And I Walked Away

"I don't want to be by you anymore!"  This followed an exchange that Ella and I had in the pool at my sister-in-law's house this afternoon that ended with me just walking away.  Ella delivered this message to me.  At least I didn't yell back.  I yelled yesterday, made my two Leatherkids cry and then made them listen to me preach about the importance of compromise.  But that's another story.

I made the right choice today by walking away... only, Ella didn't think so.

How did we get to that point?  Well, a few minutes before, the cousins were ganging up on their oldest cousin and trying to tip her off of her innertube and into the water.  Everyone was having fun.  Ella was one of the tippers.  In fact, she was the smallest tipper; and when they finally tipped the tippee, Ella was left crying.

I hopped into the pool when I saw her, concerned that she might actually be hurt (and I really don't like to see my baby cry), and held her in my arms.  I began questioning her.  "What happened, Boo Boo?" I asked.  Ellie... Boo Boo... these are my pet names for my girl.  She tried to tell me what happened, and I failed to understand right from the start. You got kicked in the nose?  No, run over.  Run over by what?  THAT.  By what?  THAT.  Madi?  No, THAT.  The floatie?  Whaaaaaa?  I think the floatie had been sitting on a fly earlier, and the fly survived.

"YES, I TOLD YOU!" she yelled at me in that edgy, frustrated tone that really gets under my skin and generally sets me into my rant about my being her mother and that she needs to show me respect.  But I refrained from ranting and calmly told her that I was trying to understand and help and that she needed to relax and treat me with respect.  She didn't bite and yelled at me again.

So I walked away.  As I did so, I told her that we'd talk later when she was calm and ready to talk.

She didn't like this, of course, insisting she was ready but still yelling at me.  As I sat in my chair, she added her "I don't want to be by you anymore!" More than anything, this was actually kind of amusing, really.  I mean, if you ask Ella at any time on any day of any week who she wants to be by, she'll more often than not tell you, "Mommy."

Anyway, she said this a few more times in between insisting she was ready to talk, again, in that biting tone; so I knew she wasn't really ready to talk.  And then I thought I'd take a chance when I saw her, quiet and sad, sitting on the edge of the pool.

I walked over and sat near her  and asked her to come sit next to me so we could talk.  This wasn't an unreasonable request; but she wasn't reasonable.  She yelled at me again, I'm sure about the fact I wasn't sitting next to her, perhaps even more.  I explained to her my reasoning -- the concrete is bad for our bathing suits, whereas the pool steps are not.  I figure if I can explain my reasoning so she knows it's based in something sound, one day it'll stick.

She wanted nothing to do with moving, and I certainly wasn't.  I noticed all of her cousins were on the other side of the pool; so I told her that if she continued to be mean like she was, no one would want to be with her.  I then told her that I love her, and I stood up, the first step to walking away.  This garnered this response, "I won't say 'I love you' ANY MORE!"  I told her this hurts my feelings (it really doesn't hurt, not anymore), but walked away, again throwing out the suggestion that we talk when she calms down.

I sat down in my chair across the pool from her, and we exchanged a few more words.  I honestly don't remember what they were; but I'm sure she was mean, and I was childish. Eventually, she stormed off into the house, but not before getting this jab in: "I don't want to live in our house ANY MORE!" (she used this one yesterday), as if this had anything to do with the situation.  She quickly made her way back out without my noticing and sat with the adults on the deck near the pool.  When I saw her, I made my way over to her and gave her a kiss on her head.  She didn't smile.  In fact, she frowned an angry frown. But she said nothing, and I walked inside the house for a few minutes.

As I approached the door to head back out, Ella was walking in.  She looked at me with her beautiful blue eyes.  And without a smile, she started to hug me.  I knelt down so we'd be of similar height and hugged her back... for a long time.  We didn't say anything -- no kidding -- we just hugged for a long time.  Once we were finished, we went back outside to continue to enjoy the pool.

