A Week in the Life - Day 2

We had two potty accidents in the middle of the night last night.  I say "we" because it affects all of us, some of us less than others.  Somehow, I'm the chosen one to deal with them as Dan's sleep just gets interrupted.

"Mommy, I'm wet," said the little voice at the side of my bed.  I don't know how long she was standing there before I heard her.  My eyes found the clock.  1:58am.  I did the calculation -- I had only been asleep for an hour and a half.

I felt her.  She wasn't wet.  I thought maybe there's a chance she caught herself peeing and made it to the bathroom with only some slightly wet undies.  "Did you change?" I asked her.  She nodded.  Bless her heart.  Ella has very vew accidents in the middle of the night and always does what she can to clean up before waking me for help.

We made our way to her room where I felt her bed.  It was soaking wet.  Bummer.  So I stripped her bed, wiped it up and put new bedding on it as she quietly watched me, eager to climb back in and get back to sleep.  Blue Blankie was wet, and she took the news that she'd have to sleep with Pink Blankie instead pretty well.

Bed made, she climbed back in and almost went right back to sleep.  She didn't like the bigger "rainbow blanket" I had put over her, so I yanked it off and threw (yes, threw) another pink baby blanket on top of her.  It barely covered her toddler body.

I took her bedding downstairs to the laundry room, threw it in the washing maching and started it up.  I headed back upstairs where I saw Cal's light still on.  I went in to turn it off when I noticed a circle of pee under his buns (yes, we call butts "buns").  The debate in my head about whether or not to wake him to get this cleaned up didn't last long; so I woke him and told him he needed to change while I changed his bed.  He complied without a struggle.  Bless his heart.  This went pretty quickly, and a couple of minutes later, I was heading down with more bedding to throw in with that which was already being washed.

I didn't wake up with my alarm a few hours later, but I did wake up with just enough time to get my workout in before having to get ready for work.  Really, it wasn't enough time; but the thought of saving the workout for later just didn't thrill me.

Cal came down the stairs, fully dressed and ready for school shortly after I had made my way back up to the kitchen.  Good sign.  Dan followed shortly after and told me that he had hopes of catching the earlier train, leaving me 17 minutes to shower and get ready for work.  I honestly thought I could do it. I'd blame it on Ella asking me to quickly braid her hair (a "pony braid"), but I've gotten pretty good at that and can whip that up in less than a minute.  Needless to say, we probably missed our early train by 5 minutes, really, because I just couldn't get myself up with the first blast of the alarm.  The Leatherkids were great, cooperating fully and complying with our declaration that "we needed an efficient drop-off, Leatherkids," a phrase used often as we barrel down the streets of our subdivision, after a harried departure and with less than a reasonable amount of time to complete the drop-off and catch the train.

Once 9:30am arrived, I found myself in back-to-back meetings at work until 4pm, necessitating that I multi-task during these meetings in order to be productive. I did manage to get some analysis done but need to use some time tonight to finish a few more things up before I start another meeting-filled day tomorrow.  And so it goes.

We picked the Leatherkids up from school at around 6pm. I was on the receiving end of a good report from Ella's teacher.  This seems to be happening on a daily basis now, a complete 180 from a month or two ago when it seemed that every day involved a "Carla, I need to talk to you about Ella," followed by something that Ella had done which was not so terrible but not so good, either.  Moving Ella up to pre-school a few months early is

Ella drew this today!

proving to be exactly what she needed.  She's more involved in classroom activities.  She's applying what she's learning at school at home.  She's interested in letters and cooperating at "mental "exercises, whereas before being in pre-school, she just didn't seem to care.  I told her current teacher that I feel like she's exploding into so many new abilities.  "She's drawing pictures of people... and a cat... and writing words."  I am genuinely excited about this. Her teacher then showed me Ella's list of four words, written by Ella, that describe herself:

"Sharing"

"Cycler"

"Movie"

"Pretty"

And at the the bottom of the paper was Ella's name, written by her in mixed case and with her signature lowercase "a" at the tail.  It's a circle with a hook coming out of it.  And just by the way, she nailed it.  Those words do describe her!  She's a great sharer, loves to ride bikes (whether attached to mine or on her own), enjoys watching movies and is super pretty.

