Cal Wore His New Backpack Today

It was my turn to put Cal to bed last night.  It wasn’t easy getting the kids to focus on getting up the stairs, showered and jammied with their teeth brushed; and Cal came close to losing his pre-bedtime book privileges a few times.  I’m really not sure how he managed to keep them – it probably had something to do with my being a softie for that kid.

He selected his “Big Cats” book, which I love to read to him.  It’s full of interesting facts about, yes, cats.  The cheetah can go from 0 to 70 mph in 3 seconds, faster than any sports car can do.  The panther is really a black leopard.  Female lions do most of the hunting for food.  The tiger is the largest cat.  There is actually a cat species who likes water.  And so on.

Before I read it to him, I decided to take advantage of him lying calmly next to me and ready to listen to my words and give him a few things to think about relative to his and Ella’s behavior of late in our house.  I told him directly that it has to get better.  I told him every response to mine and Dan’s questions or requests just cannot be a defiant “NO!” or blatant ignorance.  I told him that when he does that, he is disrespecting us, his parents.  And I told him that he’s also teaching Ella to do the same, that she’s learning it from him.  I acknowledged that he’s a kid and that’s what kids do; but not all the time.  He seemed to be listening.

After laying those thoughts on him and still feeling like I had his attention, I took a breath and switched gears.  I’m sure the books would say I delivered mixed messages, but his first day of public school kindergarten was only a couple of days away; and I wanted to be sure that he knew how exciting it is that he’s going to a new school and on the verge of learning and experiencing many new things and meeting many new people.  And I topped it off with a “you’re gonna nail it, Cal.”  He will.

A few days ago, we went to Kohl’s and bought a new backpack for him for the school year.  “I want one just like yours,” he had told me many times since we first mentioned getting a new one a month or so ago.  This was music to my ears – I wouldn’t have to cave and reluctantly say “yes” to yet another cheap, character backpack and then be reminded of it every time I zippered it throughout the year.  We bought a nice, multi-pocketed backpack – Cal’s choice – that even I would use.

I would call this backpack the manifestation of Cal’s excitement over going to public school.  If it weren’t for the backpack, we wouldn’t be able to gauge whether he was excited or not.  He’s just not talking about it much otherwise unless we bring it up; and even then his participation in the discussion is just enough to appease us.

The sound of a door closing finally got me out of bed this morning.  I had already snoozed via my alarm clock several times, so I was due to get up anyway.  I peeked out into the hallway to see Cal’s bedroom door closed.  He was awake.  I climbed into the shower and then went about my morning routine without a peep from or a showing of the kid.  Finally ready to head downstairs and make my way out the door, I noticed that Cal’s door was open and his bedroom light on; but he wasn’t in his room.  I turned off his light and started to walk downstairs.

When I made the turn halfway down the stairs, I saw Cal standing quietly at the base of them.  He had on a t-shirt and mesh shorts, his signature outfit.  His black socks were stretched half way up his legs, which is as far as they could possibly go; and his feet were nestled comfortably in his camouflage green Crocs.  And on his back was his new backpack.

My heart melted with the sight of him.

“Can I use my new backpack today, Mommy?” he asked.  “I’m wearing my new Lego shirt,” he continued, pointing to his t-shirt.  “I wanted to wear this to Colin’s birthday party yesterday because he likes Star Wars Legos, but I didn’t.”  And then he rattled off a few more comments as I put my hands on either side of his face, drew it close to mine and gave him a big kiss on his forehead.

“Yes! You can use your backpack today, Baby Bear,” I told him.  “Do you want me to take you to school now?” I asked.  He did.  It was a work-from-home day for Dan, so the plan was really for Dan to take the kids to school (daycare); but the kid was ready, and I didn’t want to make him wait.  I’d catch a later train, which would be my usual train in anyway.

Ella got wind that I was leaving with Cal and expressed how sad she was about this through and tears and sad words delivered through a pout with a bottom lip almost hitting the floor. Dan couldn't get her dressed fast enough; and the next thing I knew, I was taking both kids to school on his work-from-home day.  Somehow, I enjoyed every minute of it.  I think it was the image of Cal proudly marching around with that backpack strapped to his back, his tell that he really is excited to be finally going to public school kindergarten.