Eventually, the pool cleared; and I found myself alone by it.  What an opportunity I was given to be outside and enjoy some silence!  I decided to climb into that same innertube that I believe had run over Ella and made her cry and just floated in the pool.  I did this for maybe five minutes before Ella was standing at the edge of the pool wanting to join me.  I asked her if she wanted to sit in the pink floatie "just like Mommy," and she did.  So I helped her into that one and climbed back into mine; and we floated together, me ensuring we stayed side-by-side by holding her tube with my hand.

I don't know how long we floated together before Ella's cousin came out and joined us.  Fifteen minues, maybe?  Whatever it was, it was nice.  We were pleasant with each other, talked about what we were doing and "worried" about bugs as if nothing had happened earlier.

We were fine.  And we never did talk about what had happened between us earlier.  That ship had sailed.  That moment was gone.  And that was fine... I think.  The last thing she needed was another speech from me.  I don't know if she really understands what respect is, anyway, even when I explain it.  I think just walking away from her when she was completely unreasonable and unpleasant was the right response to, the right consequence of her yelling at and being mean to me.  Because she actually wanted me to stay. And she really does love me.

My July 4th Weekend

I sit on the couch in front of the TV in the family room.  Behind me, I know there are unwashed dishes in the sink and a dishwasher that's not completely functioning properly.  I also know the kitchen island is cluttered... more cluttered than I am comfortable with.  There is a plastic beaded neclace lying on the coffee table in front of me... and Ella's t-shirt and socks... and Cal's White Sox hat... oh, and the Band-aid box.  My running shoes sit along side the table, left there after yesterday's run.  And a plastic frog lay belly-up beneath our newly-acquired rocking chair.

I know there are piles of clothes to fold and messes elsewhere, but it's 10:44pm on July 4th, and I'm done.  I can't, and won't, clean this messy house up.  And I'm almost okay with that.

During my fantastic bike ride this afternoon, I thought about my weekend.  Whereas I typically think and beat myself up about the things I didn't do, I, switched gears (in my head, not on my bike) and thought about that I actually had done.  Too often, I highlight my shortcomings, which negatively affects my mood; this time, I decided to celebrate all that I had done over the course of this July 4th weekend, in brain-dump style.

I...

Got home from work on Friday and watched half of "Despicable Me," (the Leatherman Family Fun Friday movie of choice) after having rushed to catch the 5:22 only to be delayed 20-ish minutes due to "locomotive" problems... cuddled with Ella and actually fell asleep with her for an hour or so before waking up to try to catch Bill Maher, but fell asleep with him, too... woke up Saturday at 4:30am, unable to sleep more, and moved to the couch where I did sleep for a couple more hours... woke up and worked a couple of hours, knocking some things off that I had wanted to get done on Friday but hadn't... took the kids, all three of us on our bikes, to the ball field at the kids' school where we played baseball, however they wanted to do so... at Ella's request, painted mine and Ella's finger and toe nails a mix of blue and red... fixed the Leatherkids lunch, creative stye as we didn't have a bunch of supplies (e.g. bread) here... went for a 3-mile run and actually didn't struggle (my runs have been brutal the past few weeks)... showered and got myself ready to head to Ribfest for unlimited drinks, ribs and some good music (Sister Hazel and Sheryl Crow would be playing -- yea!)... met some friends at that fest, drank IPAs and ate ribs... danced and sang along... dropped my phone in the toilet, reached in immediately and grabbed it (yuck), dried it off and found it to be working... slept well that night and got up Sunday at around 9am (whaaaaaa?)... hunted down my dad's wallet (he lost it while out with the kids on babysitting duty on Saturday)... washed clothes and sorted them... went to and tolerated the crowds and expense of Ribfest with the family... encouraged, coaxed and sometimes begged the kids to go on rides... ate more ribs... saw an aligator and a snake and pleaded with the kids to touch them, this was their chance, but they didn't (who can blame them?)... returned home to find that my phone wouldn't charge... felt sad, really, really sad... went for a 3-mile, music-less run... walked, unplanned, with Ella after my run... went to the grocery store with Ella, after declaring it "Mommy-and-Ella time"... listened to my dad read to the kids at bedtime and then saw him off... tried to watch a movie recommended by a work friend (movie was "Mother of Mine," work friend was Chandra), but couldn't stay awake for it (I'll try again sometime this week)... slept in again on Monday... battled the sadness of not having a functioning phone... "soaked" my phone in dry rice to try to draw out any water that may be in it... worked some more on Monday morning, but outside where I could watch Ella swing (at her request)... did more laundry and sorted it... walked to Walgreens with Ella to buy a couple of things... played wiffleball in the backyard with Cal and tried to include Ella but succeeded only so much before just walking away, frustrated, from it... colored my hair... made my gaspacho salsa and some cherry bombs for the Reinkes' July 4th party... went for a 13-mile bike ride by myself... showered and went to the Reinkes' for said party... drank pineapple vodkas and sangria and ate some food... watched the Leatherkids enjoy themselves in the pool with just the two of them and then later with some college kids (is it wrong?)... went to the Reinkes' friends' house to eat desserts, have one more drink, a cosmo, and watch fireworks... actually watched the fireworks... drove the family home... put the kids to bed... and here I sit amongst the signs of the busy weekend I had.

