That's Right, I Speak Superhero...And I'm Not Afraid to Use It

Last week, when it was time to start schoolwork for the day, Jack was running around our basement/homeschool room with Tinker Toys stuck in the wrists of his shirts and growling. Now, he's a boy and he's five so I wasn't all that shocked. Actually, I've encountered worse creations from the mind of this imaginative and surprisingly mechanical little man. Claws and growling isn't so bad.

Me: Ok, Jack, time for schoolwork.

Jack: I'm Wolverine! (Hop, skip (in a manly, superhero way), leap, growl and strike a menacing pose).

And just in case you don't have superhero fans in your home here's Wolverine:

photo credit

Me: Well, even Wolverine needs to learn how to read. How else could he learn all the X-Men rules? And he can't track down Magneto if he can't read the street signs.

Jack: (deep sigh, that clearly communicates my total failure to convince him that superheroes are both tough and literate). Mommy, I'm not really Wolverine. I'm just pretending.

Me: Oh, well then you definitely have to learn to read since you don't have that whole superhero thing to fall back on.

Don't Hit Someone on the Head with Your Happy Place

My kids can get wound up. Like spinning top of death wound up. And when they get wound up, there is likely to be a cacophony of screeching, laughter, squeals and the occasional outburst of righteous indignation.

Just a few days ago the screeching, squealing chaos was in full force. There was racing, tagging, throwing and dodging involved in some strange game that used a combination of balls, Legos and Play-Doh. I have no idea what the object of the game was, how it was played or who made it up, but I do know that it was an intense competition. Finally, the noise level hit whatever decibel triggers the parent twitch reflex and Major Dad put a stop to the game. Or so he thought.

He separated the kids and banished them each to their own bean bag. They ended up sitting directly across from each other, each one planted on a bean bag and giving the other a Clint Eastwood showdown stare. Which led to giggles. Which led to snickers. Which led to Jack giving in to his inner warrior, letting loose with a blood curdling mix of medieval war cry and five year old laughter, grabbing his bean bag and running straight for Ella.

Major Dad, using some quick military take down honed by years of combat training, intercepted Jack and the bean bag and said (with a completely straight face) "Jack! You don't hit someone with your happy place."

Then he paused, looked at me with a slightly befuddled expression and said, "did I actually just say that?"

Me: "Welcome to my world. Want some chocolate?"

The Second Cold Shower Story (We Really Do Own a Hot Water Heater)

Now you can feel sorry for Jack.

A few nights ago, Jack ran out of hot water in the shower. I don't think it was Ella's fault this time since we had the dishwasher running, but the poor little guy got all soapy and then ran out of hot water. And left with the choice to jump out of the shower all covered with soap bubbles or to take a deep breathe and rinse off in the cold water, Jack chose...well, his first choice was to made a mad, soap covered dash for warmth and freedom. But Major Dad stopped him and made him rinse off in the cold water.

I'm pretty sure I could hear Jack's teeth chattering from a room away. Major Dad, cleaning him off as fast as humanly possible, was trying to be encouraging.

Major Dad: I know it's cold. Think warm thoughts.

Jack: B-b-b-b-ut, I'm-m-m-m-m c-c-c-c-old.

Major Dad: I know, I'm sorry. What's the warmest thing you can think of?

Jack: M-m-m-mommy.

Me: Awwwwwww.

So as soon as Jack got out of the shower, Major Dad dried him off, bundled him up and sent him to me. The little guy promptly climbed in my lap and snuggled as close as he could get. I was suddenly cold, but my heart was warm. Ahhhhhh. Mommy bliss.

Then the cold, wet towel started to seep into my clothes. My heart was still warm and toasty like a Pop-Tart, but the rest of me needed an electric blanket. And slippers. And maybe some hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows. Not the dehydrated micro-mallows that come in the cocoa packet...real mini-marshmallows. That's the stuff.

Oh, and Jack was warmed up too.

An Upside to a Cold Shower

I have not one, but two cold shower stories for you. First, the good news...I was not the one in either cold shower. Second, the less than good news...my kids were. Third, I will not admit that I find the thought of my children getting stuck with no hot water mildly amusing.