The Leatherkids' Tunnels

It was a rough day with the Leatherkids today.  I spent the better half of the day on Cal's case to either stop hitting, kicking, pinching, poking, pushing, squeezing or spitting on his sister or to just listen to me and acknowledge me. The one time the poor kid actually was pleasant and listening to me, I was on his case because he wasn't riding  his bike fast enough and was being too safe as I tried to get a decent 3-mile run in with the kids.  (We made it two blocks before I changed my mind about running pushing Ella in the BOB while Cal rode his bike alongside me and turned us back toward home.)

And I'm sure Ella was her normal bossy and entitled self in between it all.  I don't remember exactly -- the days are all starting to blend together.

As I sat watching Cal take his last couple of bites of his pizza bread (our dinner, made by the kids) tonight, I realized I was just mentally exhausted due to my dealings with the Leatherkids.  Instead of reminding him once again to chew with his mouth closed, I decided to admit something to him... loudly... above the sounds of him chewing with his mouth open.

"Being a Mommy his SO HARD, Cal," I told him.

"Why?" he asked.

Hmm... how do I put this softly?  "Cal, I adore you and Ella, but you guys drive me bonkers.  What's the secret to getting through to you?" I asked him.

Cal's response to my question was classic... and very mature... and funny... and downright troubling.  With a devious smirk on his face he answered, "Only we know."

We could have left it at that, but my laughter just added fuel to his fire.  He proceeded to tell me that there's a tunnel inside him that he also put in Ella that only they can go into.  As soon as they're inside this tunnel, the doors close so Dan and I can't get in.  He even stood up and explained that the opening to the tunnel was as wide as from the bathroom door to the kitchen (for sure - a tunnel that big would not be inside you, Cal).

I stuck with him as he described this secret tunnel for a few minutes.  When he finally took a breath, I dug for some information that might actually be helpful to me, "So, when do you go into the tunnel, Cal?"

"During bad times," he said.

Just then Dan and Ella came back inside (they had been outside talking with the neighbors this whole time), so that's as far as I got.  I had hoped to hear something like, "when you yell at me" or "when you tell me no" or something constructive like that.

Eventually, we made our way upstairs where the Leatherkids ran from room to room ignoring my requests (demands?) that they get their jammies and undies and head to our bathroom to take a shower.  I eventually took their pre-bed book time away from them and took Ella's trip to the beach tomorrow away from her.  I think they both may be in their tunnels now, fast asleep, Cal physically in his bed and Ella on the landing of our stairs.

Ella and I Gave Running Together Another Shot

Ella either has a not-so-good memory or is a glutton for punishment.  Me, I’m just the latter.  Maybe it’s neither.  Maybe we are both glass-is-half-full thinkers, fully believing that this time things will be different.

When Ella asked if she could go for a run with me yesterday, I cringed.  Not that I knew how, but I had fully expected... hoped... to make it out of the house without her noticing that a) I was leaving without her and b) I was leaving in my running clothes without her.

“I’ll run when you tell me to,” she started to plead her case, her beautiful blue eyes peering directly into mine.  I had to let her come with me.

“Okay, Ella, but you’re not going to run at all.  You’re going to sit in the stroller while I run,” I set expectations.  She was referring to the time that, after having run my three miles with her pleading and whining to run alongside me the whole time, I got her out of the stroller to finish the ½-mile run back to our house… and she proceeded to stand still… and I started running… and she cried… and I ran a whole block while she stood still… and I ran back that same block and got her, strapped her into the stroller and ran the rest of the way home with her crying even louder the whole way.  Flames were coming out of my temples and unfortunately not my feet –- it was the longest half mile I’ve run since the finish of my first marathon.  But this isn’t about that.

“Okay, can I have a bar?” she asked, accepting my terms, to which I responded that she could.  This is our bit –- while I run, she eats a nutrition bar.  Not that I was thrilled about this –- she was surely going to pick one with chocolate chips, which I knew might be a messy problem in the heat.  But it would keep the peace, at least during the first part of our run.

We each filled a water bottle and headed out to the garage where the stroller -- the BOB -- was waiting for us in its folded-up state.  I’m sure it was wondering when it might be used next, if ever again.  If I had a nickel for every time I uttered the phrase “this is the last time I’m taking you running with me” to Ella within earshot of the BOB… I pulled the stroller out, gave the tires a squeeze and decided they could use some air.  As I filled them up, Ella waited patiently.  This was a good sign.  I’ve found that the longer the window between deciding to do something and actually doing it, the more likely the child is going to get antsy, cranky or belligerent.  She was none of those despite the delay.

