went with his selected outfit), I think my favorite post in Q1, 2012 was the mashed-potato post on February 24th.  I mean, I didn't appreciate the critique of my cooking; Cal's perspective was simply a memorable hoot.

January 15, 2012
always gets a kick out of this statement from Cal, "Ella, stop chewing on it!"

January 17, 2012
thinks "pants have pockets, deal with it" may not have been the best parenting response to Cal's incessant whining about the pockets on his pants this AM.

January 19, 2012
falls for Cal's "uppy, Mommy, so I can give you one more kiss" every time... had about 5 of them at this morning's drop-off at school.

January 23, 2012
is still amused by the nurse's "does Cal have a vocabulary of at least 50 words and speak in complete sentences?" as Cal was singing "Have A Holly Jolly Christmas" at his 3-year check-up last week. Um, yes.

January 28, 2012
isn't sure what song Cal was singing and drumming while Pam and Joe sang and guitared "8 Days a Week" earlier tonight but enjoyed their show just the same.

February 5, 2012
was just asked by her three-year-old, "how do you spell torment?" I hope it's not actually in his plans today.

February 7, 2012
is still amused by this little exchange:
Cal: <enters bathroom, leaves door wide open, uses potty>
Ella: <follows him into bathroom, ear-to-ear smile on her face> Ahhhh!
Cal: Ella... Ella... I want some privacy, please!

February 8, 2012
sent Ella to school today with pink socks, navy sweatpants, a pink headband and a red "Tough Guy" shirt, outfit picked out (and laid out) by her big brother.

February 9, 2012
decided to put the boy clothes out of Cal's reach in Ella's closet so that he is limited to girl-appropriate clothes when selecting Ella's outfit for the day - today she went to school in a red "fans love me, pitchers fear me" tee, navy sweats and gray-striped sweatsocks.

February 11, 2012
almost has a fourth walker in the house - Ella took two steps on her own today (in a pink outfit chosen by her personal dresser, Cal)!

February 12, 2012
laughed after this exchange just now:
Cal: "I want a juice box... I want a lemonade."
Daddy: "You can have one or the other."
Cal: "The other."

February 16, 2012
isn't sure what Cal is thinking about when he's pensively picking out clothes for Ella to wear - it sure isn't what matches? Today's winning combo was a brown and pink tee with navy and red sweatpants.

February 20, 2012
lost the silent battle of Ella's outfit selection to Cal this AM - I had an outfit already laid out for her on her changing table last night only to find it crammed back in her closet and a new outfit laid out for her on her floor... complete with diaper.

February 22, 2012
Cal wrote Ella's name... and then drew a picture of her.

February 23, 2012
has the sweeted kid -- earlier this evening, Cal told me I looked "pretty" dressed in my skirt... shortly before he poked Ella in the face with his "snorkel" straw in the bathtub.

February 24, 2012
has recently made red mashed potatoes, leaving the skins in them, but opted for fake, instant potatoes for dinner tonight. Cal's feedback was priceless: "These are REAL potatoes. Not the ones with strawberries. I don't like the ones with strawberries. Don't EVER make those again, Mommy."

February 25, 2012
has a fourth walker in the house! Ella is taking lots of unsolicited steps on her own now!

February 28, 2012
just could not fix Cal's "crooked" pants this AM to stop the meltdown and finds it ironic that this is the same kid who, until recently, was perfectly content with his pants put on backward. Oy vey!
 

Birthday kisses from big brother... I love that he doesn't care that she
has cake on her face (taken 2/28; posted 4/6).



February 29, 2012
was just informed by Cal "Mommy, my pants aren't crooked today"... followed by "remember yesterday" when my pants were crooked and I "start whining?"

March 2, 2012
has a son who likes to pick out his sister's outfit for the day and a daughter who likes to carry around her brother's new Spider-Man toy... a little backwards?

March 3, 2012
Cal asked Dan if he could watch some TV this morning... "just ONE episode... not 5, not 3, not 4, not 5... ONE."

March 10, 2012
is having a rough morning with the kiddos. Sure hope a full set of teeth burst through Ella's gums at once (she has none now) and that Cal turns 4, well, sooner than he really turns 4.

March 16, 2012
is encouraged by these words from Cal during our walk home from school: "I'm going to wear my bulldozer jammies <with shorts> to bed and I'm not going to whine about it and I'm not going to yell about it and no thumbsucking and I'm going to say in bed all night and I'm going to get dressed quietly."

March 19, 2012
is enjoying the morning of her day off by drawing letters with Cal and laughing about some of them... as Ella sleeps.

March 20, 2012
is going to pull Cal's long-sleeved t-shirts out of his drawer for a few days so he's forced to wear a short-sleeved t-shirt in this heat. This approach has promise.

March 21, 2012
Loves the Angry Bird head (with bunny ears!) that Cal and Ella got her for her birthday!

March 24, 2012
Me (typing as I say it): "Cal is a cutey patooty."
Cal: "What's a patooty?"
Together: Hee hee hee hee hee

March 24, 2012
wishes the Kid would sleep past 5:30am on the weekends.

March 27, 2012
has a new, very reliable alarm that wakes her up at ~5am everyday with the sound, "Mommy, Mommy, can you turn 'Cal Can't Help It' <Fergie's 'Clumsy'> back on?"