I walked in on Ellie attempting to strangle her ipod. At least, that’s what it looked like. Murder in the first three keys.

I have to remind myself, we’ve given our kids very expensive “toys” to be responsible for and the reality is something as simple as inserting a plug into the ipod to charge it is often done with a ram-slam-slam approach only a kid could love.

I explained to Ellie she had likely broken the device and she collapsed in a puddle of her own app-infused tears, instantly sorry for her rough and tumble approach to rejuvenating a battery.

Later, playing bocce ball on the lawn, Ellie dropped a ball on Greg’s foot. Literally, not metaphorically though, both work in this scenario.

He pretended it didn’t hurt but you know how men can be.

After the ice packs melted, the tensors were in place and medics retreated, Ellie was back to feeling like she had rammed him with an ipod charger.

She later whispered to me, “Mom, I’m just a wrecking ball.”

I knew the day would come that I had to explain to my kids the broken apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

I told her I could teach a Master class in spills, breaking and running into things and that as recently as yesterday, I spilled not one but two glasses of water (full glasses) outside before we had even started dinner.

I thought this would bring Ellie some peace.

I thought it would bring us closer.

I thought she would hug me and say something comforting.

Instead she said, “Everyone knows you’re a klutz, Mom. But you still have an ipod.”