So here's the first story. Ella likes really hot, really long showers. The kind of showers that have set off our smoke detectors...twice. After one of her marathon Turkish sauna style showers we finally sat down to have a water conservation discussion with her. We explained to her, in what I thought was very clear language, that she couldn't use all of the hot water. We explained, again in clear language, that she had to leave hot water for everyone else to use. Clear? Yes, absolutely. If I heard that language I would think "oh, I need to take shorter showers so I don't use up all the hot water."

What did Ella hear? Ella heard, "don't use hot water." Guess how I found that out...one night as Major Dad and I told her to go get in the shower I happened to mention that Jack wouldn't be taking a shower that night. I think I actually said, "it's getting late, I guess Jack will just have to stink." (To which Jack replied, "yes! I'm a stinker!")

Anyway, after my oh-so casual announcement that Jack would not be needing the shower Ella threw both her hands in the air and exclaimed, "woohoo! I can use the hot water!" And promptly scampered off.

Me: blink, blink. Did she just say she hasn't been using hot water?

Major Dad: I think so.

Me: Has she been taking cold showers?

Major Dad: It seems so.

Me: Poor Ella!

Major Dad: (with an oddly proud lilt to his voice) Dude, that girl is tough.

So we called Ella back and asked her if she had been taking cold showers. Yep, that's what she'd been doing. Ever since we told her not to use all the hot water...and that was about a month ago. On the one hand, I'm completely mortified and feel so bad for my little girl. On the other hand, I'm really humbled that she was willing to be so obedient without complaining or muttering or second guessing us at all. Even if meant taking cold showers for a month.

Seriously, that girl IS tough.

PS. Tune in tomorrow for the second cold shower story. :)

Sometimes Teenagers Are Better Than Llamas

Every once in a while you meet a teenager that reaffirms your faith in humanity...or at least your faith in the people that will one day be taking care of your broken down older self. You know, beyond the eye rolling, sigh heaving and monosyllabic conversationalism some teenager goes and does something supremely cool. Well, that just happened to me. And there were birds singing and furry woodland creatures dancing under a bright, shiny rainbow.

Here's the story. Jack recently started taking skating lessons during the home educators class that Ella attends. I've got Ella at one end of the rink with the advanced skaters and Jack at the other end with the beginners....whom I fondly (and only in my own goofy head) refer to as the skate, skate, splat class. I kinda look like I'm waiting to cross an imaginary street as I try to watch both classes at the same time. "Look left, right and left again." Or a spectator at a tennis match. Or a dog watching a metronome. Well, you get the idea...it's a neck workout for me.

So Jack started skating a few months ago and he's doing really well. In fact he just got his very own hockey skates. Now he wants to know when he's going to get his "hockey armor." Apparently I will also be adding hockey-mom to my resume sometime in the very near future. Anyway, they usually have a few teenage hockey players who help out with the classes. And one of these teenagers is Jack's new hero. Jack follows him around like a slightly wobbly puppy...on ice. And this kid always has time for Jack. Always says hi to him, he'll even spend his free skate time skating with Jack. Which is already grounds for total awesomeness in my book. (And to put this in context, Jack is 5).

But it gets even better. This past weekend we took the kids to see this awesome teenager's hockey game. Ella, who is surprisingly blood thirsty for a figure skater, had a blast and Jack kept jumping up and down and cheering...even if no one was playing. During a line change, Jack's hero took to the ice and guess what he did....he waved at Jack. Oh. My. Stars. You should have seen the smile on Jack's face. It was the best.

And then after the game, he invited Jack into the locker room. Granted Jack hid behind Major Dad's legs the whole time, but Jack got a fist bump from the big kids. The big kids! At least that's what I heard. Ella and I happened to be looking at sparkly skating dresses in the pro shop at the time. What? They had sparkles.

Stuff like that makes me so happy. The great kids, I mean, not the sparkly dresses. Sometimes teenagers are awesome. Sometimes you want to trade them in for llamas, but then they go and do something as cool as this and you forget why you were ever thinking about llamas in the first place.

Old Yeller Update

Because I know you're wondering...Ella finished reading Old Yeller today. Here's what I heard as she sat on the couch reading: sniff (pause), sniffle (pause), sniff, sniff, sniffle, sigh, sniffle, unintelligible whimper of some sort.