Once home, the kids and Dan went outside to shoot some hoops (again!) while I fixed dinner.  This was the first of the meals on this week-of-meals plan that I had found and for which I had bought groceries yesterday; and it didn't go so well.  First, I chose to make the Thursday meal first, which, it turns out you're supposed to do the meals in order -- my tomatoes were supposed to have been roasted during the making of meal one and saved for meal five.  Second, both my food processor and blender leaked homemade tomato soup as I tried to puree it.  It was messy and took longer than it should have; and we were finally eating our tomato soup and toasted baguettes with cheddar cheese and proscuitto at 7pm.

The kids actually ate the soup and had half of the last donut each for dessert before heading upstairs for showers, books and bedtime.  We're still doing the routine recommended by our pediatrician to help make Ella's bedtimes better.  The routine is working.  So we read to Ella first (we each read one book to her), said our goodnights and headed over to Cal's room where I read one book to him.  I can count on one hand (maybe two fingers) how many times he questioned Ella's getting two books while he only gets one since we started this.  Someday, I'll thank him for that.

Despite its messy start, today ended up being a pretty good day.

A Week In the Life - Day 1

So I thought I'd try a "week-in-the-life" bit this week.  I think it might be foolish.  The primary reason I haven't been writing as much is because the time I might spend writing is spent working more (for work, not for home).  I just checked my calendar, and it's pretty awful through Wednesday.  So be it.  Perhaps I'll just make that part of my week in the life.  I just hope the secondary reason -- writer's block -- doesn't rear it's ugly head.

It's 10:47pm on Sunday, day one of A Week in the Life, and I'm just starting to write this. Great.  Once again, I'll be starting the week off low on sleep with a lot to get done.  I'm going to try to make this quick.

It was my turn to take Ella to her swimming lesson today, the usual first thing that we do on Sundays now.  The "before" and "during" part of that was fantastic. Watching my kid love what she's doing and act like she's just killing it gave me so much pleasure that it didn't seem possible that I'd leave that swimming facility without a smile on my face.  Oh, but I did.  I don't even remember what triggered it, but I took a verbal bashing from Ella in the changing room that left me sad and announcing I'd be grocery shopping today without my usual grocery shopping partner.

While we were gone, Dan and Cal shot hoops.  I love that I can say that now.  Just yesterday, we finally finished putting up our new basketball hoop in the driveway.  Dan worked pretty hard on this periodically throughout the week, calling me in to assist when two hands just weren't enough.  A lot of muscle, head scratching, problem solving and patience went into this.  A lot.

Once we were home, Dan and Cal made a trip to Dunkin Donuts for a dozen and returned pretty quickly.  Since it's Sunday, I ate mine guilt-free.  I decided last week it was time to do my diet-and-exercise program again, and Sunday is my free day to eat whatever I want.  So I do. 

I really don't enjoy shopping and just couldn't get myself to make a plan for dinners and the grocery list that supports it.  So I found a week-of-dinners plan in some "Parent and Child" magazine that Cal brought home from school and just bought what was needed for those.  The list was already made for me, so all I need to do now is follow those recipes.  They seemed reasonable at a glance   And they must be healthy -- the check-out lady at Trader Joe's commented about how healthy my purchase was.  "Right?!" I responded, genuinely excited about it, still not sure exactly what I'd be making.  Later, I saw that I'd be making tomato soup with those 8 roma tomatoes -- oops.

Once I was home, I brought in the groceries and put them away alone while Dan and Ella enjoyed some time at the hoop while Cal hit me up to use the computer.  I told him to get outside instead.  It was too nice not to be outside.

I eventually joined in the hoop shooting, and Dan eventually made his way inside.  Jordan Speith was still in the lead at the Masters, something he had started on Thursday with round 1.  He wanted to see it.

Eventually, Ella declared that she wanted to ride in "this," pointing to the Burley bike seat that we're borrowing from my friend, Jen.  This was exactly what I wanted to hear.  I love riding my bike, and I love riding my bike with my kid(s) in tow.

"Do you want Cal to go, too?" I asked her.  She did and somehow managed to get Cal to want to ride in this thing, too.  (He was still on his computer kick but said he wanted to go.)

So we filled up the tires in my bike and the Burley, assembled it and hooked it up to my bike.  The kids hopped in, and we proceeded to head to the prairie path near our home.

Crammed in the Burley

So, together, they weigh about 100 pounds.  I think that's pushing the limits of this Burley. That and Cal's height -- his head was rubbing on the flap hanging over it.  We may very well have set a record for oldest/biggest kid in a Burley.  Most kids his age are probably more likely to ride their own bikes.

