We’ve seen our fair share of bumps and bruises, scraped brows, and golf-ball sized hematomas on the forehead that swelled the boy’s nasal bridge so flat he could have been cast as an extra as a child of a Na’vi hunter in Avatar. In fact, it seems there was a point where Mateo was hitting his head or falling as often as what seemed like every other day. Because he insisted on running before he learned how to properly walk. Our pediatrician assured us the spills were normal. And unending, apparently. Because we went from going three days to only five hours since our last incident when Jennifer called me this morning to tell me Mateo busted his lip after falling down three stairs and hitting the closed gate. Safety is not always safe, people.

Sure as it appears, the majority of our family’s injuries tend to belong to Mateo. He is by far the gold medal count leader in our household. But there are times when someone else places higher. Like the time when after we had put the kids to bed, and I was stomping around the living room the way Mateo likes to stomp around with such purpose, me laughing, Jennifer laughing, too. Until I, in my socks, took that hard step off the rug and onto the freshly cleaned wood floors and the next thing I knew I was staring at the ceiling, Jennifer looking down over me, and my left elbow was numb.

Harper falls, but she just isn’t normally moving at the same disorganized velocity as Mateo. So it was a huge deal when, last Wednesday, she ended up with her first significant, visible injury: a big nasty fat lip. Like, Melanie Griffith circa 2006 nasty.

It happened when, of all things, both Mateo and Harper went to the Ikea kitchen cart, simultaneously pulled out the drawers looking for “cut the nails” (nail clippers), which, by the way, Harper loves to pretend cut the nails, but doesn’t let me actually do it. Next time, I’m putting on Dora and telling her I’m pretending cut the nails. Anyway, they’re both hanging on the two drawers when their combined weight pulled the cart on top of them. Tsk, tsk, I know. Shut up.

Then! Not three days later, hours after we arrived in San Antonio, we somewhat reluctantly decided go to my niece’s pre-party at Chuck E. Cheese’s. My sister gave birth to bats, so they can stay up a lot later than mine can. We were reluctant because it would put us being there past bedtime, and until you have lived with Harper, you cannot possibly understand how anxious this can make us. There is not enough Lexapro in the world. It is easier to pull your middle finger back to touch your forearm – as fast and as hard as possible - than it is to deal with Harper when she’s over-tired. NO idea. Don’t even try.

But! I’m telling you, for toddlers? This place is like crack. I mean one hit of those lights and sounds and it is OVER. Harper has been asking about Chuck E Cheese and parties non-stop ever since. Plus five points: they totally lasted until 7:30. On the minus fifty points side: Mateo split his forehead on the metal edge of those basketball toss games. The edge he slipped and fell onto after his Mommy stood him up where, yeah, ok, he wasn’t supposed to be.

He didn’t hit it hard, he just hit it perfectly. For crying out loud, there were louder thuds last week when he was running full speed playing “I’ma getchu”, looking behind him for Harper, and then slamming his cheek and side of his head into a bookshelf, just as he was turning around to look where he was running. Which was right after I had been repeating “Focus, Mateo, look forward!”

I picked him up, and as we were hugging it out, an employee came over and said “M’am, he’s bleeding.” And sure enough, I look at him, and blood is pooling and then dribbling down his face. So off we go, past the mini skee ball (or maybe I just got bigger?), and the bee catcher game, and the barney car that sucks one token down in less than fifteen seconds because they know parents are going to have to keep feeding that thing, and to the table to find some napkins.

Jen hands me a wet napkin and I start cleaning off his face to see where and how big the cut is. Sure enough, it’s small, maybe a half inch, but it’s deep. Here, Mateo, want some pizza? And just like that, he could care less that I’m touching his face and applying pressure or that we’re surrounded by a brigade of red-shirted Chuck E. Cheesers. Including the manager who has introduced herself as Melissa. Can I just get some bandaids, please?

I’ve been around healthcare a lot, seen some pretty violent surgeries (hip replacement surgeries win!), some significant trauma hanging around ERs during graduate school, my mom is a critical care nurse, and my brother is a firefighter and paramedic. Believe me, these kids are going to learn to rub some dirt on it.

Nevertheless, after an hour of bleeding through bandaids, we collectively decide that I’ll take the boy to a nearby pediatric care clinic – urban sprawl rocks! – to get some Dermabond while Jennifer stays with Harper who’s tailing the Chuck E. mascot for high fives.