When I went to sit down next to her, I was too late. Old Yeller was gone. The fictional dog, not the book. Her face was all red and blotchy and she was doing that heart-breaking, pitiful, not making a sound crying. No kidding, there are tear stains on the pages of the book.

So I scooped her up in a hug and she cried. Then she went and snuggled with our greyhound who just laid there quietly, giving us a look that said rather eloquently, "dude, who died?" Oh, if she only knew.

And we had a mother-daughter moment and talked about life and death and giving up one's life for another. And there were violins playing softly in the background (ok, it was Christian rock) as I told her that if we tried to avoid all the sadness in life, we'd end up missing all of the joy as well. And she looked up at me with tears and wisdom shining in her precious eyes and said "I'm not reading that book again."

Two Monologues do not Equal a Dialogue

Yesterday was a skating day. Which to an uninformed passerby could look like a weekend getaway...or a blitzkrieg style invasion of a small country. It's not just me, Ella and Jack jumping in the mini-van and heading off to the rink. It's me, Ella and Jack along with two insulated lunch bags, Ella's skating bag on wheels with telescoping handle, Jack's hockey bag, a blanket for me to sit on (the metal bleachers are cold!), Ella's change of clothes for when we hit the grocery store on the way home (because she doesn't want to go out in her skating outfit), Jack's backpack full of stuff to keep him occupied if he decides to take a break from skating, water bottles for the kids and a thermos filled with caffeine for me. Oh, plus my purse (which rates its own post someday).

Anyway, on this skating day Jack decided he didn't want to skate by himself and since I wasn't feeling well I hadn't brought my skates. (Oh, add my skating bag to the above mentioned list of stuff stuffed into the mini-van.) So I sat on the bleachers watching Ella while Jack played with his Star Wars action figures.

Then a little girl, probably around four, came over to say hi. She was adorable and talkative and since Jack's big sister is also adorable and talkative, Jack felt right at home chatting with her. And this is how the "conversation" went:

Jack: "I have Obi-Wan and Cad Bane."

Little Girl: "I can go sledding when it snows."

Jack: "I have Yoda at home. And a Battle Droid."

Little Girl: "But it didn't snow today."

Jack: "Cad Bane has a hat but I lost it in the car."

Little Girl: "I want it to snow."

Jack: "Cad Bane is a bad guy that's why I have Obi-Wan. He's a Jedi."

Little Girl: "My sled is pink."

And on and on it went. They were both perfectly content talking to each other...or to state it more appropriately, talking near each other...about two completely different topics and it all made perfect sense to them.
Apparently to a four and five year old a similar sized munchkin is all that's needed for stimulating conversation. And it must have translated well into their brains because the little girl told her mom she made a new friend and Jack told me we should invite her to our house to play.

Go figure. Skate. Haha...go figure skate.*

*Sorry about that. I haven't had caffeine yet.

The Invisible Monkey Solution

Winter is not my friend. I despise being cold. And I'm not that fond of rain unless it's a thunderstorm and I'm inside under an electric blanket sipping hot chocolate while the power stays on. And I don't like ice. Which is weird since I spent most of my formative years as a figure skater and I now spend 2-3 days a week at an ice rink watching my kids skate. Maybe it's long suppressed emotional scarring. Or maybe it all goes back to the first thought...I just despise being cold.

Anyway, I've also discovered another drawback to winter. My kids go completely bonkers with cabin fever. If there was lots of fluffy white snow on the ground I could at least let them run around outside until their runny noses were officially frozen to their faces. But today it's just icy and cold and drizzly and yucky. I can't in good conscience let them go play in the frozen wasteland but to them even a thin layer of dirty cracked ice should qualify as a snow day.

So now we're all in the house, schoolwork is done and the bickering has begun. Here's the scenario....Ella & Jack are playing zoo. It's an invisible zoo, which is awesome & full of imagination, but keep in mind it's invisible. After building all the invisible cages and filling them with invisible animals, Ella decides to take the invisible monkey on a walk. At which point Jack declares that he is the official invisible monkey wrangler.

Ella: "But he's my monkey."

Jack: "It's my zoo too!"

Ella: "Why don't you go walk the elephant."