I wish my house were picked up and clean, but ain' nobody got time for that during or at the end of a busy of July 4th weekend.  Perhaps the mess will stick around all week and serve to be a nice reminder of the weekend we did have... except for that darn phone -- I'll remedy that today.

Ella's Natural Inclination

Dan and I took the Leatherkids to last Saturday's White Sox-Blue Jays game.  Cal's a big Josh Donaldson fan (for the MLB uninformed, he's the Blue Jays' third baseman and last year's AL MVP) and an even bigger White Sox fan.  Throw in that the giveaway for that game was a White Sox beach towel, we couldn't not go.  That it was sunny and 90 degrees was a bonus... well, the sunny part of that equation was. 90 degrees is a little too hot for mine and, I learned through her whining, Ella's likings.  And that the White Sox hit 7 home runs and still lost made for an interesting game.

But that's not what this post is about.

Dan and Cal had somehow gotten far ahead of us as we walked from our parked car to the ballpark on Saturday.  I think it's funny I say somehow as I know exactly how.  They were on a mission to just get to the ballpark.  Ella and I, not so much.  We ran into the peanut guy and had to buy a bag.  And Ella's got little legs and doesn't cover a lot of ground giving the same effort to walking that the rest of us do.  In other words, we were just slow.  I don't really know how Dan felt about this, but I know I didn't care.  It gave us an opportunity to talk.

So, as we walked, we were given unsolicited directions for actually getting to the park. Instead of parking in one of the formal Comiskey Park lots, we parked in a nearby church lot; and the path to the park wasn't exactly clear.  I mean, it was virtually on top of us; but the getting there required a jaunt down an alleyway next to a building and around some small trees.  Figurouttable, yes; but we accepted the directions nonetheless with a polite, "thank you."

Our thank you had barely reached the gentleman's ears, and he was pulling out an id that identified him as belonging to a homeless shelter.  I couldn't tell that by looking at the id and only know this because he explained it as he pulled it out of his pocket.  Once that introduction was complete, he asked if we could help him out.

Nuts.  I lived in the City for a good 15+ years; and over the course of those years, I hardened a bit.  I knew what he meant by "help out," and I politely told him as I shook my head slightly from side to side, "I'm sorry" and continued walking with Ella.  Right or wrong response, I don't know and really do struggle with; but that was my answer.

We had only walked a few steps from this man when Ella started asking questions.  "Who is he?"  "What did he want?"  I explained to her that he was a homeless man who wanted to know if we could help him out and then proceeded to explain what it meant to be homeless.

"He can live with us," Ella responded once I was done.

"That's nice, Ellie.  Where would he stay?" I asked.

"We have a room in our basement," she told me.  We do.  It's where our guests sleep when we have them.

"We do, don't we?" I replied.

I don't remember exactly how the conversation went from there, but Ella basically verbalized all the thoughts going on in her head around letting this guy live in our basement... with his friends... for a long time.  So sweet.

