Don't Go Extinct

I was in a meeting at work when I got the call.  When it rang, I looked at my phone and saw it was from the kids’ school.  Oh, no.  Anytime I get this call, I immediately think about how the kids looked and felt when we sent them to school that morning and then think of all the bad things about which school might be calling.  Ella wasn’t sick – did she fall and get hurt?  Is she now complaining that she doesn’t feel well?  Cal had a minor rash, which we’ve come to learn is how colds manifest themselves in him.  Was that rash getting worse?  Did he not feel well?  What train would I catch to get home?  Would I need to call the doctor and get my sick kid in that night?  Would I need to take a PTO day tomorrow to care for my sick child and work while said child slept?  Please let it be Cal – he’s just a much better sick kid.

“Hello?”  I answered the phone.

“Hi, Carla, it’s Ally,” said the voice on the other side.

Ah, it’s about Cal.  Things are looking up already. I don’t know if I even said anything, and she continued.

“Don’t worry, everything’s fine,” she started.  Every call that I get from the kids’ school that isn’t for the purpose of delivering bad (sick/hurt) news starts this way.  I like it.

She then proceeded to tell me that she had received a “certificate” in the mail for Cal and asked me, “Did Cal enter some kind of contest with Metra?”

“He did!” It was so long ago, I had almost forgotten about it.

Cal did forget about it.  When Ally asked him what it was for, he told her he didn’t know.  Ally continued, “They sent me a certificate of participation.  That’s really cool.  I didn’t know anything about this!”

I explained what I could remember of the contest (what it was for, when we entered, that the entry asked for school/teacher information), all the while wondering if she had also gotten any notice of how he finished in the contest, i.e. whether he had won anything.  I hesitated to ask, only because I didn’t want to put a damper in her excitement over his mere participation in it; but I was curious and eventually asked her, “So, this is just a certificate of participation, not that he won anything?”  Goodness.  Using the word “just” in my question made me sound disappointed with too-high expectations.  To clarify, I wasn’t disappointed; but I do have high expectations.  Cal can draw very well for a 5-year-old.

Ally then told me that it didn’t say anything about him winning anything.  I told her I’d find the picture he drew for the contest and bring it in.  And I did.

A few days later, I got the same call from school and had the same feelings of dread that I usually do when I see the number.  I reluctantly answered it.  It was Ally again.

“Hi, Carla.  Don’t worry, everything’s fine,” she started.  Relief.  “Cal won third place in the Metra contest!” she relayed, once again really excited about it.

“What?!?!!” I exclaimed, as a huge smile planted itself on my face.  I then rattled off another explanation of the contest, that they use the drawings for their tickets and other posters and told her I’d get her the details of it so her whole class can participate next year.

Cal's Participant's Certificate and Entry into Metra's Poster Contest,
displayed on his classroom door

It turns out, Cal did win third place in the Kindergarten age group with his entry titled “Don’t Go Extinct” followed by the mandatory words “Look Listen Live.”  It was a perfect mix of dinosaurs and trains.  He won $100 for it.  When I asked him what he wanted to do with his $100, he told me -- and I’m not making this up -- that he was going to save it so that he could buy a car when he gets older.

When Cal told Ally his plans for his winnings, Ally said, “I’m sorry, no 5-year-old says that.”  Of course, she knows that our 5-year-old does.

Five Short Ella Stories

Short Ella Story #1

One day last week, Ella put her running shoes on without socks, a common occurrence which I just cannot understand.  With both shoes now on her feet, she whined, “something’s wrong,” and somehow communicated to me that it was the left shoe that wasn’t “right.”

I told her with all of the attitude I could muster (which pales in comparison to the attitude she regularly gives me… but I digress), “Sure something’s wrong – you’re putting your shoes on without socks.  You’re going to get blisters.  I hope you get blisters so you learn to NOT wear your running shoes without socks.”  And then I helped her fix it and actually succeeded in doing so, I have no idea how.

We made it to the car; and as I strapped her into her carseat, Ella happily announced to all of us (Dan and Cal were already strapped into the car themselves), “Mommy hopes I get blisters.  Yeah, because I didn’t wear my socks.”