Jack: "I don't want to walk an elephant. I want to walk the monkey."

Ella: "Go get a lion. Lions are cool."

Jack: "Elllllllllllaaaaaaaa."

At which point my head threatened to explode. So Mommy the ultimate arbitrator stepped in.

Me: "Here, I just bought another invisible monkey for your zoo. Now you have two."

Ella & Jack: (after a moment of stunned, wide eyed blinking silence) "Oh, ok."

And off they went with their invisible monkeys.

So, what time is Spring?

I'm Potentially the Worst Mother in the World

*Potentially* That's important. It's not like there's been a vote or anything. And I don't think you actually win a prize if you get officially voted the worst mother in the world. It's more of an honorary title...like an honorary doctorate...or a rap sheet...whatever.

So here are the circumstances of my impending descent into worst motherhood-dom. *Potentially* Ella is reading "Old Yeller." Did you just suck in a deep breathe and say something like "ooooohhhh noooooo." Yeah, I know. It might be bad.

See, we're studying the post-civil war era in American History and one of the books in her curriculum is "Old Yeller." Also known as the evil-book-where-the-dog-gets-shot. I went back and forth for days about whether or not to let her read the book. Ella loves dogs. And when I say loves, I mean LOVES. She can name a ridiculous number of dog breeds and correctly identify them. She stages dog shows with her stuffed animals. It's adorable. And it's all about to come crashing down on her. Worst. Mother. Ever. *Potentially*

I finally decided to let her read the book because it's a classic, it has a great portrayal of American life in that time and its a good challenging read for her. Of course when I told Major Dad what she was reading he gave me a look that was part horror and part "I'm going to laugh at you when she flips out." And to make matters worse, the stupid cover of the stupid book has a picture of a big ol' fluffy yellow dog smiling a big doggy smile with no idea that he's about to die.

So now here I am...counting down the days until she hits chapter 15. And there's Ella, blissfully devouring what she calls "the best book ever!"

Worst mother in the world. *Potentially*

A Four Year Old Commando

As a follow-up to yesterday's post on the woes of washing disposable pull-ups, let me share with you the joys of explaining to a 4 year old the concept of going commando.

So, if you didn't read yesterday's post, I'll wait here while you scroll down a bit to catch up. Don't worry, we'll wait. (La di da, hum di ho) All finished? Did you like the Hippy-Hippy Shake line? I was especially proud of that. Anyway, what you need to remember to properly enjoy today's post is that Jack's laundry, including all of his underwear, ended up soaking wet and covered in diaper goo. So the next morning, when it was time to get dressed Jack rather innocently asked "where's my underwear?"

At which point, I looked at Major Dad and said, "this is a Daddy moment."

After giving it some thought, he took Jack's hand and said, "time to go commando, buddy." I tried really hard not to giggle as I listened to my husband explain to my son that it was very important that to be extra careful when zipping up his pants. Hysterical! But it gets even better.

Later that night we took the kids to Burger King for dinner so we could use their free wi-fi to catch up on some projects. (Remember the lightening fried modem? You can scroll down for that adventure too). Anyway, as the kids were finishing dinner, there were two other little girls wearing dresses running around the play set. Now this play set is two stories high and these girls were wearing dresses. Yeah, not a good combination. So there's Jack casually sipping his lemonade when he suddenly (and loudly) announced "I know those girls aren't going commando because I can see their underwear."

Yep, that was my son.

When Fractions Backfire

Ella has been doing a great job on her math recently. You may recall, or if not I'll fill you in, Ella was way behind in math when we started homeschooling. And she was not a fan of math. She dreaded seeing her math book come out. But now, (prepare for a happy dance) she's totally caught up. It's still not her first choice for fun, but at least she doesn't drop her head on the desk in a pitiful show of defeat when it's math time.

Anyway, a few weeks ago I was teaching her about equivalent fractions. Part of the lesson involved choosing the larger of two fractions. When Ella looked at a problem that asked if 1/3 or 1/4 was larger, she chose 1/4 as the larger fraction because 4 is bigger than 3. And while I appreciated her logic, I had to explain to her why 1/3 is actually bigger than 1/4.