We eventually made it to the ballpark where we found Dan and Cal waiting for us near the gate.  We entered, each grabbed our giveaway and slowly made our way up the ramp to the level where our seats were.

After the game, as we retraced our steps back to the car, I was, again, walking with Ella. Being in the same spot where we had talked about the homeless man staying with us, I was naturally reminded of the conversation we had had before the game.  And then I thought about how wonderful it is that her natural inclination was to help this man -- this complete stranger -- out. Still so young, she is not tainted by negative experiences or horrible news stories or even judgmental commentary in everyday conversations with people to have any reaction other than the one she had.  Her mind is so pure, so naive and so innocent and her heart so warm, probably not too unlike many other kids her age.

Having recognized that, I thought about the influence that I, her mother, can have on her. I know it's unrealistic and probably little dangerous to strive for her to maintain that same level of considerate, kind-heartedness as she gets older; but I do like the inclination and will do whatever I can to encourage that with an appropriate level of skepticism to keep her safe.

And then I wondered (not for long as I found this very uncomfortable and disturbing), what if she were Donald Trump's daughter with that same inclination at the same age? She'd certainly be taken on a different, incredibly selfish and judgmental path where her reactions would not be so kind-hearted.  And it wouldn't necessarily be her own doing, really.

I don't know.  At that moment, walking down the path where we had encountered a homeless man hours before, it just struck me as powerful and a bit scary the influence that we have as parents to mold our kids into people who naturally think the way we want them to think.  Ella can probably go any number of directions right now, and I'm going to do what I can to keep her where she naturally finds herself right now.

I Watched You...

I watched you on Wednesday evening.  I watched you and really took you in.  I took all of you in.  You are so wonderful, Cal.

I watched you from foul territory along the third-base line.  I was sitting with the other parents and grandparents.  It's finally happening.  I was sitting where Grandma and Grandpa had sat for so many years while I stood in your position.  It's my turn to be them, to watch my child play a team sport, to cheer for him and his teammates... to hurt, to press, to enjoy and to celebrate as he does.

I watched you while you waited for your turn to bat.  You were so put together.  Your shirt was tucked into your baseball pants so neatly.  You wore your green belt which matched your jersey.  That green belt is not functional, but it sure does contribute to your looking like a real baseball player.  Your white pants were already stained on the knees, which I learned from Grandma had happened during a play at the plate the inning before I had arrived.  Your green socks were, of course, tight against your calves, as every sock you wear is.  I wondered if you liked your new, low-top cleats. They're different.  You don't like change when it comes to shoes.  If you don't like them, I couldn't tell -- you strutted that sideline in them as if you'd been wearing that style for years.

I watched you lead cheers and chants for your teammates as they batted.  I didn't notice any other kid leading cheers.  You did.  "Let's go, Garrett, let's go!  Let's go, Garrett, let's go!"  Your teammates joined in immediately to make the cheer louder.  It didn't matter the skill level of the batter, either.  You supported every batter equally when you had the chance.

Prompted by your yelling to me, excitedly, "Mama, watch, I'm up next!", I watched you take your aggressive practice swings from the on-deck circle.  As if I needed a reminder.  I love that you're a righty who bats lefty, just like Robin Ventura.  I've always thought left-handed batters' swings were so much prettier than their counterparts'.  Your swing is already pretty.  I've seen it many times in our backyard; and I love that I am finally seeing it in action during a game.  I know you'll get 8 pitches to hit it fair, but my heart hurts a bit with every swing and miss.  It's not that I doubt you'll hit it fair; I just want it to happen for you and happen early in your at-bat, just in case you worry it won't happen as your at-bat progresses.  Not that you do worry.

I watched you playfully interact with your teammates, all of whom you only met within the last few weeks.  The way you talked and laughed with each other, it was like you'd known each other for months, possibly years, and not the few weeks that it really has been.  You don't hide from anyone.  You seem to draw people to you.  You're so likable, Cal.  Seeing this prompted me to tell Grandma about your friendship with Aria.  I told her how Aria's mom told her that she could invite one friend to her big brother's tenth birthday party a month ago, and she picked you!  As your mom, I couldn't have been prouder of you for being a likable kid -- friend -- to so many.

