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?"

Cal's Choice

Given his druthers, Cal would wear long sleeves and long pants every day of the week.  During the early days of what has to have been the hottest, driest summer ever, I established that he would not be wearing long sleeves and long pants in the heat by hiding all of his long sleeves and long pants in his closet, leaving only short sleeves and short pants for him to “choose” to wear.  This transition actually went pretty well, and there was little to no whining about this throughout most of the summer.  Mid-August, the heat broke; and we actually had some “cool” days, cool enough that long pants would actually be comfortable.  So we broke out a pair for him to wear one day – it was a treat for him and appropriate for the temperature.

Big mistake.  Summer heat was NOT over, and Cal had it in his head that he could wear long pants every day.  He found where his pants were “hidden” (on a shelf in his closet), and went to the stack every morning for a week or two after to pull out his long pants to wear for the day.  The summer heat returned, and getting him back into shorts was next to impossible without a battle, one that we decided was not worth fighting.  So he continued to wear his long pants in the 90+ degree heat.  I don’t understand it; and clearly, neither does he.

Earlier this week, Cal and I went through a bin of my sister's boys' clothes that she's letting us use (huge!), and we stumbled on a long-sleeve camouflage shirt.  Cal loved it.  Long sleeves and cowboy-like (yes, he associates camouflage with cowboys) is a winning combination to him. He put it on immediately and then wanted to throw on a pair of jeans. It was 90+ degrees outside.

So as not to squash his expression of individuality and still keep him from overheating, I decided I'd compromise with him and came up with this rule on the spot:  Long sleeves and short pants or short sleeves and long pants (or short sleeves and short pants, which he'd never choose) -- his choice. This must've had a rhythm to it because it caught on immediately with Cal.  That day, he chose long sleeves and short pants.  All days since he's chosen short sleeves and long pants, repeating the rule before he chooses it.

So back to the OK to Wake Owl (see 8/30 post).  Having nearly admitting defeat earlier in the day yesterday, I was hit by a stroke of brilliance as I put Cal to bed last night.  We exchanged good-night kisses, I told him I’m proud of him, we talked about what he’d dream about (the White School Bus, of course), and I told him to get lots of sleep because he’ll need it since he’s going to change the world.  Then it came time for some new stuff:

Me: “Okay, Cal, and there’s NO going into Ella’s room and waking her up in the morning.”

Cal: “I can wear long sleeves and short pants or short sleeves and long pants if I want to.”

Me: <ugh… in one ear, out the other> “Yes, Cal, you can.” <LIGHT BULB!> “Okay, here’s the deal, though: If you stay in bed until Mr. Owl turns green, you can choose what to wear; but if you don’t stay in bed until Mr. Owl turns green, then Mommy gets to choose what you’ll wear… and I’m telling you now that I’m going to choose short sleeves and short pants. Do you understand?”

Cal <smiling>: “Yes.”

Me: <say it another way to drive it home> “So that means that if you stay in bed until Mr. Owl’s face turns green, you can choose long sleeves and short pants or short sleeves and long pants or even short sleeves and short pants – it’ll be your choice.  But if you don’t stay in bed until Mr. Owl’s face turns green, I get to choose what you wear, and I’ll choose short sleeves and short pants because it’s hot out.”

Cal: <nodded yes>

Me: “Okay, so let’s shake on it.”

And we shook on it.

The first I saw of Cal this morning was with a green-faced Owl, just after it was okay to wake.  He did it, and I was proud (of both of us).

Our OK to Wake Owl

When I found the OK to Wake Owl on Amazon.com, noted the reasonable price and read the rave reviews it got, I was extremely encouraged.  Finally we had a solution to Cal getting up way too early in the morning and engaging Dan and me in whatever it is he wants to engage us in at the time.  Can we turn “Cal Can’t Help It” on?  Come see his poopy.  Help him button his long pants.  Put his belt on.  Come downstairs.  Or, my personal favorite, a bunch of sentences from separate experiences the day before strung together as one thought.

Being awakened by this is rough enough for a couple of people who just want to hear the sounds of nothing first thing in the morning; but being woken up by it before any signs of sunlight and life is especially annoying and oftentimes leads to some troubling times when it really is time to be up and getting ready for the day – we become cranky and Cal ornery.  Plus, the kid just needs more sleep than he gets.

So we bought the Owl.  As its name suggests, the OK to Wake Owl will let the kid know when it’s okay to wake up by its face lighting up green at the time set by his parents in a hidden alarm clock under the Owl’s old-man-like pajama top.  When it’s not okay to wake up, its face isn’t green.  As if that’s not obvious enough, the Owl’s face will also light up yellow if the kid presses its belly before it’s okay to wake up, and the Owl will follow that up with some sickeningly sweet pleasantry like “it’s not time to wake up yet, go back to sleep” and then play some (Cal thinks, and I agree) creepy music.

It is not without its flaws.  The okay-to-wake green light will only stay on for ½ hour.  If the kid sleeps past ½ hour after it’s initially okay to wake, I’m not sure how he’d know it’s really okay to wake up (assuming he’s relying solely on the Owl and not sunlight beaming through his window to let him know that).  And I already mentioned the creepy-music thing.

So of course, the OK to Wake Owl is not working on Cal.  I think he enjoys having it only because he likes owls and having an owl just completes his vast collection of stuffed animals.  We’ve had it for a month or two now, and I really can’t think of a time that it kept him in his bed until it was time to get up.  On rare occasions (maybe twice), he’s slept through it; and most often, he’s up looking for someone with whom to share the sight of his “giant poopy” before the Owl’s face is green.

This morning, I witnessed the best indication that the Leatherman family is the one user of this Owl for whom it will not work as intended.  Coming up the stairs after my morning workout and before the Owl’s face was to turn green, I saw Cal in his room, trying to put his clip-on tie on his pajama shirt.  Ella’s door was wide open (we close it at night), and I heard happy coos coming from her room.  I asked Cal, “did you wake up Ella?”  He replied that he had.  “Why?”  I asked, annoyed.  “Because I was coughing,” he replied.  As if that was a legitimate answer to the question I had asked, I left it at that and went to get Ella and bring her to my room.

A few minutes later, Cal excitedly entered my room, proudly holding the green-faced Owl high for me to see.  “Mommy, look!” he exclaimed.  “I see,” I responded, smiling through my disappointment that the OK to Wake Owl would probably never do the job we had bought him and desperately want him to do.