I started with straight mathematical reasoning...and as I watched her eyes glaze over, I was pretty sure I could hear my voice becoming the Charlie Brown teacher drone, whaa, whaa, whaa, in her little head. So I switched tactics and went for cake. Not real cake...mathematical cake. Which is way more interesting than mathematical reasoning, even if it's not as tasty. Here's how the conversation went:

"Ella, imagine you had a big cake."

"Ok!"

"Now, imagine that you had to share that cake with two friends. And everyone had to get the same size piece."

"Got it."

"Now, imagine that another friend showed up. Now there are four people and everyone still has to get the same size piece. So because there are more people sharing the cake, each piece will have to be smaller, right?"

"Right."

"But if there were only three people sharing the cake they could all have a bigger piece, right?"

"Right."

"So, Ella would you rather share your cake with two friends or with three friends?"

Scrunching her face and thinking for a minute "I'd rather share with three friends that way I could have more people over to play."

Uhhhh, kinda hard to argue with that.

Life Changing Moments

So during these past two months of radio silence, in addition to painting my nails a wide variety of occasionally questionable colors, I also got to introduce my young and impressionable children to the greatest of all great films...the Mt. Everest of movies, the epitome of entertainment, the dark chocolate of the dessert world...that's right folks, my kids have now seen Star Wars. And not just the original Star Wars, but the entire series (with the exception of a few parentally edited moments in Episode III). Can I get a woot, woot from my fellow Star Wars fans? After you finish chiding me for allowing my daughter to go 8 whole years without seeing the wonder that is Star Wars, of course.

See, we had a rainy week and Major Dad was gone and I was desperate for a distraction. When it suddenly dawned on me...aha! Star Wars. And sure enough, these kids must be genetically related to me because they were both hooked after the first scrolling words drifted across the screen. So we spent an entire weekend sitting in a darkened living room, living on popcorn (with movie theatre butter of course) indulging in a Star Wars marathon. So much fun! But here's the best part...

Picture this...Ella and Jack sitting spellbound watching The Empire Strikes Back, a bowl of popcorn between them, light sabers flashing as Luke bravely battles the evil Darth Vader when suddenly Vader says in that haunting James Earl Jones voice, "I am your father."

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" That was Ella squealing at the top of her lungs. "No way! Mommy, Mommy, MOMMMMMMMMMMYYYYY! Did you hear that?"

I of course was laughing like a fool. That was my favorite part of the movie, just watching Ella's reaction to the big news. And it cracked me up, it was like watching someone's entire world view change. Like that one bit of iconic information, that one massive movie twist totally changed her perspective on life.

Now, I started typing and then deleted several sentences on the deep meaning behind these life changing moments, about their rarity, about the way we receive them, or not, and what we choose to do with them, about how easy it is to let them slip away or how we can relegate them to a youthful memory and forget the brief moment of passion and clarity we suddenly felt. But I think I'll just leave it there.

And I could go on and on about the philosophical subtext of Star Wars, but I won't. I will add that my second favorite part of our Star Wars marathon was when my kids decided that of all the characters, I'm Yoda. Hummm, happy am I.

No Damsels in Distress Here

One of the joys of having kids is that you just never know what awesome observations on life they're going to make...and you never know when it's going to strike. I live in a constant state of "hilarity preparedness." I can see the wheels turning in the minds of my little ones and every so often one of them comes up with a ridiculously insightful quip that just cracks me up.

Such was the case just last night. As we were winding down and trying to relax before bedtime, I popped a Scooby-Doo dvd into the trusty dvd player and sat down to chill with the kiddies. As often happens in the dramatic masterpiece that is the Scooby-Doo franchise, there was a dastardly fiend on the loose and a damsel in distress. In this particular instance there was something heavy falling from the ceiling and the aforementioned damsel in distress was standing helplessly directly under the also aforementioned heavy, falling object. At the last second, Freddie made a superhuman leap from across the room and grabbed the helpless damsel and pushed her out of the way. Heavy, falling object landed with a thunderous crash and surely would have squished the poor girl if not for Freddie's heroic heroism.

At which point my darling 8 year old girl looked at me and said (quite matter of factly) "Mommy, what's the matter with cartoon girls? If something is about to fall on you, you should just get out of the way."

