Twenty One Month Newsletter

Over the last month, we’ve experienced two major holidays, two parties sans kids, a major meltdown, an illness, a new activity, a nightmare, and lots of new words and sentences.

Let’s start with the meltdown that was the visit to see Santa. Wow. Let’s just say we are glad the Santa picture only comes once per year. The upside is that with the bar having been set so low, next year can only get better! The downside was that, sure enough, ten days later, you did develop symptoms of a virus from the snotty nosed kids that were playing at the same mall indoor playground that day. Lesson learned: bubble gum flavored Benadryl.

Then there was the trip to San Antonio for the Christmas holiday which included Christmas Eve at Grandma’s house with cousin Xavier, Christmas Day morning at Uncle Adam’s work (a fire station!), day of recovery (not really), Sesame Street Breakfast at Sea World, and grilling with all the cousins and Grandpa Ali.

The highlights:

You “helped” put the baby Jesus in Grandma’s nativity scene. The one that is made of hand-painted porcelain figurines. The one she set up in the fireplace. The one I was hoping you’d break so that she’d stop putting breakable objects within your reach, or at least not behind a glass door that could pinch your fingers or require stitches.

The power of a real fire truck could not be underestimated. Though you were less than enthusiastic when he fired up one of the diesel trucks, you loved riding in it, and afterward, inspected the engines. Now, even a month later, your after dinner routine has been to ask me to look at “picture fire truck? Unkuh Adam?” and you’ll crawl up on me like ants to breadcrumbs until we’ve seen the photos again.

Your sleep habits are just short of terrible when we travel, and this fact peaked the morning of the Sesame Street Breakfast when Mateo woke us all up at 4:45 a.m. with “Down? Down? Down? Mommy? Matou? Harper? Down?” over and over and over again until Harper was crying and no one could go back to sleep. The effects of an obscenely early wake-up were amplified when upon arrival to Sea World, you were ready for a nap, but conflicted with the open spaces, yet confined to your stroller. Queue the screaming. It wasn’t until we got into the breakfast with cousin Xavier and Uncle Adam and Aunt Tricia that things began to improve. Ever. So. Slightly.

Mateo, you were more interested in sausage and pancakes and made it clear you preferred your Sesame Street friends in two-dimensions. Harper, you were full of hugs and laughter (and syrup) and even now, you frequently ask to see the picture that came with our breakfast reservation, the one you ask for by “Cookie!”

We also went to Uncle Adam’s house for a cookout with all your cousins and Grandpa Ali. Harper, you were so excited about a new food (hot dogs), that you ate three of them. Granted, at least one of them, still in bite size pieces, was re-presented to us in a puddle of yak just before bath time. But at least it wasn’t the pack-n-play.

The holiday weekend was fun, but, after having spent four nights in the same room, Mommy and Matou were ready for you to be in your own rooms, especially Mateo, who would wake everyone up an hour before normal to be in our own home. And by the next week, amply supplied with Benadryl, we were all back into our routines.

Each evening around ten thirty, we go check in on you and in so doing, we'll leave a trail of tiny diversions be it a book or a stuffed animal or a small car, beginning with a little something strategically placed in the corner of your bed. Because that extra thirty minutes in the mornings that it buys us? Priceless.

We were especially grateful on our New Years day when we didn’t hear you over the monitors or you didn’t wake up until 7:30 a.m. Guinness Book of World Record sleep-in time for either of you. This was well-timed, too, since I had been up late playing with my computer while everyone slept, determined to finish the 2009 Year In Photos. And since the holiday fell on a weekday, and because My Brenda was available to work that day, Matou and I went to a friend’s home for a brunch which fell during the time of your nap. It was a win-win welcome to the new year.

We’ve now been to two official gymnastics classes. “Official” in that we actually had the nerve to go back after our practice class. You’ve responded in each class better than the one before, but, because the afternoons also have school-age children, we are switching to a weekday morning class beginning this week to see if that helps with the sensory overload. This means that the gym will be empty except for the ten children in the class. It also means that you are going during your prime happy time (9:15-10:00 am) and between meals rather than dangerously close to needing dinner (4:15-5:00 p.m.) and already worn out from the day. Fingers crossed.

One of the things we do at gymnastics is gather together at the end of class and sing a couple songs and do Ring Around The Rosies. “Ressess” has become a household favorite and it is not uncommon that you both request we do “Ressess” five, six, nine thousand times before heading down for baths. But only after looking at pictures of the fire truck. Of course.

Harper, you’ve taken to creating a mash-up of Ring Around The Rosies and Hush Little Baby as you embrace a Schleich brontosaurus, or maybe your little kitty stuffed animal, the one that you placed in your seat when it was time for dinner. It’s the cutest lullaby we’ve ever heard, you eyes half closed hugging your toy, swaying back and forth. Sometimes, you’ll do something to floor us, like count from four to twelve out of nowhere. Sure it's just memorization and repetition, but it's still crazy to hear a chronological count come out of something that weighs less than thirty pounds.

You like to call to the attention of anyone that will listen, by going "Shhh! Listen! You hear it?" And you will say it with your index fingers to your jaws or underneath your chin. And when all eyes are on you, you’ll name whatever the sound was…”ambalance” (ambulance), “peeleece” (police), “doggie”, “birds”, “O-shan waves” (ocean waves, from the sound machine), etc. Last month, you said “I love you, Mommy” and it made my day.

Mateo, when you are excited, you stutter-step in place and one day Matou called them your “happy feet”, and now you will engage us all in doing happy feet with you. Or you’ll do it alone, like when you are trying to distract us from that thing that you weren’t supposed to be doing, like we’ll be so engrossed in your happy feet that you won’t get a timeout. And sometimes, it works.

You love your Brenda and studying numbers. You can also now open and close doors, something we are less than enthusiastic about. You also opened the gate at the bottom of the stairs the other morning and crawled to the top, all while I was changing Harper’s diaper. Your love for breakfast cannot be underestimated. Nor can the need for a good gate. Installing a new one shortly. You hate pasta and lettuce. You are tender and love books and snuggling, especially if it includes the Backyardigans. Or, the “back-AG-in-its”, as you say. You love to color.

For Matou and me, each day is a challenge and a blessing and we savor them all. Even when we went to dinner alone the other night, we mostly spoke of the ways that you warm our hearts and make us laugh. You are speeding into two years old with wonder and excitement and we are just so happy to be along for the ride.

Love,

Mommy and Matou