I think I enjoyed the ride.  I was outside, on my bike, spending quality time with my kids.  The "think" part of that is important only because I spent the first 3/4 of the ride listening to them point out all of the dog poop we were either riding over or around.  I corrected them once when we rode around some horse poop, and I asked them a few times why they don't look for birds or dogs or COYOTES.  It was risky that I said that there are coyotes on the path -- I fully expected Cal to overreact and be incredibly scared that we'd actually encounter one.  I don't even think that Ella knows what a coyote is.  But it went over okay, and they were unaffected, still pointing out all of the poop on the path.

There were a lot of potty words and some spitting (I didn't mention that yet) exchanged during our ride; but this ride reinforced the fact that the Leatherkids are friends. Crammed in that Burley, they didn't complain once, laughed a lot and were really just little assholes together.  I'll take that... mostly.

Less than an hour later, we were home; and they were shooting hoops again.  I wished I could have simply watched, but I needed to get involved to do some rule-setting -- they needed to share that... I can hardly stand that we actually have this ball because I really can't stand Calipari, Kentucky and what they're doing to college basketball... mini Kentucky basketball that Ella's former teacher gave to Cal when she heard he... I can hardly stand saying this... told her that Kentucky is his favorite team... bleh.  I've spent many a time at a basketball hoop shooting and passing balls that I'm rebounding -- I don't remember anyone telling me to share them, but I needed to today. A lot.

Jordan Speith did eventually win the Masters. Tied with Tiger for the lowest 4-day score in Masters history.  We all watched his finish, Dan watching intently, Cal and Ella asking questions as he finished.

I eventually fixed dinner while Cal and Dan got some more hoops time in.  Did I say I love that we have that hoop now?  Ella played a bit with them but came back in and set the table for me.  We actually had a pleasant dinner together where the Leatherkids ate all of their food without obnoxiously spewing potty words despite our pleas that they stop, their latest thing to nip in the bud.

We took showers and then lay down as a family on mine and Dan's bed and watched the Yankees-Red Sox game.  (I love that it's baseball season!)  Ella, Cal and Dan fell asleep; and I eventually got up and moved the kids to their respective beds.  It was the perfect way to put them to bed -- no attitudes, no rules, no special requests.  They didn't even wake up.  I think that's a sign that it was a good day.

Dan transitioned his way to his side of the bed, and I made my way downstairs to get some stuff done.  I needed to do some work and to prepare for the week.  It's now 11:42pm.  I think I'll call this one quits for today.

The Park

I'm not going to lie -- I rarely sincerely enjoy our trips to the park. It probably doesn't help that I have a running mental checklist of things yet to get done which naturally adds time constraints to our trips which rarely... strike that... never actually get hit which then oftentimes... strike that... always eats away at my patience.  Actually, I know it doesn't help.  Without that mental checklist and the stress factors accompanying it, a trip to the park might simply be a nice time spent outdoors with some genuinely content and very active Leatherkids.

These were the to-be logistics of this afternoon's trip: walk to the park, play for 15 minutes, walk home.  I still had hopes of getting a run in, and Dan wanted to finish putting up the basketball hoop that we bought last week.  Honestly, so did I.

I got full agreement from the Leatherkids that they'd comply with these guidelines.  But of course I did.

The walk there went exactly as I had expected.  Early on, Cal was looking for a stick to use as his cane for the walk, and Ella couldn't make up her mind whether she wanted to ride in the wagon with her baby or just pull her baby in the wagon herself with no help from me.  She started in the wagon with me pulling (as Cal looked for his stick); and after 17 steps, she was clamoring to get out to walk and pull the wagon herself.

Cal never did find that walking stick and decided he wanted to ride.  Ella was just grabbing the handle of the wagon when Cal stepped in it; and as he was turning to situate himself on the back seat, she pulled.  And he fell out the back, not entirely, just enough to scrape his hands, which, apparently was extremely painful because he exploded into tears.  Ella felt terrible and apologized profusely, shedding some tears herself. I brushed off his hands, where I saw no blood and the smallest of scrapes.  It really could have been worse.