So of course I cracked up and agreed wholeheartedly.

Then she added, "Maybe they're just waiting for the boy to save them."

My reply, "That might be true."

Ella, after giving it some thought, "Well, if something's about to fall on me, I'm not going to wait around for some boy to save me, I'm just going to move."

That's my girl!

Small Miracles

I know that God answers prayer. And I know that He works miracles, big and small, every day. But sometimes, when I actually come face to face with a real, tangible answer to prayer, it takes my breath away.

That happened to me last week. You may remember reading here, that I was battling my protective mommy instincts because Ella didn't pass her last figure skating test and it broke her little heart. Well, she had two private lessons between the test and the start of the next session and she really nailed the turn that had caused her problems. So I called the rink to see if she could take the test again...wait, wait, that doesn't qualify for banshee mom status. I was soooooo sweet and mellow and all "hey, it's no big deal." But no one was there so I had to leave a super mellow message.

Anyway, I failed to factor my new phone into my grand get-Ella-retested-plan. I thought my voicemail would automatically transfer from my old phone to my new phone. Alas, that is not how phone migration works. So, even though the skating director did return my call, my voicemail wasn't working so she couldn't leave me a message. Drat.

So last week the new class started. Since I hadn't heard from anyone, I figured the retest was a no-go and I told Ella she'd probably have to repeat the class. She understood, but she was still disappointed. Which made me sad. We prayed the night before the class that God would make a way for her to move up. Then the day of the class I prayed the whole way to the rink (oh, it's an hour drive by the way...so I prayed a lot) that God would step in and help Ella take the test again.

Are you getting the feeling that God did something mighty? Well, you're right, He did. When we got to the rink, I looked at the class assignments and guess what...they had moved Ella up! No re-test, no conversation, they just did it. I can't even describe the look of joy on Ella's face when she found out.

Even now I get all misty eyed thinking about it. She was so happy. And God did that for her. Seeing His grace and mercy and love at work in my daughter's life is just incredible. It was such a small prayer request for such an insignificant thing. But friends, there is nothing insignificant to God. He stepped in and worked a miracle in a little girl's life because He loves her so much. Maybe in the history of the world it won't be remembered as a "big" miracle, but it was huge in my daughter's life. And isn't that what God is truly after? Being huge to each of us personally.

My Daughter the Political Commentator

So yesterday we had to clean up the basement/homeschool room. Don't worry it's a finished basement, carpet and everything. I don't make them work in some dark cellar next to boxes of Christmas decorations and the dust covered treasures we inherited from Great-Grandma's attic (all that stuff is in the storage closet). See, good mommy homeschooler.

Anyway, after we finished schoolwork Hurricane Ella and Tornado Jack collided in a perfect storm of blocks, Legos, dolls and a marathon shopping game which involved Jack running a store and Ella buying pretty much everything in the basement...which is also our family room so there's a bunch of stuff for an 8 year old with a pocket full of play money to splurge on. Now, being the Merciless Mommy that I am, I declared that the room had to be clean before we could have dinner and go to church.

On a side note, it absolutely amazes me that kids can completely destroy a room in mere minutes and then take countless, feet dragging hours to put it back in order. My kids can go from 60-0 mph in the amount of time it takes me to announce, "clean up time!" But I digress...

So, as we're digging out from the toy storm (and I say we because Merciless Mommy isn't heartless...I did help), Ella and I got to work putting the play money away. I bought this really awesome Melissa and Doug play money set last year when Ella was learning how to count and add money and it helped sooooo much. Well, the bills are surprisingly realistic. Not that I'm going to try to pass them off at the grocery store or anything, but the images are really good.

Well, Ella looked at the $10 bill and said, "look, Mommy, it's Thomas Jefferson." And I was pretty impressed. We're studying American history and we've been reading about Thomas Jefferson and the other founding fathers so the fact that she recognized the guy was fairly high on my cool list. Then she points to the $1 bill and says, "and there's George Washington." Again, Mommy was impressed and feeling pretty good about our history program.

She didn't know the other gentlemen so I named them for her and when we got to the $100 bill I said, "and this is Benjamin Franklin. Did you know he's the only one of these men who wasn't President of the United States?"