There I am trying to keep Mateo from touching…well…ANYTHING. It was the one time – seriously, THE one time – I did not have my insurance card with me. That’s fine, we’ll cash pay and submit a claim later. I tried explaining this to the receptionist who looked at me suspiciously, yet, so dismissively. I can only imagine what she has to deal with on a typical Friday night, so I tried to be forgiving of her obvious case of The Bitch. It was certainly a challenge trying to fill out paperwork while walking around while standing between Mateo and every door he was trying to open, all the while repeating “I’ma go see Harper! Go to the caaaarrrrr!” over and over and over and over again. And over again, again.

And then it occurred to me: Oh! I could play a Dora episode on my iPhone, the same episode I had downloaded a couple weeks ago for Harper’s haircut! Wish I had thought of that when I got to the clinic. Which was, apparently, right on time. Because by the time we were called back into an exam room, the lets-eat-dinner-first-and-then-we’ll-all-go-to-the-clinic crowd had filled up every available seat.

As I suspected, the doctor recommended stitches or Dermabond. Have you ever tried to sew up a hurricane? We’ll take the glue, thanks. The worst part of the experience wasn’t the wait (we were in and out in 45 minutes), or the Dermabond application (Mateo,engrossed in helping Dora find that puppy, barely flinched!), it was that just as we were holding him down, me by his waist holding his elbows and hands firmly, the doctor about to drop glue on his head, the tech at Mateo's head says “uh oh, your iPhone says “10% battery remaining”.

Now THAT would have been disastrous.

My niece turned three over the weekend. Three. Seems like just yesterday that I took a picture of her when she was just seconds old. Today, coincidentally, I'm wearing the same shirt I wore on that day. Two things that tells me: time flies, and I could use some new clothes.

It was a weekend fiesta of Chuck E Cheese on Friday evening (more on that later) and a dinosaur party with a piñata and a bouncy thing on Saturday. Mateo had his first cupcake. With three days of parties (I took them to a friend's twin girls three year birthday party last weekend, too), all Harper wants to do is "I'ma go to the party, okaaiiiiyyy?"

I searched high and low on the internet and at consignment shops and at retail and discount stores. Sure, they had bows. But they were either too big, or too ugly, or not the color I was looking for, or too expensive, or had some funky clip that required large amounts of hair to stay in. Actually, that was the main problem: bows/clips that would stay in her hair.

And then I found AliBugBowtique on Esty. I’m not gonna lie, some of the items I saw on there made me want to run for cover, but that’s just because those netted elastic head band wraps with fake flowers on them scare me no matter what. What I did love about Ali’s work was that she was open to doing a custom order and talking through it with me through Etsy convos to make sure I got exactly what I was looking for.

I placed Harper’s first order when she was around five months old. Because she had very little hair (and I mean very), I had to be sure whatever clips we chose would stay on her head. I ordered 8 “itty bitty clippies” (1” long no-slip fully-lined alligator clip) and 4 custom “itty bitty hairbows” (1 ¾” bow, tip-to-tip, on 1” non-slip fully-lined alligator clip). The lining that Ali puts on the clips is the difference maker for keeping bows in an infants hair, Harper pulling them out notwithstanding.

The second order was placed in September 2009, when we felt pretty certain she would have hair after all. This custom order consisted of 14 basic bows (deep purple, gold, white, cream, lavender, pink, cranberry, red, light navy blue, blue, emerald, orange, brown, black ) with partially lined (perfect for toddler hair) alligator clips, 7/8” ribbon, measuring a little more than 2 ½” long from tip-to-tip.

I highly recommend Alibugbowtique bows for the little girl in your life. In fact, I’ve written about her before and if you click here you’ll see the alligator clips up close and there’s also a couple pictures of the smaller (first order) bows. Not only are ALL the bows still in great shape structurally, Ali is ON IT in terms of customer service and color selection. Depending on size of bow or clippies, prices range from $1.50 to $4.00 each, though she does give discount for volume purchases. Ali's Etsy shop is Alibugbowtique , and at the date of this publication (02/22/2010), her Clearance section has items up to 50% off and she's got a sale of 20% off everything else.

