I waited five years for Ella.
Five years.
She was our miracle baby. Our long-awaited little blessing.
And now, almost thirteen years later, I’m beginning to suspect that gravity has a personal vendetta against her.
This morning, I was sitting in bed, minding my own business, when something reached out from underneath and grabbed my ankle.
I screamed.
I may have peed a little.
It was Ella.
My precious miracle child had crawled underneath my bed for the sole purpose of scaring me.
And then she got stuck.
Naturally, I took a picture.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in nearly eighteen years of parenting, it’s that photographic evidence is important.
Eventually, Ella emerged from her hiding place and continued her regularly scheduled campaign against the household furniture.
At one point, she kneed my footboard.
She blamed the bed.
Apparently, according to Ella, the furniture is attacking her.
I would like to point out that the furniture has remained stationary throughout these encounters.
Then we got into a discussion about how weird she is.
Ella informed me that weird is just another word for awesome.
Fair enough.
But apparently, she decided she’d had enough of being teased and attempted to storm dramatically out of my bedroom.
This is where things got interesting.
On her way out, she tried to kick a stuffed animal.
She missed.
Not one to accept defeat, she picked up a stuffed cow and kicked it into the air.
The cow hit me.
Then she turned to make her grand exit…
And walked straight into the wall.
I cannot make this stuff up.
This child has a long and complicated history with gravity. She’s fallen down stairs, caught herself with her face more times than I can count, and once went sledding on her knees and introduced both nostrils to the ice.
Yes, both nostrils.
She insists that detail is important.
And yet, somehow, she remains convinced that the furniture is responsible.
I waited five years for this child.
Five years to get her.
And I’ve spent the years since trying to keep her in one piece.
She’s dramatic. She’s hilarious. She’s wonderfully weird.
And she’s absolutely, unquestionably my miracle baby.
Even if the furniture disagrees.
Sanity is not an option.
Official Owen Family Incident Report
Case: The Great Ella Storm-Out of 2026
Date: November 12, 2026
Location: Mom’s bedroom
Primary suspect: Ella, the miracle child
Reporting officer: Mom, who was just trying to have a normal morning
Sequence of Events
- Ella attempts a dramatic exit.
- Tries to kick a stuffed animal on her way out.
- Misses.
- Picks up a stuffed cow and kicks it into the air.
- Cow flies into Mom.
- Ella turns to make her grand exit.
- WALKS INTO THE WALL.
Casualties: One innocent stuffed cow, one mother, and Ella’s dignity.
Suspect’s likely defense: “THE WALL ATTACKED ME!”
Official conclusion: Gravity and the furniture have formed an alliance.
Supplemental Evidence: The Conspiracy Expands
Just when I thought the morning couldn’t get any more ridiculous, Ella announced that Oscar was now working with the furniture.
Apparently, this is no longer an isolated conflict between one nearly thirteen-year-old girl and a collection of stationary household objects.
It’s an organized conspiracy.
And my toddler has allegedly joined the opposition.
Updated Investigation Findings
New development: Ella alleges that Oscar is collaborating with the household furniture.
Photographic evidence: Two additional images documenting the ongoing bedroom chaos.
Suspected conspirators: One bedframe, one footboard, gravity, and a toddler.
Current status: Investigation ongoing.
Ella’s defense: “IT’S ATTACKING ME!”
Mom’s response: More pictures.
Final Report
By this point, Ella had declared war on the furniture, Oscar had allegedly joined the opposition, and I had accomplished absolutely nothing on my to-do list.
The bathroom was still waiting to be organized.
I still had customer orders to pack.
And somehow, my bedroom had become the scene of an ongoing criminal investigation.
But everyone was still alive.
You’re welcome, Cody.
Sanity is not an option.
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