Twenty Two Month Newsletter
02.16.2010 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
Reader Comments (5)
Toooooo sweet, and the pictures are Divine... Btw have something for you @ my blog...
Keep checking in for the American Idol post. I already have a couple favorites.
I should say, "I keep checking in..."
Curious, as always, to hear your take.
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I love that last line you wrote about what bridges your fragile emotions. So true!