I’m sure she announced this to her teachers later, which will be yet another hit to my quest to be Mother of the Year.  I don’t really hope she gets blisters.  I mean, Ella with two unblistered feet is tough enough to handle, but with blisters?

Short Ella Story #2

This morning, I had my morning shake (one of those EAS Myoplex shakes that Dan and I “eat” while we’re on “the program” (Body for Life diet and exercise program)) sitting on the counter in the bathroom.  I was in the shower and not really in a position to fend off my little vultures who might come looking for a sip, so I had pushed the shake back toward the mirror, still reachable by said vultures but not without some effort.

Now, these shakes aren’t the greatest tasting things, but our kids love them.  They enjoy the pasty, semi-sweet taste of them as well as the “Papa moustache” (Dan’s dad, until recently, had a white moustache) the shakes leave on their upper lips after they each take a sip.

Mid-shower, Ella entered the bathroom.  She stood on a stool in front of our bathroom counter and looked at herself in the mirror.  Then she started fidgeting with some of the things on the counter.  I kept my eye on her because I knew at some point she’d make a move for my shake.

She finally did, but subtly, just with her eyes.  I immediately said, “Ella, noooo,” like one would to a dog warning him not to step outside the boundaries of the yard.  And I followed it with, “Hey, Boo Boo, why don’t you brush your hair?” with a really up-beat, excited tone, as if I hadn’t scolded her only seconds earlier.

“NO! I was not checking your shake, Mommy,” Ella said loudly and sternly, angry that I’d even suggest she was… which I wasn’t… well, sort of wasn’t.

“I didn’t say anything about the shake.  I just suggested you brush your hair, Boo Boo,” I responded.  Clearly, I was talking about the shake – she knew it and got the message.

Short Ella Story #3

A recent morning conversation with Ella:

Ella <sweetly>: “Mommy, can I have my animal crackers?”

Me <leading>: “Animal crackers… ?”

Ella <sweetly through a smile>: “Please.”

Me <recognizing a teaching opportunity>: “Ella, if you just always say ‘please’, I’ll be SO PROUD of you.”

Ella <in one ear and translated a bit>: “I’m proud of Zoe.” (Zoe’s our cat.)

Me <following>: “You are?  Why?”

Ella: “Because… because… because she put her fur on.  She put her undies on and her fur and… and… and her shirt.”

Me: “Zoe wears a shirt?”

Ella: “Yes!”

And I left it at that.  Why I didn’t challenge the "undies" part of her declaration is beyond me.

Short Ella Story #4

One morning last week, Cal was sitting pantless on a stool at our kitchen island, either drawing or eating animal crackers (or maybe both).  I don’t know why he was pantless.  I don’t think I even knew why at the time.  Normally, he emerges fully clothed from his room in the morning.

Ella arrived in the kitchen dressed, glanced at Cal and started to climb onto the other stool at the island.  As she did so, she commented on Cal’s half-nakedness:

“Cal, you have a penis and you’re sitting on the stool with no pants on.”

She could not have been more right.

Short Ella Story #5

Ella regularly asks Cal for help.  Washing her hands: "Cal, can you help me?"  Drawing a picture: "Cal, can you draw a lion for me?"  Writing her name: "Cal, can you write my name on this paper?"

And he does.

I love that she's comfortable asking him, and I love that he usually does help her without question.  I hope it's always this way between the two of them.

My Mother's Day Gems

If I've learned anything in my 5+ years of being a mom it's that MY DAY just will not live up to the sun-is-shining and everyone's-smiling expectations that I may have for it.  While I want my kids to enjoy planting flowers with me, I know they might "help" me for a short time only to discover that planting flowers doesn't just mean digging in and flinging dirt.  I may look forward to a dinner at "B-Dubs" but am certain it will be tense throughout as we try to keep the kids in their seats, happy, if we even make it out to dinner at all.

Really, my expectations are that it will be like any other day, complete with timeouts and hugs, poor listening skills and small successes, big messes and surprising cooperation, tattle tells and best friends, sharp tongues and kisses, tears and smiles.