(As with all my reviews, I do not receive compensation or goods in any form for reviewing a product).

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Dear Mateo and Harper,

Your twenty-second month opened with – having been to the church nursery seven days prior – the beginnings of a cold, which would last a good three weeks. For the most part, it was all manageable. Especially with Benadryl.

We had to replace your first in-house bouncy after a hole sprung up. Now you have a mini bounce castle that you enjoy playing in. One that we don't have to worry as much about you jumping over the top of it, head first and spraining your neck. You especially love when we blow air from the air pump at you instead of inflating the castle.

One Saturday in January, I took you out to the golf club where Matou works. Matou had put your real child-sized golf clubs into the car the night before and we arrived just as she was finishing her last lesson. It was such a joy to watch Matou showing you how to putt, and you both enjoyed chasing golf balls and running all around the teaching center, just the four of us.

You had your first golf cart ride and loved it. “Whoa, mommy, wind!” you would both exclaim. We wrapped up the afternoon with an early dinner in the clubhouse. It was an afternoon I’ll never forget.

You have continued to enjoy your once-a-week gymnastics class. Except when you can’t stay on the trampoline the whole time, or when you can’t hog the parallel bars. Or when you can’t run over to the larger gym area and mess up some bigger kid’s back handspring. Or when it’s not your turn on the trapeze every. single. time. In an effort to minimize the sensory overload, we decided to move you to a different weekday class, and instead of a precariously timed afternoon class, you are now in one that occurs in the morning during a time when you are neither hungry nor sleepy (at least until after the class), and all the distracting big kids are in school.

That first week of the class time change, though, the morning wakeup routine got off to a shaky start and instead of class, we ended up at the pediatrician for an urgent, unscheduled visit with Harper. What with that three week cold, and the batting at your left ear, I suspected a possible ear infection, but it didn’t take long to rule that one out, particularly since you wouldn’t move your head from side to side and you were now grabbing the base of your skull. Matou surmised it could be a crick in the neck, but after an hour of inconsolable crying, we decided we should let the doctor confirm it one way or the other. Sure enough, your ears were clear. In an effort to check your mobility, our pediatrician used the Balloonimals app on the iPhone as a diagnostic tool, you in our lap, the doctor moving around the room with the phone in hand. A dose of Motrin and a 30 minute observation later, you were doing well enough for us to go home. And guess what’s on my iPhone now.

The iPhone was also handy when I took you to your first haircut on February 13. I had asked around the neighborhood group on ideas to keep you occupied during a cut at a non-children’s salon. Armed with cheerios, stickers, the only thing need to help you be a model client was a downloaded episode of Dora. And just like that, you look just a little more grown up and we’re conflicted.

It didn’t help that just a few weeks before, on February 3, you spent your first nights in your new “big boy” and “big girl” beds. Matou and I had been so eager to have your rooms more “finished” looking that we took down the converted crib toddler beds and set up your twin beds. Suddenly, you looked so…so….little. And yet, so big. Sure, it’s great that we can lay in bed with you as we read our bedtime stories and say prayers. But when we go in to check on you before we go to sleep and see your growing toddler bodies curled up with your woobie or your Raffy, we are stung with bittersweetness. Where did our babies go?

A few short days before the Big Bed Change, we installed a hardware-mounted gate at the bottom of the stairs. The pressure-mounted one was no longer a match for your pulling and climbing and we had become afraid that it might fall back on you if you dislodged it from entry. We could not have done this soon enough! Because on February 5, Mateo escaped from his room. And two days later, escaped from his room and then opened Harper’s door, too. Guess that Good Night Gorilla book gave you too many ideas. Super Bowl morning, we found you both in the play area downstairs, fighting over the firetruck. And when you looked up and saw us at the top of the stairs, Mateo you did your “Scooby dooby doooooo!!!!” something you always proclaim when doing something you are not supposed to be doing. You’re not the one we’re worried about sneaking out when you get older.

We went to a few football playoff parties, and dressed you accordingly. For the division championships, you were each in our favorite teams’ jersey – Harper in a Colts jersey and Mateo in a Saint’s jersey. We never made it to the start of the second game, but the boat and ATV in the driveway at Uncle Jimbo’s house kept you occupied, the images of your speedy machines mini-board books come to life.