And Ella replied, "well, I guess that's why he's worth so much."

Bwahahahaha!!

When Your Invisible Friend Doesn't Want to Play

The following in an actual conversation between Ella & Jack...who I may rename Abbott & Costello.

Ella: Ring, ring. (she picks up a toy cell phone) Oh, hello, Emma. Yes, I would love to come over for a slumber party.

Jack: I wanna come!

Ella: You can't come, it's girls only.

Jack: I wanna be a girl.

Ella: Well you can't be a girl. You're a boy.

Jack: I'm not a boy! I'm a man! (remember, he's 4)

Ella: Fine, you're a man. But you're not a girl. (Back to the toy cell phone...again, it's a TOY...there's no one on the other end) Sorry Emma, that's my bruh-thuuur.

Jack: Tell Emma I wanna come!

Ella: I told you it's just girls! Do you want to get your nails painted and get a makeover and get dressed up?

Jack: Yes.

Ella: Ugh! (grabbing another toy cell phone) Ring, ring. Jack, it's Tony, he wants you to come over to HIS house.

Jack: Yippee! Mommy, Mommy, Mommy...Tony said I can come over.

Ella: Jack, it's just pretend. Tony didn't really call.

Jack: But Tony's my friend.

Ella: I know. But he's not on the phone.

Jack: But he is.

Ella: No, he's not.

Jack: But you said he is.

Ella: Jack, listen to me. Tony isn't on the phone. It's a toy phone. There's no one on the phone. Because it's not a real phone. We're just playing, see? It's...a...toy!

Jack: (with the most pitiful broken-hearted expression you have ever seen). Oh. Now can I come to Emma's with you?

Ella: Mommy!

I of course pretended not to hear her outraged cry of utter frustration. I was too busy laughing.

Scary Banshee Mom

My darling Ella is a figure skater and she loves it. In my long ago youthful days, I was also a figure skater and I still love it. Now figure skating, like most sports, has its fair share of stage mom syndrome. You know what I mean...the well meaning mom that yells a little too much "encouragement" and takes everything way too seriously. The one that turns every practice session into one long awkward moment. When this mom sits down all the other moms quietly slide a little further down the bleachers to avoid being sucked into her banshee mom vortex of terror. Yeah, that one. Well, I've seen it from both sides of the ice...and it isn't pretty.

So I work really hard to avoid being "that mom." And while I personally have a *slightly* overly developed competitive nature, I always tell Ella that the only thing that counts is doing her best, having fun and all that other stuff they write about in the "How To Not Emotionally Damage Your Children" articles.

And I think I'm doing a pretty good job. But today...today I feel my inner banshee mom trying to break out of the tiny box I keep her locked in. Ella just finished a session of group lessons and she didn't pass the test to move on to the next level. She was so disappointed. She handled it with great maturity and I was really proud of her, but it just stinks. She only missed one skill. Actually only half of a skill because it's a turn she has to do on both feet. She can do one but not the other. And now she has to repeat the entire level...for one skill. One skill! Wait, deep breath, count to 5, go to a happy place where little elves make cookies. Ok, better now.

Even though I know Ella didn't do the turn well enough to pass, my protective mommy instinct is revving into the red zone. Especially when she turns her big blue eyes up at me and says, "Mommy, everyone passed but me. Am I not good at skating?" Yep, that cracking sound you hear is my heart breaking.

I know that failure is a part of life and that sometimes it's the best teacher. But it hurts so much to see my children sad. And as much as I want to jump in and try to fix it, I know that I can't. Ella didn't pass. It wasn't unfair, it wasn't a conspiracy, it's just a disappointment. And I know that she'll pass next time and that in 10 years it won't matter at all.

But it matters now.

And it still stinks.

I Hate Flashcards

A while back I shared how I lost 2 hours of my life making flashcards by hand for my darling Ella. Well, Ella has now moved on to multiplication. And what does that mean? That's right, more flashcards. Can you feel my joy?

So this time around I decided to just buy the stupid flashcards. It's not giving up. I prefer to think of it as delegation. I delegated the work to a large corporation...and then I compensated them for their work. See how that rationalization works. Ok honestly, I just didn't want to do it.