My Mother's Day, 2014, was pretty nice, really.  Sure, it was comprised of the mix of the good and bad I described above.  I also had breakfast in bed.  I planted flowers and herbs in the yard and in planters.  I went for a run on the prairie path with Cal and then shared a post-run PowerAde and cookies on the bench near Walgreens.  I enjoyed a glass of wine.  Yes, I was pretty content for most of the day on Mother's Day, except for a brief moment after I conceded that we would not be making it out to dinner due to misbehaving kids and a couple of parents not wanting to reward the misbehavior in any way (except that Dan did go pick up some "B-Dubs" for us to eat at home instead).

The best part of my Mother's Day, though, was being on the receiving end of these gems (below), hand-made cards and booklets from the kids.  I absolutely eat these things up.

My cards, including one from Dan and one from Mom
 

My card from Ella... hmm... a lot of my "favorites" happen to be her favorites
 

The inside of Cal's "I love you bunches, Mom" card
 

Cal drew a picture of me - I'm smiling!
 

Cal knows me a little more than Ella does - he got phone, Chapstick and money right... trash?
 

A couple of excerpts from the "book" Cal made for me - love it!
 

A couple more excerpts from the "book" Cal made for me - I'm so polite!

Ella's Fruit-Loop Necklace

One of Ella’s teachers told me a story yesterday while I was picking the kids up from school.  She started it by telling me that they’re working on Ella’s listening skills (sweet – Mommy and Daddy need some help); and at the center of this listening exercise was a Fruit-Loop necklace, handmade primarily by Ella by looping a string through a bunch of Fruit Loops and then tied together by her teacher to form a necklace that she could put on or off herself by simply pulling it over her head.

One can imagine the temptation that a Fruit-Loop necklace might present to a kid, particularly one who doesn’t usually get to eat Fruit Loops.  We regularly buy Frosted Mini Wheats (“Daddy’s cereal”), Honey Bunches of Oats (“Mommy’s cereal”) or Oatmeal Squares and (unfortunately) have a half-eaten thing of tastes-like-eating-bark Grape Nuts from a diet attempt that’s just taking up good cereal space in our pantry.

Needless to say, Ella gave in to the temptation soon after putting her new necklace around her neck and ate a Fruit Loop off of it.  Her teacher, Ms. Cece, saw this and politely told her that she was not supposed to eat any of the Fruit Loops off of the necklace until Mommy and Daddy said it was okay to do so later.

Ella proceeded to eat more of them.  Ms. Cece reminded her of the rule and specifically asked her not to “eat all of the Fruit Loops” off of her necklace.

Some time passed by, and Ms. Cece looked again at Ella and noticed that most of the Fruit Loops were now gone from Ella’s necklace (three were left) and confronted her about it.  She asked her why she had eaten "all of the Fruit Loops" after having been asked not to do so a couple of times.

Ella responded with shock in her tone, “Ms. Cece, I didn’t eat all of the Fruit Loops!” and showed Ms. Cece that she still had a few on her necklace.

Ella & what's left of her
Fruit-Loop Necklace

Ella had gotten Ms. Cece on a technicality.  Ms. Cece knew it, and I’m certain Ella knew it.

Ella managed to make it all the way to Cal’s swimming lesson that night without eating her three remaining Fruit Loops.  Half way through his lesson, Ella actually asked me if she could eat them.  I told her that she couldn’t because they don’t allow people to eat food in the pool area.  She proceeded to eat them… all three of them.

No technicality there – she had completely disregarded my direction.  I didn’t even do anything about it.  I just did my “whatever” smirk, shook my head slightly back and forth and rolled my eyes.  I really didn’t want to get into it with her at that moment over three Fruit Loops.  I just wanted to watch Cal swim and also knew that still ahead of me was our daily battle getting her into bed for the night.  I wonder if we can recruit Ms. Cece to help with that.

Picture Projects

We parents are regularly tasked with having to send the kids to school with something specific for them to complete a project.  Sometimes, it’s per a schedule, as in the weekly show-and-tell that Ella’s teachers execute on Thursdays.  Every week, they work on a letter, and on Thursdays they are to bring something from home that starts with that letter.  This week’s is “Z” – I’m already thinking about what it is she’ll bring this week.  I think we actually have a zebra somewhere, exactly where, I’m not sure.

