Why Mommy should definitely have her turn last

It was a nice afternoon, and early this evening a bit of a front blew through. Ella noticed the wind and ran to get her Winnie the Pooh kite for it's maiden voyage. 

We spent about 5 minute getting into the dang pack (why do they pack kids' toys like that? I need a screwdriver, needlenosed pliers and some loppers to get any frickin toy open...) and then 5 seconds "assembling" the thing, and off to the front yard we went. The front because we have

 these three barely living 15 foot trees in the back. WAY too much of a hazard.  

Well, luckily Ella and daddy tried first, and got it to fly for several 45 second periods of time before it slammed nose-first into the street again and again. Ella didn't believe that you have to move away from the kite instead of walking closer to it while flying. I sat on the tailgate and chatted up the guys cutting down the neighbors dead tree in the back, trying to talk him down on getting a stump ground out of our yard, but I digress. 

So after several nose-dives, one jaunt all-the-way down the cul de sac, and several screams from Ella, I demanded a turn. I shouldn't say much of anything regarding anyone else's kite-flying expertise or lack there-of (ahem), because about 12 seconds after I grabbed the string and took over, this happened:

Man, was Ella ever mad. She decided we needed Clifford (the Big Red Dog) to come over and get it down for us. We're still waiting on a call back. Or a BIG gust of wind. Whichever works.