They both got over it pretty quickly, and Ella proceeded to pull the wagon with Cal in it.  He's 50+ pounds now, so this wasn't easy for her (heck, it's not easy for me).  I watched her zig-zag her way down the sidewalk like a drunken sailor.  At what point does one step in and help?  For me, at least during the first couple of minutes, it was when she zagged her way into the grass.  Clearly, she wouldn't be able to get the wagon moving forward again should one of its wheels fall off the sidewalk and on the grass. I needed to push it out.  After a couple of minutes of this, with that mental checklist of things yet to do still going strong, I could barely deal with even the zigs on the sidewalk.  And then I thought to myself, "who's the parent here?  Make up some rules.  Get some control of this." And I made a move to grab the handle.

This was risky -- ordinarily, this might result in a total meltdown.  Not let Ella pull the wagon with Cal in it all the way to the park when she wants to despite the fact that she really can't? How could I even suggest this?

The risk paid off -- without any resistence, Ella hopped into the wagon with Cal, and I pulled them the rest of the way to the park... all 100-ish pounds of them in that plastic wagon.

There were a lot of kids already at the park, which Cal made it a point to announce as we got there. Earlier, I had tried repeatedly to use the excuse that it would be too wet there, that we'd go to the park tomorrow.  It actually had rained a lot recently... two days ago. Surely it still had to be wet.  They didn't buy it. Anyway, once we were there, I reminded them they have 15 minutes and that I'd be timing it.  Yeah, right.  I mean, I was timing it, but... you'll see...

For the most part, the kids are pretty independent at the park, only occasionally needing my help or attention.  Ella needed help with the monkey bars (she can't do them at all), sliding down the fireman's pole (she's just a little too short to reach out to it on her own) and swinging (we are so close to not having to push her).  And Cal only needed help with the... I don't know what it is... handle from which one hangs and slides down a long track from side to side. So every once in awhile I had to cater to their needs; otherwise, I was planted on a bench facing away from the sun, a perfect spot to watch Cal do the monkey bars on his own, which I do truly enjoy.  I especially enjoyed watching him try to one-up the slightly older girls who were also doing the monkey bars.  I don't know if he realized it, but he lost the battle.  Afterall, they could skip bars.

At one point, a couple of other kids hopped into our wagon, the thrilling ride that it is.  Each of the Leatherkids had different reactions -- I watched Ella hand her doll and our frisbee to one of the kids in the wagon before walking away and then Cal taking that same doll and frisbee from the kid and proceeding to push the wagon backwards, I'm hoping not attempting to spill the kids from the wagon.  And then I tried to reason in my head why it is that Ella's so much of a better sharer than Cal is, not unlike how my sister, Erin, and I were (I was not a good sharer).  I concluded that, as the second child, nothing is ever just hers -- she either inherits stuff from Cal or has always had a second person around to use her stuff.

Anyway, as expected, 15 minutes (actually, 15:33 by my timer -- I have my own quirks) became 31 despite my weak attempts at adhering to it.  Oh, I gave a 2-minute warning at 13-ish minutes, which was ignored.  When I announced it was time to go, Ella insisted they have more time.

"Okay, 2 more minutes," I said.

"4 minutes," she came back with.

"Okay, 4 minutes," I agreed, as if she even has any concept of what 4 minutes is.

Disapponted that I had agreed so quickly, she tried, "6 minutes."

"4 minutes," I insisted.  And that was the end of that.

16 minutes later, I announced again it was time to leave and chased them down this time.  I meant it.  This could have gone much worse than it did, and we were at the wagon fairly quickly.  Maybe a half hour is the right amount of park time.

Cal quickly got situated on his seat in the wagon, and Ella insisted she pull him again. Goodness.  My mental checklist was flashing red at this point, as was my patience.  But I let her try.  It didn't take long for her to want to just ride herself; so I pulled them most of the way home from the park, my preference over either one of them doing so for sure, but... they're heavy.  And I was tired.  And I had things to do.

Looking back, I'm glad we went.  It was too nice a day not to be outside and active, and the Leatherkids owned that park.  They really do love it.  And maybe I enjoyed it more than I can even recognize due to it not being on that mental checklist (which happens to have a couple more things checked off of it now).

The Breaststroke

I watched my kid struggle tonight... struggle and battle through it.  I'm not really used to it -- he typically either quits when he quickly realizes he can't do it (or can't do it perfectly) or just doesn't struggle at all.