The recurring bring-something-from home is manageable and fits right into how we operate – routine, routine, routine – and I generally don’t forget.  Once I did forget, though it wasn’t necessarily a memory issue.  It was “U” week, and earlier in the week I had decided that I didn’t want to send Ella to school with an umbrella.  I figured everyone would do that.  The only problem was, I didn’t think of an alternative.  Even now, I struggle to think of a word that starts with “U” other than “under” and “up.”  I could show-and-tell those words, but Ella?  Not so much, even with a little coaching.  I’ve tried.  So, during "U" week, Ella had nothing for show-and-tell.

Most often, the bring-something-from-home request is random, seemingly pulled out of the air but I'm sure completely planned.  Sometimes, we’re given a day’s notice, like the time we were informed that the kids were to bring in their favorite books to read… TOMORROW.  The timing of reading such a request is an important factor in its fulfillment – too early the day before, and it gets put off for later (and forgotten) given so much time to prepare for such a small task; too late the day before, and I’m either already in bed and putting it off for a morning task or it’s not even the day before and I’m reading the notice after having dropped Ella off at school, bookless.

Other times of random requests, we’re informed of a project that the kids will be working on later in the week or the following week.  The most common request of this nature has been to bring in a picture or two, be it a family picture, baby picture, recent picture and even a pet picture.  This type of request is currently on the top of my mind and not yet actioned since I read Ella’s daily report for this past Friday where her teachers asked that the kids each bring in a baby picture sometime next week.  I can’t speak for other mothers, but these picture requests are more difficult to deliver than it sounds.  In this world of digital photos, we just don’t have a lot of pictures lying around.  The pictures that we do have are either framed and not for potential butchering for a school project or are buried in a growing stack of papers in the office or a box of baby memories somewhere in the basement.

Cal’s teacher recently asked the kids to bring in some pictures of themselves.  I’m not really sure how the ask was worded, but I understood it to be to bring in a picture of him as a toddler and one of him as a 5-year-old.  Somehow, I’m not sure how since it was clear to me the second time I read the request, I missed the ask for the picture of him as a baby and sent Cal to school with two pictures.  But I did so ON TIME.  Actually, it turned out I was ahead of time.  For some reason, they didn’t do the project on the day they had planned; and we were informed that those who had forgotten had another day to bring in some pictures.

I was so proud of myself.  I didn’t even need to pay attention to the message as I had already done my job (or so I thought).  And although I noticed the three pictures (baby, toddler and recent) of the kid with whom Cal shares a cubby, I didn’t really pause to ask myself why there were three and not just two and then re-check the request.

A couple of days later when I was picking the kids up from school, Cal proudly announced that he wanted to show me something and had me follow him to a wall in the back of his classroom.  At first glance, I saw many pieces of yellow construction paper, each with three pictures attached to it.  Gulp.  Cal directed me to his piece of yellow construction paper where I saw the two pictures I had sent with him to school.  They were positioned vertically on the paper, one on top of the other.  Beneath the second picture was a hand-drawn picture of Cal as a baby, Cal’s self-baby-portrait, I like to call it.

Initially I was sad.  Cal’s was the only project “missing” a picture.  I felt as though I had failed him.  More than sad, I was incredibly proud.  He could have very easily given me flack for failing to send him to school with the three pictures that Mrs. Dunham had requested.  He could have very easily been upset about it, too.  But he didn’t.  And he wasn’t.  Instead, he was simply proud of the project that he had completed and wanted to show it to me.

To the right is a picture of his project as it still hangs on the wall in his classroom.  I regularly revisit the mental image I have of him, realizing he was missing a picture, just drawing a picture of himself as a baby in its place.  Mrs. Dunham may have suggested he do that, I never asked.  In this image I have of him, his tongue is peeking through his lips, he has a small grin on his face and he is quickly drawing a baby.  Next, he takes the toddler picture and places it above his hand-drawn baby picture; and then he places his kindergarten picture on top to finish off the project.  Finished, he raises it in the air and says, “Look at mine, Mrs. Dunham,” shows her and then runs off for whatever fun is in store for him next.  Not once does he wish he had a "real" baby picture.