Two weeks later, we went to our friends, the Garrison’s, house for the Super Bowl. It was here, Mateo, that you had your first bratwurst. “Mmmmmmm, delicious!” you said, eyes lit up like you had just invented the wheel. We’ve decided that your eating habits are best suited (to our pocketbook) for football parties and buffets. They had a bouncy thing there and for the first time, you weren’t afraid of bouncing with the bigger kids. All that trampoline jumping at gymnastics has its benefits. And they had two separate swingsets, the larger of which had a climbing wall. Harper, you took to that like a pro and I can’t wait to take you rock climbing when you are a little older.

I went through a pancake making binge last week – pumpkin pancakes, whole wheat buttermilk pancakes, plain pancakes – making enough to last a month. I even bought some pancake molds in the shapes of animals and sun and moon. It was the first time you’d had pumpkin pancakes, and the first time your pancakes arrived at the table in the shape of anything other than a circle. Harper, you went after your sun right away. Mateo, you weren’t too sure, and just kept looking at your pig, eating your sausage instead. So I decided to help you a bit, and I tore the pancake in three pieces and tried to offer you one. Big mistake. Because all you wanted was for me to “Fix it! Fix it pancake! Fix the pig!” Needless to say, this was NOT the time to tell you where sausage comes from. The fact that it was a pancake, however, outweighed the fact that it was once a pig.

Mateo, nearly everything you say begins with “Ima”, short for “I’m going to”. As in “Ima take a nap” or “Ima cuss the doh” (I’m going to close the door) or “Ima open it” or “Ima go down the stairs.” You’re very decisive about your actions. And very VERY persistent. Like “Ima find the semi trailer, Ima find the semi trailer, Ima find the semi trailer, IMA FIND THE SEMI TRAILER!”

Each night, Matou and I take turns putting each of you to bed. With our bedtime routine, we include prayers – for each other, for health, for the less fortunate, and lots of “thank you God for Harper and Mateo sharing today” (and sometimes that’s more of a plea on our part for divine intervention than a prayer of thankfulness). We also pray for each family member by name, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins. One night, after prayers, you asked for “Grandpa Ali?” “Grandpa Ali is in San Antonio,” I said. “Grandpa Mommy?” “Uhh…I’m right here, Bobo.” That seemed to be sufficient at the time, and for the next four days, it was Grandpa everybody: Grandpa Mommy, and Grandpa Matou, and Grandpa Brenda (nanny), and Grandpa Adam (uncle), and Grandpa X (cousin), etc.

Yes, your vocabulary is a source of laughter and awe for Matou and me.

Harper, you'll say “puh pareful, mommy!” instead of “be careful”. Or when carrying you downstairs for a bath, you touched Matou’s eyebrows and said “Silly Matou has whiskers!” Or how when you climbed into your new sheets and comforter, you touched them and said “It’s very soft!” Or how you say “don’t cry, kitty” as you pet your stuffed gray kitty. Or how you call out to your stuffed owl – the one we bought you as part of your new room décor – “Where are you, lechusa?” as you wagged your index finger back and forth (sign language for “where”), and when I looked it up turns out “lechusa” is the Spanish word for Owl. What? The sweetest thing, though, was getting this text message from My Brenda: "H askd blessings 4 u and Jen b4 her nap".

It has been an active month, indeed. Your looks are constantly changing, it seems - sometimes rounder, sometimes taller, sometimes leaner. Sometimes, in the midst of it all, we are reminded of your rapid growth only by the new things we have to do like a lock to keep you from opening the French refrigerator doors (because you forget to shut them), or disabling the water dispenser, or being sure to double bolt the door leading to the garage. That should give us at least another two inches.

You are starting to get the hang of your tricyles, Christmas gifts from Papa Jimmy and MawMaw Marketta. And just last week, we found a train table on Craigslist, a great addition to the play room. Except when Mateo is banging the cars and trains on it. At 5:40. IN THE MORNING. After having escaped from your room. Scooby dooby doooo!

You love to help us “cook” and prepare your meals, and we’ve recently moved your plates and cups into a reachable cupboard so you can help set the table. Or put yourselves away.

As you grow closer to two, the only thing that bridges our fragile emotions of missing the babies that you once were is the beauty of the children you are becoming.

All our love,

Mommy and Matou