Once the stroller was ready to go, I strapped Ella in, unwrapped her bar for her, did a couple of useless stretches and started running.

I have a couple of 3-mile routes near my house that I do pretty regularly, and this one involved the nearby prairie path -– one mile to get to the path, a mile on it and then a mile to get home from there with Ella talking every bit of the way.  During the first mile, we crossed paths with a couple out for a walk.  I did my courtesy wave.  We saw them again on the path at the end of mile 2, and they acknowledged us with, “Wow, you’re fast!”  I told them I didn’t feel fast and then laughed.  Afterall, their comment was coming off of Ella asking me, “Are we walking?” as I ran, pushing her, uphill on the gravel path a few minutes before.

Cal used to do that, too.  Are we walking?  My kids have zero appreciation for how difficult it is to run much less run while pushing an additional 40-50 pounds of a chatty kid trying repeatedly to drum up some dialogue with me and we can’t discount the weight of the stroller, either.

Needless to say, we finished our run without event -– no whining, no “I want to run,” no tears.  Our time was maybe a minute longer than it is when I run alone.  Not bad.  And we were both genuinely content.

As soon as we finished, I leaned over to give Ella “knucks” and thank her for running with me.  I unstrapped her from the stroller and helped her out, offering her my sweaty hand to help and dripping sweat from my forehead and arm onto her as I did so.  Ella recognized this and asked me if I was sweaty.  She’s a perceptive one, she is.

I was hunched over with my hands on my knees and breathing heavy as she asked me this.  “I AM sweaty,” I told her.

She proceeded to bend over with her hands on her knees and breathe heavy herself.  She then looked up and saw our neighbors outside and decided to announce to them, “I’m sweaty.  I just went for a run, and I’m sweaty.”

In the end, it was a really pleasant, albeit physically tough, run with Ella.  I'll take that any day over the reverse, if that's even a possible combination.  I guess sometimes being gluttons for punishment (or glass-is-half-full thinkers despite experience telling us otherwise) occasionally sets the stage for some happy surprises.

Mommy Gets a Geography Lesson from Cal

During this morning’s rush to get ready for work or school (depending upon which Leatherman was doing the getting ready) we managed to talk a little bit about, well, let’s just say India and mountains.  Cal started it off with, “Tibet <pronounced TI-bet> is in India.”

“It’s Tibet <pronounced ti-BET>,” Dan corrected Cal’s pronunciation.  “You’re right, it is.”

“Tibet.  It’s close to Nepal,” Cal continued.

“That’s right!  Nepal is where the biggest mountain in the world is,” Dan added.  News to me.

Cal knew this.  “Mt Everest,” he said.  I don’t even think I really knew that.  Dan confirmed that Cal had it right.

Then Cal added, “It’s not the biggest mountain in the UNIVERSE, though.  MARS has the biggest mountain.  It’s THREE TIMES the size of Mt. Everest.”

Goodness.  I don’t know if his facts are correct.  We’ve been doing a lot of reading of this “Planets” book, so I’m sure it’s in there.  When we read, facts just stick in Cal’s head (while they just bounce off of the eighty-seven other things I’m subconsciously thinking about as I read and either exit or find their place in an unreachable place in my brain).  I know Mars isn’t one of the gas planets, so he could very well be right.

Cal then brought waterfalls into the picture.  “The tallest waterfall is bigger than the tallest mountain,” he said.

Huh?  Dan quickly challenged this with, “What do you think a waterfall falls off of, Cal?”

Cal responded matter of factly, “A cliff.”

Dan confirmed that with a simple, “That’s right.”  He didn’t explain that the cliff is probably on a mountain and just left it for Cal to figure out… or not figure out.  Cal had already moved on and announced that India is close to China.

“Yep,” I said.  I didn’t know its exact proximity to China, but that sounded reasonable.

“Come to my room so I can show you on my globe, Mommy,” Cal insisted.  Sweet - he's using his globe!