Needless to say, I have not yet sent Ella to school with a baby picture to deliver on the latest simple challenge presented to me.  It probably didn’t help that her teachers gave me some breathing room when I asked them about it on Monday.  “Oh, you have time,” they said when I asked them if we’re too late for the project.  But no date was specified, not that I pressed for one.  With any wriggle room, I am destined for failure.

Today, over the course of writing this post, I decided that in the absence of a reliable, sensible system, I will just treat every one of these random bring-something-from-home requests as urgent and needed the next day, whether they really are or not.  I operate best under those conditions anyway.  And, as I post this blog, two baby pictures of Ella are sitting on the kitchen island in plain view, ready for the taking to school tomorrow morning.  Why two?  I couldn't decide which one to take.  This is surely a topic for a future post.

George Morge's Furry Buttons

At Ella’s request and Cal’s okay, we had a string of family reading nights last week.  Three family reading nights in a row, to be exact.  Whereas on a non-family reading night Dan and I each read to a kid separately (e.g. Dan reads to Cal, I read to Ella), on family reading night, we all assemble into one of the kids’ rooms and read two books, one that Cal has selected and one that Ella has selected.

What triggered last week’s string of family reading nights was the purchase of a couple of books (the learning-to-read kind) for the kids despite having just placed an order with Scholastic for some new books.  Cal had been complaining, justifiably so, about his selection at home; so I thought a new book while we wait for the order come in might ward off any ugliness on the verge of happening.  For Cal, I bought a Star Wars book with pictures of the original characters (i.e. not the Clone Wars series); and for Ella, I avoided the Princess books and bought a Curious George book.  I thought Cal might enjoy that one, too.

On family reading nights, Dan and I actually don’t read – the kids do.  At 5, Cal’s actually a pretty decent reader and was able to read his new Star Wars book on his own with no prep or coaching to get him through it.  The book is primarily about Luke and his relationship with other Star Wars characters and contains single-sentence pages, just the right amount of detail for the mixed crowd.

It probably doesn’t need to be said that, at 3, Ella cannot read, per se.  If she’s had a story read to her a time or two, she might be inclined to tell a shorter variation of it.  If she hasn’t, she’ll make up her own story, leveraging the pictures and her creative mind to do so.  During our string of family reading nights last week, we were all looking at the Curious George book for the first time, which meant we were getting the second flavor of Ella’s book reading.

Each night, this was pretty entertaining.  Every time it started with, “George Morge” did something, I don’t recall exactly what, and I think it may have changed with each reading.

Once she started, all three of us listened intently to her.  To not do so would be to miss out on some funny stuff.  It’s a riot.  With the first page “read,” she turned the page.

On the first and second nights, Ella next read, “George Morge buttoned his shirt,” or something about his shirt because the next thing we knew she the story involved “George Morge’s furry buttons.”

Bahahahahahaha!  Furry buttons!  We all laughed, which only encouraged her to talk more about these George Morge’s furry buttons.  It was “furry buttons” this and “furry buttons” that.  With every mention of “furry buttons,” we laughed; and with every laugh, Ella kept the story about these “furry buttons.”

By the third family reading night, Ella had apparently decided to abandon (or possibly forgot) the “furry buttons” angle of the story and talked about “George Morge” having done something like a “venture.”

I didn’t know what this was.  “Adventure?” I tried.

“No, Venture,” she responded.

“Venture?” I asked.

“No, Venture,” she responded, enunciating more but saying it the same way.  This cracks me up.  Clearly she thinks she’s pronouncing a word differently than how she’s saying it.

Cal doesn’t forget anything and is a stickler for routine.  So he was chomping at the bit to jump in and get Ella to talk about George’s “furry buttons” again. So while Ella and I were having our “Venture-Venture” back-and-forth, Cal found his way into the chatter with, “FURRY BUTTONS!  BAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

With this, Ella was reminded of the furry-button angle of the story and continued telling the story, this time saying something about “George Morge” and his “furry buttons” and “furry cuttons,” whatever those are.  We all laughed, including Ella.