I watched you take your position at shortstop during one of the later innings.  I've already forgotten what you told me when I asked you what your favorite position was because it seems that you were meant to play the left side of the infield.  I watched the first three batters get on base, a common start to every inning for this league.  I watched the next batter hit a soft line drive toward you.  I watched you set yourself up to catch it.  You told me later that you were nervous as you waited for the ball to reach you.  If that was true, I didn't notice it; I knew you were going to catch that ball, and you did.  Of course the runners were running -- very few know not to at this age.  An unassisted triple play was actually possible!  I watched you try to figure out what to do next.  Go after what runner?  Tag him?  Tag the base?  It is confusing.  There were unsure runners everwhere.  It was made worse by everyone giving you directions.  You eventually made your way to third base before the runner did, so he was out; but the kid who had been on second somehow made it back before you tagged him.  No worries -- you got him with the next batter who hit a ground ball to you -- you fielded it cleanly and proceeded to tag the runner as he ran in front of you.  This was the second game where I saw you make all three outs in the inning!  You smiled so shyly after doing so, and I thought, "Smile big, kid!  Smile and show everyone how much you loved doing that!"  Oh, I was proud -- you should have been, too!

I watched you, Cal D.  I watched you be wonderful.  I watched you be the kid that I know you are.  Happy.  Thoughtful.  Skilled.  Handsome.  Proud.  Forgotten as I did so were the fights and tensions we've had to correct some bad choices you've made... hitting your sister, lying about sneaking snacks, not cooperating when we ask you to do something. These are such insignificant things in the grand scheme of being you.  They were easily forgotten as I watched you.  What I saw on Wednesday night when I watched you througout your game epitomized the grand scheme of being YOU.  I'll revel in that forever.

I love you.

Ella Gave Me a Sticker

Yesterday morning, Ella was up early, excited that it was Water Day at summer camp, which is just a summmer extension of the school year at the pre-school she's been attending since before she was even able to walk.  She was already dressed in her bathing suit, and I was happily giving her "Anna braids" (I do love them) at the kitchen island when she started flipping through her new Fairies coloring/sticker book.  She had earned this book the previous day by helping her teacher clean up the classroom and was pretty pleased with herself.

Ella was in a fabulous mood.  She flipped her way to the sticker page and asked me, "which sticker do you want, Mommy?"

I still hadn't showered or done much of anything to prepare for my workday, and I had a screaming headache.  I really didn't have much time and wanted to defer the sticker selection to her but managed to focus on the page full of pastel-colored fairies, hearts and butterflies and found a blue fairy that I "liked."

"This one," I said, putting my finger on that blue fairie.

"This one?" she asked, pointing at the same one.

"Yes," I answered.

"Maybe you should have a heart sticker so you know I love you," she suggested.

This was so sweet, and I wasn't married to that blue fairie sticker; so I told her, "Oh, that's so nice, Ellie.  You pick one for me.  But don't give it to me now.  I need to go shower, so give it to me after my shower."

She smiled, fully understanding the "why" of that plan and likely proud of herself for having suggested I take the heart sticker.

Ten or so minutes later, I was out of the shower and dressed and brushing my hair when Ella entered my bathroom.

"Here's your sticker, Mommy," she said, handing me my sticker.  It wasn't the blue fairy one that I had chosen, nor was it a heart.  It was a butterfly that, looking closely at it, had four hearts, one on each wing.

Anyway, I thanked her for it and placed it on my shirt, over my heart.

My Butterfly Sticker & My Heart

I wore that sticker all day.  Some people asked or said something about it, but most didn't, as if it were perfectly normal for an adult to be wearing a sticker all day at her workplace.

I ended up taking a later train home.  When I got home, both Leatherkids were in bed.  Cal was already asleep; but Ella was lying in bed wide awake.  So I paid her a visit and talked with her for a bit about her day.  Talking to Ella about her day rarely gives me any insights into her actual day and oftentimes involves answering a lot of "why" questions and surviving her long sentences about random thoughts that hadn't been fully baked when she started talking about them.  Last night was no different.