I initially resisted in the interest of finishing getting myself ready for work as I was already running late.  Typical.  I found myself headed to Cal's room anyway because, well, my kid wanted to show me something interesting.  Cal was already there and had already turned his globe so that the India-Nepal-China side was facing us.  "See," he said, pointing to the three countries, which he could do with one finger because he was right -- India is close to China with only Nepal in between.  It was at this time that I noticed Nepal is a country and not a city in India.  I had a flashback to my days in college where I carried my sister through the Geography class we took together, and I questioned how that was.  Nepal is a country?

"You were right, Cal!" I exclaimed, completely sincere.  I had learned a little geography from my 5-year-old kid, which I'm sure won't be the last time.

The Leatherfamily Tells Knock-Knock Jokes

At dinner tonight, Cal decided to tell a knock-knock joke.  It would be a good ending to a no-so-good dinner -- there was just something funky about the black-eyed peas in this new salad I had been wanting to try out on the Leatherfamily for a few weeks now.  Maybe it's because I've had the black-eyed peas for nearly that same time period.

"Knock knock," Cal said, looking at Dan.

Naturally, Dan responded, "Who's there?"

"Wha'd'ya want?!" Cal responded and then flashed a big, proud smile.  We all laughed.

Dan then announced that he had one.  "Knock knock," he started.

Cooperating the way one is supposed to didn't come as naturally to Cal, who said nothing and just looked at Dan.  Dan coached him a bit and tried again.  "Knock knock," he said.

"Who's there?" Cal asked.

"Banana."

"Banana who?"

"Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"Banana."

"Banana who?"

And we all know how this one goes.  Eventually, after one or two more "bananas" than I would have done, Dan introduced "Orange" into the mix.

"Orange who?" Cal got suckered in.

"OR-ANGE you glad I didn't say 'Banana'?" Dan responded.  We laughed one of those forced "Bwahaha" laughs, but the kids didn't really "get" it.  Dan explained it to Cal a little, and he may or may not have understood.

Then Ella announced that she had one.  "Knock knock," she started it, grinning from ear to ear.

"Who's there?" Dan asked her.

"ME!" Ella responded proudly.  Now this was funny (even though it really wasn't), so we laughed about this one.

My arsenal of knock-knock jokes was depleted once the "Banana-Orange" one was used.  I remember there being an endless supply of knock-knock jokes, and I can only remember one of them.  Thankfully, there's the internet... and, well, "Big Bang Theory."

Later, I turned to TBS to get my daily dose of "Big Bang Theory."  I was also doing some lite work, so I was really only half paying attention to the show.  That was, until I heard this from Sheldon, "Knock knock."

The guys responded reluctantly, "Who's there?"

"Hugh."

"Hugh who?"

"HUGH should have listened to me..."

How fitting that that episode played on the day we did our own share of knock-knock jokes.  Too bad I didn't hear it before dinner so I could have used it with Dan and the kids!

Nighttime Ella Strikes Again

I believe the only thing I actually did right in the middle of last night was to get out of bed to help Ella the fifth time I heard the words, “Mommy, I’m wet.”  Coming off of keeping myself calm, cool and collected as Ella loudly challenged my taking her Mickey bed away because she didn’t actually stay in it at bedtime, I was still feeling pretty good about myself.  I was particularly pleased with my choosing to take the time to hold her and talk her into a calm instead of leaving her upset and having to figure out how to calm herself down and go to bed on her own, which really only ends with her giving in out of sheer exhaustion.

With that success fresh in my mind, one would think that I would have handled what she was about to throw at me in the middle of the night much better than I did.  Even half as good as I did actually may have salvaged some shut eye for Cal and Dan… or at least Cal since I think he’s completely innocent in the madness, not that Dan did anything wrong other than not be specifically named in the “I’m wet” declaration. Why do I have to be the chosen one?  Why isn’t it, “Daddy, I’m wet”?  Why doesn’t he tell me he’ll take it even though I’m the one being called?  But I digress.

I approached her, standing in the hallway between our rooms, sympathetically and immediately offered my help.  I must have missed the horns sticking out of her head and pitchfork in her hand.  I innocently guided her to the bathroom where I sat on the toilet to pee first and then calmly told her I’d help her get out of her jammies and proceeded to do so starting with the top.  That’s when it started, “it” being the madness I am nicely calling “Nighttime Ella.”

“NOOOOO!!!  I’m cold!” she yelled at me.