Tonight, though... tonight was a different story.  It was Cal's first time in the "level 6" swimming class.  He had earned his last patch for "level 5" a little over a week ago, making him a "swimmer for life."  Level 6, the "competitive strokes" level, is a whole new ballgame; and we learned that tonight.

He started off great.  He and the other kid in the class did the backstroke across the length of the pool several times.  He looked good.  He was strong.  Up and down the lane a few times.  This was the first five (maybe more, but not more than ten) minutes of the half-hour class.

Next, the instructor gave the kids a quick explanation and demonstration of the breaststroke and had them try it.  Holy cats -- it wasn't the lazy version of the breaststroke I've been doing for years.  This was Cal's first exposure to the breaststroke, the only swimming stroke he hadn't learned yet.

Initially, Cal's legs naturally fell into a dolphin kick as he tried to figure out the motion of the arms which looked like half breaststroke, half butterfly.  He moved forward slowly and awkwardly.

After a few attempts at trying the stroke in its entirety (legs and arms), the instructor started working with Cal's legs.  He'd stand behind him, hold Cal's ankles and get his legs moving the correct way as Cal attempted to get the motion of the arms right while occasionally dipping his head in the water out of synch with his arms.

The instructor would let go, and Cal couldn't propell himself forward.  Either his legs weren't moving in the right motion or they just weren't moving strong enough to do so.

The next thing I knew Cal was on his back with a swimming noodle wrapped around him, the instructor again holding and moving his legs in the right motion for the breaststroke.  He'd let go and, again, the propelling forward (or backward, in this case) would virtually stop.

Meanwhile, the other kid was practicing the same stroke on her own, passing Cal up as she did.  From what I could tell, she had the leg motion nailed and was working on coordinating it with the arms.  I wondered how long she had been in level 6.  She was so tall.  Easily 9 years old.

Soon, the noodle was replaced by a kickboard; and Cal was back on his stomach, still working on the motion of the legs and just not getting it.  As he worked, he made sure to dip his head in the water, just as he will when he does the full stroke.  The instructor worked his legs for him again.

With the instructor by his side, Cal went up and down the lane several times trying different learning tools, none more effective than the other in helping this kid learn the breaststroke kick.  Clearly, this was going to take time.

With the half hour almost up, Cal was being zig-zagged across and down the lane.  At first, I couldn't tell what the instructor was doing with him.  Then I noticed Cal's foot hitting the side of the pool and pushing him away from it, his one leg moving in the path that it should for the breaststroke.  Brilliant? I wondered.  Possibly.

I'm sure Cal made huge yet unnoticeable strides tonight.

He was so uncoordinated.

He struggled so much.

He was so unfazed by the challenges.

He battled through it and tried... and tried... and tried.

As difficult as it was to watch him struggle, I am so stinkin' proud of that kid for battling through it and emerging from the water unbeaten.  "It's the hardest stroke," he told me as we headed to the locker room to change.  And from there it was like every other time we left the facility these past couple of years.

Happy Birthday to Me

Yesterday was my birthday.  I've had enough of them that I don't really play it up and promote much hype, if any, about it.  Actually, I think it's always been that way -- I'm just not someone who likes a lot of attention.  I have low expectations around the celebratory nature of the day... my day.  A simple "happy birthday" from the ones I love is perfect; and if a couple of ones I love don't get around to it, that's cool, too.

To expect my Leatherkids to suspend the craziness that comes with their being kids on my birthday... in my presence... just for me would be ridiculous and setting myself for a letdown before 10am.  So I didn't. I did, however, use it being my birthday as a reason or justification for my seemingly irrational, unfair or harsh response to them many times throughout the day.

Instead of explaining my rationale and getting sucked in to a long whine session with my Leatherkids -- typical of my interaction with my kids when I'm telling them something they don't want to hear -- I delivered a short, "because it's my birthday."  I think I first used it as justification for not letting Cal watch an episode of Ninjago.

"WHYEEEEEE can't I watch an episode?!?!!!" he probed, completely aghast that I would deny him this entertainment that makes him happy.

"Because it's my birthday, and I want to watch NCIS," I responded.  I did.  Watching NCIS is a guilty pleasure of mine, and I was going to watch an episode or two of the marathon of NCIS episodes that day because it was my birthday. 

When Ella jumped on the bandwagon shortly thereafter seeking to watch an episode of "Sophia" (I'd rather watch Ninjago), I nipped it in the bud and insisted they leave me alone in my room "because it's my birthday."  And then they actually obliged my request and scurried out of the room, certain to return.