We talked for 10 minutes or so before I was telling her that it was past her bedtime and she really needed to go to sleep.  We exchanged kisses and a hug.  I told her that I loved her and "to have good dreams."  As I pulled away from her, I saw her eyes fixate on the part of my shirt covering my heart.  She smiled.  The sticker she had given me in the morning was still there.

"I wore it ALL DAY, Ellie," I told her as I looked at her with her big, beautiful, toothless smile.

And we said nothing more than the signed "I love yous" and blown kisses we exchanged as I left her to fall asleep and start having those good dreams I told her to have.

Ella's NOT a Caterpillar

Walking back from Walgreens on Sunday after spending some family time at a neighborhood park and then having to adjust our lunch plans when we realized the local pizza joint was closed, Cal was still exhibiting some... strike that, many of the traits of being a complete crankpot.  He hadn't handled well our plans being disrupted by an unexpected pizza joint closure, and I chose to make light of it.

"Who thinks Cal's a big crankpot?" I asked, and then I shouted, "ME!"

Ella, always game for this kind of fun, especially at Cal's expense, chimed in, "ME!"  I don't remember if Dan did (Ella and I were loud), but let's say he did.

Cal was quick to respond with a "Who thinks..." of his own.  "Who thinks Ella's a big tattle teller?" he asked.  She is.

Ella was quick to respond with an angry, "I AM NOT A CATERPILLAR, CAL!"

Behind inner smiles, both Cal and I quickly corrected what she had thought she'd heard -- we both knew the meltdown to which it could lead, and that was something that, unspoken, we both agreed we didn't want to experience.  "No, a TATTLE TELLER," Cal said; and I added, "Yeah, Ellie, Cal said TATTLE TELLER."  I think it's funny that we all knew that this was the better of the two names to call Ella, at least in Ella's mind.

But that's the thing -- it is better because Ella knows that she's a tattle teller, which is something we've accused her of being a lot recently and something that we're working with her to correct.  It's not easy -- she's really good at it, and teaching a kid to understand when it's okay to tell and when it's not okay to tell has plenty of gray area.  I mean I want her to tell me when Cal's tying a rope around her neck (it's happened... more than once... sometimes with her full cooperation), but I don't want her to tell me that he's not putting the black crayon away when he's the one who used it.

Coming up with and communicating the rules and guidelines for her to apply to her thought process before deciding to tell us something has been a challenge, and getting it right was recently exacerbated by something that I learned from her teacher that had happened at school.

Ella's teacher noticed that Ella was scratching herself around her privates on occasion.  She did it at naptime one day, and Ms. Tawania asked Ella about it.  Does it hurt?  Does it itch?  Are you okay?  Did you tell your mommy about it?

Ella at first said it was okay but then eventually said that it was itchy sometimes.  And why didn't she tell her mommy?  "Because I don't want to be a tattle teller."

Ms. Tawania and I talked a bit about this, and she said that it is difficult to teach children the difference between the tattle-tell type of telling and the for-the-good-of-yourself-and-humanity type of telling.  No advice was given, but I always feel a little better when a professional child rearer sympathizes and shares the same challenges as I, a novice child rearer, experience. But clearly I'd want to know if something was itching her, so we needed to be clearer about what qualifies as tattle telling so she'd feel comfortable telling me about it.

On Sunday, I noticed I started using this rule with Ella: "If it affects you, tell me; if it doesn't affect you, don't tell me."

"Do you know what 'affect' means?" I asked her as she gave me a blank stare.

"No," she responded.

So I proceeded to tell her.  I find myself having to provide definitions for words on a regular basis, and this is no picnic, having to avoid using a word to define itself and actually knowing synonyms or equivalent phrases that sub-10-year-olds would understand. "Affect" was a relatively easy one as I was able to use things like if it hurts you, itches you, scares you or worries you, it affects you; and you should tell me.  If it doesn't hurt you, itch you, scare you or worry you, it doesn't affect you; and you shouldn't tell me.