What?!  I hadn’t expected this reaction and tried to reason with her.

“Ella, I just need to get you out of your wet jammies, wipe you down and put new jammies on,” I told her, fully expecting she’d understand.  It’s part of the drill.  When I’ve had to do this for Cal, we are automatic – he follows my lead: I pull everything off, wipe everything down and put everything on and then send him to my bed to warm up while I change his bedding.  No complaints and done in a couple of minutes.

Everything that I did from that point forward was unacceptable to Ella, and she let me know it.  As I pulled her bottoms off, she screamed again that she was cold.  As I wiped her, she let her body go limp and screamed more.  She battled me on the way to her bedroom – I don’t know where she thought we should go.  I picked a princess nightgown to throw on her and she screamed, “not that one!”  I tried to help her put the jammies she picked on, and she told me loudly that she didn’t want my help.  When I left her to do it herself while I grabbed a sheet from the hallway closet, she yelled at me for leaving and not helping.  I pulled the bedding off of her mattress and wiped it down, and she disapproved of that.  The replacement blankets weren’t the ones she wanted.  When I finally had her in her bed, I didn’t put the blankets on right. “I don’t want my babies.  I do want my babies.  I want Sheep.  I don’t want Sheep.”  And when I tried leaving the room, wet bedding in my arms, without waiting for an “I love you” followed by blown kisses from her, she yelled at me that she wanted to tell me that.

No kidding.  It was brutal.  And it wasn’t just Ella yelling this whole time.  Sure, I started calm with a loud whisper, “SSHHH… you’re going to wake up Cal and Daddy.”  But with every yell and uncooperative struggle she presented me, I got louder myself, dropping swear words and spewing genuinely angry words as I did so.  Together, we did wake up Cal and Daddy and quite possibly the neighbors on either side of our house.

Finally free from Ella and wide awake, I checked on Cal to make sure he was okay, and I think I apologized to him and told him to try to go back to sleep.  I gathered up his dirty clothes and grabbed some of mine and Dan’s (I am nothing if not practical) and went downstairs to start a load of laundry and, really, to calm down.  I was so angry… so frustrated… so sad.

Once again, I failed to keep my cool and felt no better about myself having yelled back at her.  I’m not a yeller.  I hate that I yell.  The fact that I’m human just doesn’t seem like a good enough reason to do so.

I eventually made my way back upstairs.  Dan did have to get up and deal with Nighttime Ella after I left her, and she had calmed down by the time I was back upstairs.  Cal was still wide awake.  I climbed into his bed with him where we cuddled a bit and listened to a few rounds of the Frozen soundtrack (he starts it over after the trolls’ song) until he finally fell asleep.  I went back to mine and Dan’s room where Dan was still awake and flipping through channels on the TV.  Eventually, we too fell asleep, I don’t really even know at what time.

I love Ella.  Of course I do.  She's a lot of fun and cute as the proverbial button.  I just wish she'd put Nighttime Ella to bed once and for all because I can't figure out how to do it for even one night.

Nicky's Beef

I could have avoided it altogether.  I’m certain of it.  Had I “listened to my <Ella’s> words” and moved from my current seat in the booth next to Cal to the empty one waiting for Dan to fill it next to Ella, Ella would have been perfectly content and well on her way to her normal, mostly tolerable antics while dining publicly.  The wildcard was Cal, but he would have surely handled my move away from him better than Ella did.  He may have pouted or shouted ONCE, “No!” or loudly whined, “WHYEEE?” or informed either me or Ella (or both of us) that he no longer liked us.  As far as keeping the peace was concerned, I knew my best move would have been to comply with the princess’s wishes and sit down next to her for our post-beach Sunday dinner at Nicky’s.  But I chose to stay next to Cal.

Why I chose this battle to fight, I’m not sure.  More often than I like to admit, I give in to Ella’s demands with the only rationale being to avoid the certain fight or meltdown that would ensue should I not.  Sometimes, I’m just choosing to not engage myself in a battle because it’s just not worth fighting it, as in:

Me: “It’s camp shirt day, Ella.  School wants you to wear your camp shirt on camp shirt day.  Please wear your camp shirt.”

Ella <sharply>: “No!  I want to wear a dress!”

Me: “Okay”… be the only kid NOT wearing her camp shirt.