Cal drew this for me when I caved and said he could
watch a Ninjago episode if he drew me a picture for
my birthday.  He overachieved by drawing an
8-scene comic of the Bulls destroying Kentucky
followed by setting up for the Blackhawks game

I used it a little later on our way home from Cal's friend's birthday party.  The kids were acting up in the back seat of the car... I don't know, I think Ella was holding Cal's book that he wasn't interested in reading until she held it... Cal leaned toward Ella and started to reach for her, Ella started crying about the prospect of being squeezed, and I jumped in with, "C'mon.  Please stop it.  It's my birthday."  They stopped.

I tried to blog in the afternoon but failed miserably because the kids were yapping at me for one thing or another.  Cal wanted computer time.  Ella wanted to paint.  Neither wanted to get along with the other, and both couldn't help but complain about it.  And I just wanted to write.  Eventually, it came to my pleading, "can you just leave me alone? It's my birthday."  I don't remember if they did.

I even used it on Ella when, at the tail end of our 3-mile run outside, she announced that she'd take a shower with me when we got home "because I'm sweaty from running."  Not. She had been sitting in the jogging stroller the whole time eating her (nutrition) "bar."  I probably take more showers with someone than I do by myself. This really isn't my choice.  But my birthday shower was going to be of the solo type; so when Ella asked "why?" when I told her that "Mommy would be showering alone," I responded with, "because it's my birthday."

Ella and I took a selfie during our run

So despite my low-key take on my birthday, I did feel special on my day.  I made some of that specialness happen with my "because it's my birthday" responses. I did get some special attention from others in pockets througout the day, too.  I was delivered presents and breakfast in bed, the former opened in the presence of my excited gift givers and the latter eaten alone and in the quiet of my room (aside from the first episode of NCIS that I caught, of course).  It was sunny and relatively warm, making for a nice run with Ella.  My dad came over early to spend some time with me before Dan and I would be leaving for our bowling league while he stayed and watched the Leatherkids.  My friend (and bowling teammate), Pam, made a "Happy Birthday, Carla" sign and taped it to "my" chair at bowling.  This garnered a few "happy birthdays" from fellow league members.  After a couple of sub-average games, I managed to bowl a 187 my third game,  saving my series -- who wants to bowl a bad series on her birthday?  And then we went next door for some drinks, pizza, fun banter and some birthday ice cream slathered with whipped cream, which I promptly removed (I'd rather watch "Sophia" than eat whipped cream) and gave to the boys who were eating a slice of tiramisu.

My birthday sign (in Garfield font)

And then today I had a nice lunch with my mom at a restaurant in downtown that I've been looking to try for a couple of months now.  We shared a bottle of wine and a nice conversation.

Even the many "happy birthday" messages posted on my Facebook page played a role in making my day special.  

It was special.  Happy birthday to me and thanks to everyone who helped make it so.

The Naughty Leprechaun Strikes Again

The naughty leprechaun paid us a visit last night, the eve of St. Patrick's Day. Technically, it was St. Patrick's Day (the first hour of it) when he struck.  That the leprechaun was up that late and paying us a visit is a whole other topic for a blog post.

How do we know that he was in our house?  Well, other than the obvious, he made a huge mess in both of the kids' rooms. In Cal's he pulled most books off of the bookshelves and threw them all over the floor. I'm certain he didn't read any of them.  He threw Cal's dinosaurs on the floor, too, turned his big stuffed lion upside down, and tipped the chair at his desk on its side.

The leprechaun pulled stuffed animals that haven't been touched in awhile out of their home in Cal's closet and threw those on the floor, too.  And he pulled Cal's comforter half way off of his bed leaving Cal to keep warm beneath a sheet.  The leprechaun must know that Cal gets hot in the middle of the night and uncovers himself anyway -- the leprechaun's naughty, not mean.

The naughty leprechaun hit Ella's room in much the same manner, throwing books and infrequently used stuffed animals all over the floor of her bedroom.  He tipped over her garbage can and unfolded and turned upside down her foam "Mickey" chair-converted-to-bed after throwing the Mickey and Minnie pillows that had been sitting on it on, yes, the floor.

And then to top it off, the leprechaun peed his green pee in the toilet upstairs and down, (a nice touch not noticed by the kids until later this evening).