I then gave her an example of each, right or wrong using Cal in the example (if he kicks you, it affects you; if he sneaks a cookie, it doesn't) which led to a Q&A of what qualifies as affecting and what doesn't. For some Q&A exchanges, it was Ella asking the questions and I answering them; for others, it was Ella doing it all herself.  She's notorious for learning rules and telling you everything about them.  But she seemed to understand.

We put it into practice immediately, where she'd tell and I'd tell her she was telling.  Each time I pointed out she was telling, she grinned; and that continued throughout the rest of the week.  She seems to be on board.  In fact, at one point later on Sunday after having been told she was telling a few times, she suggested a goal for herself.  "Mommy, if I don't tell on anyone until the end of May, we'll do something special," she said, not literally, but that was the summarized version of it.  No kidding -- this was all her idea.

Being the goal-oriented person I am and really wanting to nip this tattle telling in the bud, I jumped on board immediately and agreed we'd do something special, whatever that may be.  I'm not holding her to this rule 100%, and she has slipped a couple of times since stating it.  But it's been she who catches and acknowledges it herself... and then tells me it doesn't count, which is fine with me because it's still progress.

There's a small part of me that regrets going down this path altogether, though.  It has been nice to know that if Cal's sneaking treats into his room and eating them in his closet or if he's peeing in the backyard, we'll find out about it without even trying.  With our tattle teller in the house, we know everything.  But for the good of developing Ella into a well-rounded, well-liked person, I'm willing to try a different method of finding out Cal's doing stuff he really shouldn't be doing.

So after we successfully convinced Ella that she hadn't actually been accused for being a caterpillar and instead was accused of being a tattle teller, everyone was happy, even crankpot Cal.  Since we all seemed to enjoy the "Who thinks..." banter, I continued it, at Cal's expense.

"Who thinks Cal wears floods?" I asked.  He does.

"ME!" Ella and I answered.  Cal may have even chimed in with a "ME!"  I don't remember hearing Dan.

"Who thinks Cal pulls his pants up to his chest?" I asked.  He does.

"ME!" we answered again.

Yes, finding pants that fit Cal even when he pulls them up to his chest is another Leatherkid challenge with which we're dealing.  That he's doing this and making it impossible for his pants to be anything but floods is so obvious and unavoidable that Ella doesn't even need to tell us and we'll still know it.

Computer Time... Lost

I'd say the Leatherman household is a little behind the times as far as technology goes.  Not far behind, but I wouldn't describe us as caught up.  To date, this as been a conscious choice basing our technology purchases more on need than on desire.  We don't have an iPad... don't need one.  My personal flip phone stopped working a few months ago, and Dan's Blackberry doesn't get much use.  I despise our laptop -- its usability is horrendous, I think -- and only use it when I need to.  My computer time is spent almost entirely on my work laptop.

The kids don't share the same feelings about our personal computer.  In fact, computer time is so desired and treasured around our house during the weekends that it oftentimes leads to fights... take this morning, for instance.

Dan has instituted some rules for earning computer time... for the kids, that is.  His rule is two minutes of reading time for one minute of computer time; and I typically adjust it slightly, making it one-for-one to make it a little less daunting for them.  Admittedly, I've been known to abandon the rule entirely, just to get a block of time with peace and quiet to re-acquire my own sanity; but that's a topic for another blog post.

Anyway, whether it's two-for-one or one-for-one, it seems to be a good rule and encourages reading... kind of.  Most of their time reading is spent checking on how much time they've accumulated.  Cal's buns had barely hit the couch this morning when he was asking, as he opened up his Star Wars whatever book, "Mama, how much time do I have?" I'm not sure how I responded, perhaps with rolled eyes, perhaps with a smart-ass "1 second" or perhaps with, "You just started."

Cal's asking, of course, triggered Ella, who was already a few minutes into her reading, to ask, "How much time do I have?" to which I responded, "Five minutes."  It was a rough guess as I technically hadn't started timing her, but it seemed reasonable.