Other times, there’s just not enough time to battle, as in:

Me <rushed>: “Please put some socks on with your running shoes, Ella.”

Ella: “No!  I don’t like socks!”

Me <looking at my watch and realizing any further delay will make us late>: “Fine, I hope you get blisters. Please put your shoes on.”

And then Ella happily puts on her running shoes without socks and, unfortunately, doesn’t get blisters.

And sometimes… let’s be honest… right or wrong… bad-precedent-setting or not… sometimes I’m just not in the mood.  Apparently yesterday, I was in the mood.

I don’t think it’s the way she insisted I sit by her, though I suppose the mere fact that she insisted I do so is a little troubling.  But she wasn’t necessarily bossy, mean or smirky about it, just pleasantly presumptuous.  And it’s not even that I just really, really, really wanted to sit next to Cal.  Sure, I think he gets cheated out of Mommy time (and I out of Cal time) more often than I’d like; but I really didn’t choose to sit next to him – we just fell into the seating arrangement.

I think it was just time.  Ella and I have had some tough exchanges at bedtime lately, the kind that involve my telling her “I don’t even LIKE to put you to bed anymore” very matter-of-factly and honestly, a completely ineffective tactic lost on Ella and not even something that makes me feel good.  Last Thursday’s debacle of a bedtime was still fresh in my memory where Ella and I reached unprecedented levels of not doing what the other wanted, Ella mouthy, not staying in bed and crying and me yelling despite my vow not to, taking things away from her with every infraction and feeling more frustrated than ever, unsure of the right thing to do and certain everything that I was doing was the wrong thing.

When she first started making a big deal about my sitting next to her at Nicky’s, I tried to deflect a bit and get her to be interested in the seating pattern that we had unknowingly established.  “Look, Ella, look at the pattern!”  I told her excitedly.  Pointing to Cal first and circling clockwise, I said “Boy, Girl, Boy, Girl!  That’s a cool pattern – we can’t switch seats!”  As cool as I thought I had made it sound (I was reaching), Ella wasn’t biting.  With my body still diagonal from hers at the table, she got more upset, insisting I sit next to her.  The more upset and bossy she got, the more I dug in – at this point, I wasn’t going to move, whatever the cost.  And I told her this.

She then escalated her dissatisfaction with me by yelling at me, yelling at Cal, declaring she hated Daddy (what did he do?) and me and, I think, Cal.  "WHY aren't you LISTENING to my WORDS?!" she shouted.  She even got up to put her purse at a different table and marched back to her spot diagonal from me. I’m not sure what purpose moving the purse served but I’m sure she thought this was another way to express her frustration that I wasn’t complying with her demands.

At this point, we were really loud in a fairly packed restaurant.  I glanced around, and, to my surprise, only one other table showed any visible interest in what was going on at our table, the one man smiling, almost laughing and the other subtly glancing at us, well, because you can’t help but look at the train wreck.  Dan, still at the counter waiting for our food, finally peeked back at our table and mouthed, “I’ll get it to go. Take them to the car.”

This was the right move.  Ella was just short of throwing herself on the ground, screaming and flailing her arms and legs up and down, but I gave her one last chance.  I always feel like I need to give the official warning that an undesirable consequence of the kids' misbehaviors is about to happen unless the misbehaviors stop, as if it's warranted or even effective.  I told Ella that I wasn't moving and if she didn't stop yelling by the time I count to three we would leave and eat dinner at home.  Without hesitation and before I even said, "1," she continued her rant; so off we headed to the car where I proceeded to apologize to Cal about having to leave and explained to Ella that, in so many words, she's the reason we had to leave.  When Dan finally made it to the car, he had his own things to say, essentially reinforcing what I had already said (but blaming Cal for some of it, which may have been justified -- I was so locked in on Ella, Cal could have been loud and swinging from the ceiling fans and I wouldn't have noticed).

I could have given in at any moment in those 10 or so minutes inside Nicky's and gotten Ella to quiet down and just be happy by simply sitting next to her instead of Cal.  Dan would have brought our sandwiches and fries to us for us to "enjoy" the usual dinner out at a restaurant, the kids needing constant reminders to sit in their seats and eat, Dan questioning our decision to eat out and me already worrying about Ella's bedtime.

I could have given in, but I didn't.  Hopefully, we'll all be better off for it.