To this day, I still haven't read the real story.  I am curious to know what it is but am equally satisfied with Ella's rendition of it.

Cal's Going to the Bathroom Chart

Now that we've successfully tackled Cal's thumb-sucking, the next Cal-specific challenge facing us - or, rather, slapping us in the face - are his nighttime potty issues.  I hesitate to write about it because I know that this is something that is not a choice for him, and I don't want to embarrass him.  He just can't stay dry at night.  He knows this, and he's comfortable with the reality of it; so maybe it's okay that I do write about it.

My current theory is that he's just a sound sleeper and doesn't know he's peeing, a much better theory than my initial thought that he was just being lazy.  I came to that laziness theory honestly - a wet pull-up (staying true to Pampers, we use the Underjam version) has never bothered Cal, so I thought he just chose to stay in bed and pee instead of expending the energy to get up and  just use the toilet.  I mean, this is the same kid who, during potty training, responded to my mom's "see how easy it is to go poop in the toilet, Cal?" with an "it's easy to go poop in my diaper."  Why wouldn't I think he possibly meant that?

Our doctor said that it's nothing to worry about, that at 5 nighttime potty issues are not uncommon.  So I don't worry and just accept it.

I'll be honest - washing and changing his bedding frequently, sometimes daily, other times after a stretch of maybe 3-4 days isn't fun.  It does frustrate me that the Underjam, the best performer we've found, is not leak proof.  I've got a decent system that keeps me sane, though.  A plastic cover keeps the mattress safe.  We no longer use a top sheet for cover and have a collection of 3 fitted sheets and 3 blankets that we cycle through.  Blankets in the queue are folded, and fitted sheets are wadded up on top of them, all in Cal's closet for easy retrieval.

Every morning includes a trip to Cal's room where I inspect his bed for signs of leakage.  Sometimes this is obvious; other times, it requires a sniff test.  Any sign of urine, and I'm pulling off the sheet and blanket, gathering up any of the kids' dirty clothes and then throwing it all into the washing machine.  On the plus side, I keep the washing of the kids' clothing small and manageable.  And Cal almost always has a pair of his too-small, 4T pants to wear.

Sometimes Ella helps me, something that makes her happy.  Her favorite thing to do is wipe down Cal's vinyl-covered mattress with a wipe... at least, as far as she can reach.  I do the final wiping, of course.

Cal knows that he kind of has a problem to overcome.  We don't get mad or frustrated with him, but we periodically bring it up as something for him to work on, that he can't be in his Underjam forever.  I'm sure that Ella formally having a goal of waking up with a dry Pull-Up (for her we use the actual Pull-Up version since it's cheaper and doesn't need to perform with high volumes) is a reminder for him that he has that same goal.

As I made Ella's 5-goal Reward Chart in response to my All-Time Mommy Low post, Cal made a reward chart of his own.  The theme was his using the potty at night.  As he put it together, Cal let me take occasional peeks at what he was doing; and this made us both laugh and incented him to do more with it.

The chart includes 32 days written in a pattern of the colors of the rainbow. In the upper, left corner is a picture of Cal sitting on the toilet with pee coming out of him and landing in the toilet.  In the upper, right corner is a picture of a wet, leaky Underjam still on what is Cal's body with his torso and upper legs included in the picture.  And in the bottom, right corner is a picture of Cal standing with his arms in the air, no pants and a yellowed penis - in this picture, he's declaring, "I showed my mom my muceles <muscles> but then I peed in my pants!"  And like any good Kindergartener, he included his name and the date on his piece of art.

I should also note one more attention to detail that Cal included - in all pictures he drew himself wearing the red- and gray-striped shirt that he wore that day.

Needless to say, Cal's "going to the bathroom chart" does not yet have an X or a sticker on any of its numbered days.  The chart does hang on the back of his door beneath his Underjam storage bin for periodic amusement and perhaps something that'll be useable in the future, whenever that may be.