So after Ella's ice skating lesson today, we stopped by a teaching supply store and I found the exact kind of flashcards I wanted. Double-sided with answers on one side and no answers on the flip side. Mission accomplished. Then we get home and Ella was so excited about the new cards that she asked if she could open them and do a few. My daughter begging to do math? Have at it!

Then I had to go make a phone call. And it all went downhill from there. When I finished the call Ella said, "Mommy, I'm in the 4's!" I went into the living room and nearly fell over. There's my Ella, with a big smile on her face and Sharpie in her hand. She was writing the answers on all the cards. On the no answer side! I'm pretty sure my eyes popped out of my head because Ella took one look at me and burst into tears.

I made brownies.

Now I have to glue little pieces of paper over the all Sharpie scrawled answers so we can actually use the blasted cards. I'm so very, very happy I decided not to spend all that time making flashcards.

Jack and the Purple Poop

Ok, if you have issues with bathroom vocabulary or if you just really, really don't care for stories about my adorable 3 year old, then this post won't be for you. Feel free to click away and come back tomorrow for something profoundly deep and inspirational. But today I have a story that is just too funny not to share.

My sweet little boy Jack, also known as the mini-monkey boy of destruction, is in the process of potty training. Sigh. I am not a fan of this stage of development. I have yet to figure out the most effective way to explain in 3 year old speak the complex process of knowing when to go and, more importantly, where to go. So it's still a work in progress.

For the past few weeks Jack has been wandering around the house wearing only a t-shirt and Toy Story pull-ups. He's hit and miss on actually using the potty at the right time...oh, that wasn't meant as a commentary on his aim, but it works that way too. Well, the other day I looked at my half-naked Toy Story warrior and noticed that he looked like he was smuggling a present in his pull-up. You know what I mean. His caboose was dragging a bit. The trunk was full.

So, being the pro-active, always teaching mom that I am, I asked him, "Jack, did you go poop?" And, being the busy 3 year old that can't be bothered with minor details like diaper changes that he is, Jack replied, "nope."

Of course I didn't believe him so I scooped him up and took him upstairs to change his droopy drawers. And I laughed so hard I almost cried. Because what did I find waiting for me behind Buzz and Woody's smiling faces? A piece of purple chalk. Yep, chalk. And not a small piece either. And guess what else? When you keep chalk next to your skin, the color rubs off on you. That's right, purple monkey bottom. Apparently Jack decided that pull-ups make a good place to store things. Kind of like pockets. Pockets that you poop in.

Puzzling Personalities

Today I was watching Jack work on a puzzle and I had a sudden flash of insight. Not exactly the apple smacks Newton on the head and we have gravity kind of brilliance, but it was a big deal to me. Anyway, Jack was very happily assembling a puzzle and he wouldn't let me help at all. His exact words, "no, Mommy, shoo!"

And I noticed that he puts the pieces together in sections. Me, I very methodically find the corner pieces, then assemble all the edge pieces then fill in the middle. Not Jack. He worked on sections without putting the border together first. Which was kind of like fingernails on a chalkboard to my brain. I tried to encourage him to put all the border pieces together first, but he wasn't interested in Mommy's Philosophy of Puzzle Assembly. And I couldn't really say much because he was doing a great job. He got the whole puzzle done and did it pretty fast. Then he smiled and said, "look Mommy! All by myself!"

So here's my moment of insight...our kids won't always do things the way we want them to. Or the way we think is best. Or the way we would do it. Just because I put all the edge pieces together first, doesn't mean that Jack is going to do it that way. And even though I'm the mommy and my mommy-ness should make me the expert in everything, his way might just be better. Or at least better for him.

And oh, is that terrifying. Someday it won't be a puzzle, it will be a school choice or a career choice and in spite of all my motherly wisdom and nagging encouragement for him to do what I would do or to choose what I think is best for him, Jack will make his own decision. And I won't get to judge if it's right or wrong based on what I want for him or the hopes I have for his life. It's his life and his puzzle to put together. But I can pray for him and I can love him no matter what.

And yes, that is waaaaaay easier to say now when he's only three and his big decision is what book to read on the potty. I reserve the right to totally change this post in 15 years. Or sooner if Jack ever reads that potty comment and knows enough to be embarrassed.