Oh, No She Didn't

You know those moments when you have to discipline through stifled laughter at the very act you’re condemning?  I had a golden moment like that tonight.

We have swimming lessons at Foss on Fridays.  I love Foss for many reasons, but here are the top two: 

1) Ellen’s awesome teacher Jared, and 2) Panera across the hall.  After today’s lesson, we headed over for a snack.  While we were back a few feet from the counter, vacillating between cookie or brownie, Ellen pointed at something in front of us and giggled.  I looked up and saw an extremely obese woman placing her order.  I asked Ellen what was so funny.  (WHY did I do this?  WHY?  As much as I wanted to believe that Ellen was not laughing at the sizable rear in front of us, I knew deep down that she was). 

With a huge smile and somewhat declamatory volume level, Ellen said, “Look at that HUGE bum!”

She did it.  She went there.  I knelt down to her level and said very quietly, “Ellen, it is extremely rude to make a remark like that about someone.”

“But Mom,” she continued, “I just saw something silly.” 

“Even if you think it’s silly, you should not say things like that.  You need to be quiet right now.”

Ellen pointed again.  “Well, you can see it right there.”  (I think this was intended to make sure that I actually got a visual on the bum in question.  Certainly in Ellen’s mind, if I had seen the bum I would be laughing right along with her, and therefore my discipline could not really be justified).

“Okay,” I said, “I think you’ve lost your snack.  Let’s go.”   

I sort of regretted this for a split second after saying it.  For one thing, I really wanted a snack too.  But also, I realized that she couldn’t actually understand the reasons why her behavior was inappropriate.  In her world, the bum was indisputably funny, and not attached to a real person with feelings.  And for Pete’s sake, her mother in her own childhood would probably have snickered rudely (albeit quietly) at such a bum, and at a much older age than three-and-a-half.  I thought of reneging.    

Alas, a screaming tantrum ensued, and as soon as a screaming tantrum is involved, there can be no turning back.  Obviously it would be bad enough to renege on a disciplinary measure without the provoking tantrum, but it is exponentially worse to renege after behavior gets worse, regardless of how embarrassing the entire situation is.  We had to leave.  On the way to the car, I was laughing to myself. 

Oh, and don’t worry – I stopped at Starbucks on the way home.  I got two red velvet whoopee pies.  Ellen got nothing.

Summer Cries Uncle

I’m so glad that Fall is here.  Choir for me is in full swing, and all our activities and preschool have begun, except for two straggler classes (Art for Ellen and ECFE for Cecilia, both of which start next week).  We enjoy having legitimate reasons to leave the house. 

Here is Ellen on her first day of preschool.  I don’t know which face is more classic, so I’m including both of these shots.  She was excited. 

I think she looks sort of stereotypically butch, in the most adorable and hilarious of ways, what with her jorts (that is, jean shorts, though I guess technically they’re capris), oversize t-shirt, sneakers, and short hair which, by the way, she has decided she would like to grow out again.  (“Mom, I’m done bein’ like Auntie.”)  She came running out of preschool on the second day with an art project which she offered to me, saying, “Here ya go Mom, I made it just for you.  I knew you’d like the glitter.”  She was right.  Mrs. Gallagher’s words to me were, “She’s such a happy kid,” which is something I always love to hear (what Mom doesn’t?). 

Cecilia is a happy kid as well, though slightly more dramatic than Ellen.  She could benefit from having a few more words in her arsenal.  She’s definitely got “yogurt” down, “bah-bi” (for paci, or baby, or baby with a paci), and a few others, some of which are unintelligible, but clearly and consistently linked to a specific object to which she’s pointing.  She’s a nurturing type, as well as a seasoned shopper.  Here she is, working it. 

Grammy had neck surgery and has been wearing a collar since late August.  Strangely, Ellen’s neck began bothering her on the very same night in which Papa and a be-collared Grammy came for dinner.  This proved convenient.

Ultimately, Ellen's neck did not require surgery, since her symptoms abated quickly after Grammy and Papa's departure.

All Good Things End in Tears

We try to go somewhere every morning, including on weekends.  I’ve stated the importance of these outings in previous posts, but in case you didn’t read those, I’ll restate it here: when we don’t get out of the house in the morning, we all go stir-crazy.  Think Jack Nicholson in “The Shining.”  (And he had a whole hotel at his disposal).   

So this past Saturday, we packed some sandwiches and headed out to Excelsior to bum around.  My stepsister Amanda and nephew Walker joined us for lunch, and then we met with my sister Rachel, B-I-L Jim, nieces Bryn, Scout, and Anya, and baby Charlie. 

Our picnic lunch culminated in a little game of soccer (otherwise entitled “I try to steal the ball from you and you try to steal the ball from me”) between Ellen and 2-year-old Walker.  Amanda took some great pictures, and here’s an action shot:



Ellen and Walker play soccer

Now, there are a few things to notice in this photo. 

Item 1: Proximity of Ball to Lake. 

            Dangerously close, right?  It seems that all Ellen’s backyard dribbling practice with Daddy has paid off in a big way.  Her kick is strong and her aim almost impeccable.  Almost impeccable.  You can imagine what happened.  A video metaphor for you:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wO_MYX_Oto0&feature=related

Like Tom Hanks, who watched helplessly as his poor volleyball Wilson drifted toward the open sea, Walker watched helplessly as his poor nameless soccer ball drifted toward downtown Wayzata (despite Uncle Dave’s valiant attempt at a rescue).   That put a swift end to the soccer game.  So we headed to the swimming beach.  There was some more excitement there, the retelling of which requires my reminding you to take a look at the picture of Ellen and Walker again, so that you may observe…

Item 2: Fit/Sag of Ellen’s Pants

SAG award



   Dangerously loose, right?  Ellen got dressed entirely by herself, down to picking her outfit, and I thought she did a great job.  Then when we got to Excelsior I realized that she had picked the pants that are too big, with the non-adjustable elastic waistband.  Any person who’s had to wear maternity jeans will be familiar with the problem Ellen faced that day.  As they sagged lower and lower, they brought her underwear with them.  So there we were at the beach, the whole lot of us…actually, Ellen and Amanda and Walker were down by the water, and the rest of us were up on the grass lounging at a picnic table.  There was only one couple lying on towels at the beach, since it was getting cold and breezy, and lunchtime was over.  I looked over at them and noticed that they were looking toward the lake at something that they found pretty amusing.  Intrigued, I followed their gaze, which landed on Ellen, obliviously bending over time and again to pick up rocks, pants and underwear half-way down her legs, and full moon shining.  It was a pretty ridiculous sight, though probably not any more ridiculous than the sight of her parents doing nothing about her exposure except laughing and yelling into the wind “ELLEN, PULL UP YOUR PANTS!” between sips of cold beverages.  Ah, good parenting there.    

Well, we were having such a good time in Excelsior that we stayed right up to Point Meltdown.  Mix “overtired” with just a drop of “disappointment” (the ratio is probably something like that of gin to vermouth in an extremely dry martini), and you have your basic shitstorm.  As my stepsister says, “You know you had a good time if you stay long enough for tantrums.  All good things end in tears.”  True dat.

The Way She Sees Him

The new cousin is a hit.  Cecilia can say “Chah-lie” (still conspicuously missing from her vocab – “Mommy”), and Ellen has created what she calls her “Charlie face.”  Apparently she believes that Charlie looks like a total stoner, because here it is:  

"Charlie face"

 You’ll have to ignore the Hello Kitty band-aid on her face, which in this photo is covering a scratch that was remarkably smaller than the allergic reaction she subsequently had to the band-aid.