It was quiet for a few minutes, atypically more than a few, actually.  Then a check happened.  "Mama, how many minutes?" Cal asked.  "15," I told him, and this is with no assessment of the quality of his reading.  For all I know, his eyes glossed over the words most of that time, if they even went over the words at all.  There's a lot of unearned trust in the current implementation of this.

Anyway, since Cal asked, Ella asked.  "20," I told her.  "Can I go first?" she asked.  I told her that, yes, she could; afterall, she was 20 minutes in and would hit 30 minutes sooner than Cal, at 15 minutes in, would.  I'm not sure exactly how the 30-minute target came about, but it did... so I just stuck with it.

Two minutes later, I was being asked again.  And again, 30 seconds later.  At this point, it was ridiculous; so Dan instituted the "if you ask how much time you have, we're going to take a minute away" rule.  Ella didn't like this and completely flew off the handle in classic Ella style, a style we really haven't seen in awhile.  It's been sooooooo nice.

I don't remember all that she said, but let's just characterize it as spewing jibberish and nonsensical statements while flailing her body onto the couch and off... and on... and off, all the while kicking and screaming her jibberish when she could.  Cal started teasing her and laughing, which garnered a "Stop it, Cal, you're making me not read!" from her.  Cal kept laughing.  I started laughing.  And then Dan started blowing her kisses.

Hindsight is telling me we probably shouldn't have teased her so much.  I mean, it was hard not to because it was amusing at this point.  She completely lost her mind.  Minutes were being taken away from her.  Couple that with not actually reading, and she fell behind Cal.

BOOM!  She technically hadn't fallen apart to this point.  But with the news that Cal would get to 30 minutes and the computer first, Ella completely lost her mind.  And once I actually got him started with his computer time, it got even worse.

So while Cal did his usual Lego video watching on the computer -- yes, he searches for Lego things and watches Lego-assembling videos -- Ella and I had a back and forth complete with me trying to be stern and deliver completely logical responses to Ella's... insanity.  Of course, this approach didn't work and eventually led to me insisting she go upstairs to calm down because "I didn't want to talk to her anymore."  Getting her to cooperate on her own at this point was like moving a mountain, so I had to up my volume and participation in getting her up there.  I helped her get her books, Blue Blankie and unicorn stuffed animal balanced in her arms and sent her to her room again.  She stood on the landing of the stairs still complaining about not getting computer time first; and I told her if she said that one more time and didn't go up to her room she wouldn't get any computer time.

I really wanted her to have her fucking computer time and wished I hadn't said that, but I did... so I had to stick to it.  She complained about not going first one more time and I said, "That's it! No computer time for you today!"  Ugh.  As expected, this didn't go over well, and she still wasn't in her fucking room.  So it wasn't over, and I had no sense for when it would end.  If I could just figure out the magic word or the magic response...

The next several minutes involved me yelling at her -- still the logical stuff (the general theme being that she chose this, not me), just at a heightened volume -- and her yelling back at me that I'm mean and she really wants to go on the computer.  I left her and headed back downstairs.  Ella stayed in her room and eventually calmed herself down... after Cal's 30 minutes were up.

Calm, she made her way downstairs and apologized to me.  This was my in!  I picked her up, set her in my lap and gave her a hug.  I spoke calmly about how she needs to learn to control herself and keep herself calm.  I told her the rules were simple and she just needed to follow them.  I told that she needed to trust me if she does follow the rules and explained what that meant.  I told her not worry about Cal.  I told her I love her and I'm really proud of her.  And then I told her that since she apologized, I'd let her earn computer time if she wanted it.  She's have to start over and could do it all at once or in chunks -- I'd keep track of it.

She then calmly went to "the library" (our shelf of books downstairs) and grabbed a book.  After 15 minutes of reading, she got excited about the proposal Dan laid out that we go to the park.  That led to another short-lived meltdown between the three of them; and, as I finish this, Ella is now sitting next to me with her toy toolbox and pounding wooden nails into wooden washers with her wooden hammer.  It's loud, slightly annoying and not great for my focus and sanity, but I'll take it over the computer time debacle anytime.