When he woke to the mess, Cal knew exactly who had done it and why.  The naughty leprechaun has visited us on past St. Patrick's Days, maybe the last 2 or 3 of them.  To be honest, it's Cal's fault that the leprechaun visited us at all last night.  All of his talk about wearing green, certainly not red, to bed that night because the leprechaun would be visiting him and the leprechaun doesn't like red -- I'm not sure, but it might make him mad? -- reminded the leprechaun that he should pay us a visit else make for one disappointed kid.  The leprechaun didn't remember in 2015 that he should visit on the eve of St. Patrick's Day.

Once he was reminded that he should pay the Leatherkids a visit, the leprechaun felt very lucky that Cal's many Lego sets had been taken away from for having made too many "sad choices" a couple of weekends before. The leprechaun would surely have been torn as to what to do with those Legos when making the mess.  Had they not been strewn all over the floor, it just wouldn't have been as convincing of a leprechaun-sized mess; had they been... well... Mommy would be picking up Legos for a month, maybe more.

Ella wasn't sure what had happened.  "Mommy, there's a mess in my room!" she declared from her room as I got ready for work this morning.  "Mommy, there's a mess in my room!" she repeated. She then made her way to our room where she stated it again.  "There's a mess in my room."  She was concerned.

"There is?" I asked, innocently.  "Hmm... I wonder if the naughty leprechaun visited your room and made a mess last night."

With just the suggestion, Ella proceeded to rattle off a bunch of statements of fact about this leprechaun about whom she really didn't know (or remember) a thing.  She does this, talk about stuff as if she's the voice of authority and experience.  There was no longer any concern in her tone, just a matter-of-factness that the leprechaun had visited her, that he made a big mess and that he's naughty and, "Mommy, will you help me?"  She needed help cleaning up the mess the leprechaun had made.

And this is rub -- the whole time the leprechaun was making the mess in the kids' rooms, he thought about the effort that would be needed to clean it up.  I... I mean, the leprechaun, does enough picking up after the kids that it's just counterintuitive that he'd purposely make a mess entirely on his own knowing full well that it would eventually have to be picked up by him... I mean, me.

I guess it's a small price to pay for the simple and terribly cheap joy it brings the kids.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!!!

Ella Lets Me Choose... Sort Of

It's been awhile since my last post, and I feel compelled to explain why.  Nothing bad. Just a little overwhelmed, I guess.  I hope to write about it soon.  In the meantime, a little story from this morning to get this thing going again...

This morning, I sat with Ella, dressed in her Rapunzel dress, at the kitchen table as she drew a couple of pictures with her crayons for me. One had a pink butterfly and a purple sidewalk (yes, she said it was a sidewalk... it did look like one... I just don't really know many people who draw sidewalks).  The other had a band of pink colored vertically on one side of the paper.  It wasn't a sidewalk.  I'm not sure what it was, but it really doesn't matter.

She was talking constantly as she drew.  Ella talks a lot.  A LOT.  Incessantly from the moment she wakes up until the moment she goes to sleep.  About anything and everything and oftentimes looking for feedback from me or whomever she's talking to.  Only Zoe, our cat, gets off the hook for having to respond to Ella's comments and questions.

Anyway, Ella had just finished writing her name in blue, green and pink block letters (the L and A were both pink, and the A eventually became a pink circle) when she declared that she would write my name on the picture, too. Afterall, it was for me.

"What color do you want, Mommy?"  She always includes my name in her comments and questions, even when we're the only ones in the room and I'm the only person to whom she could possibly be talking.

"You pick," I told her.

"You pick, Mommy," she came threw back at me.

"Okay, blue."  Not only is blue my favorite color, it's not pink.  Ella's world is pink (with hints of purple).  I think it's time we mix this up a bit.

"How 'bout pink?"  Without skipping a beat, she then picked up a soft pink crayon and proceeded write the letters "M O M M" right under her name.

"That's right!  And what's the next letter?"

She wasn't sure but air drew the letter Y, starting with the vertical line and two angled lines at the top, one shooting off to the right, the other to the left.

"That's right!" I told her.  "Y.  Y is the next letter."

And then she wrote it -- a big fat PINK "Y" -- right after the last "M."  So there it was.  My name in soft pink letters. Not even one blue letter.  Not my choice, but it was sweet nonetheless.

Pink M O M M Y