That Was Fast

Today, Matteas turned four.  My baby is four years old.  Somehow it feels like he can't possibly be that old, even though it seems like he's been part of my life forever.  I have to try really hard to think about what it felt like not to be his mom.  I think that's partly due to the fact that in many ways, my 28 year-old self doesn't feel all that different to me than my 17 year-old self.  A little less dramatic maybe, more sure of who I am, but basically the same personality.  For the same reason I sometimes feel a little panicked that I am responsible for two whole children; some days I feel so young, I feel like I still need a mother.

It has been so much fun to watch Matteas develop his personality.  There is never a dull moment with this boy; he is always sharing his boundless knowledge with anyone who will listen, following the neighbors around as they water the grass and get the mail, making sure they get their daily dose of Matteas Wisdom.  I love this about him.  He had such a sweet personality as a baby and is still very sweet most days, but somewhere in his third year he turned a corner and became really challenging.  One of my least favorite parts of parenting is how unpredictable it is, because I'm the sort of person who likes to have a plan.  If I have a plan, I know what to do.  I don't like not knowing what to do, but my kids are really good at teaching me over and over again to let go of my expectations, to roll with the punches.  Lately, Matteas has been the more challenging child to parent.  I never thought I would say that, but there it is.  He is so, so stubborn and will NOT admit when he's wrong(I have no idea where he gets this).  I've been feeling kind of weepy about him getting older, I think because I enjoyed him so much as a baby.  With Jack, I couldn't wait for his infancy to be over; he was so angry about being an infant, and the older he got the happier he got.  Plus he was so tiny when he was born and wouldn't nurse, and pumping two bottles a night really taxed my sanity. 

But Matteas was different.  Quiet and sweet from birth, he took long naps during the day and nursed with ease.  He slept better than Jack did, and seemed quite content to be whatever age he happened to be at the time.  He loved to chat, and would sometimes smile so hard during a "conversation" that his big brown eyes would turn into little half-moon slits that almost disappeared into his enormous grin.  He was, and still is, a boy who loves life and relationship.  Until him, I didn't know that a baby could be so satisfying.  So I'm kind of bummed that we seem to be getting to the hard part of our relationship.

Speaking of unpredictable, we haven't had a party for Matteas yet because Jack has had a fever since Thursday.  Today was his first day of not running a temperature and trying to get warm through fits of chills, so we had a quiet dinner at home and then took the boys out for ice cream cones.  We ended up eating them in the parking lot because the ice cream place was so stinkin' hot inside.  For presents, we got him a scooter(which he's had his eye on for a while) and: a popcorn popper.  Yes, he actually asked for one.  I have a feeling he's going to feel so empowered that we will be eating popcorn for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Sprung

I am really, really excited about this picture. Not just because the boys are being so cute(they were being a choo-choo train, and yes they are each wearing half of the same set of pajamas), but because all of Jack's skin is smooth and clear. Look closely at the skin on his ribcage. A month ago he looked like he had leprosy. His skin was rough, cracked, peeling, and bright red. I was on the verge of taking him to a dermatologist, but I'm tired of going to the doctor and leaving with less information than I could find on my own. The last time I went to our local clinic, the practitioner left the room to Google. So I decided to try my own remedy, and since wheat allergies run in our family that was my first choice. As you can see, it worked beautifully. I think the eczema bothered Jack more than he realized. He never really complained about it while it was there, but now that it's gone he avoids wheat very carefully. At Grandpa Caseri's funeral he was offered a piece of cake, and he politely(and a little tearfully) informed the nice ladies that "I can't have wheat." I bought him a special wheat-free cookie later to reward him for making such brave choices. I told him that he may eat wheat if he chooses, but that it will bother his eczema. He has done his own policing to an impressive degree. I'm kind of grateful for the whole ordeal; our family is eating healthier and Jack has really matured. He is learning early on a lesson most Americans never deal with: what he puts in his body has an effect on how he feels. He's so pleased about his skin healing, and I'm so proud of how he's handled everything. I could tell that it was improving, but the degree to which it's healed feels like a miracle. On a side note, it's crazy how strongly the American diet is based on wheat. A friend from church is allergic to wheat and corn; do you have any idea how many foods that rules out? Did you know that the wax on the fruits and vegetables in the produce section is made from corn? Jack has been eagerly awaiting the first day of Spring for some time now. He'd ask about it like he was waiting for Christmas, and he was so excited when I told him that it was finally here. It worked out nicely that it happened to be nearly 70 degrees that day, and we spent all of it outside. On Sunday, Jack and I went to Sky Nursery and bought some plants, seeds, and some kid-sized hoes. They were only $8 so I'm curious how long they'll last, but they've kept the boys busy all day so far.

We put some pansies in containers by the front door to spruce things up a little.

I can't wait to plant this stuff. And yes, two types of radish and three types of cucumber really are necessary. This is just the beginning, actually; I still need to get all kinds of lettuce seeds, and some squash and tomato starts.

The boys can't wait either; they've been cultivating the soil for me to help prepare the garden.

This is what our backyard looks like right now. Last year this patch was only about 5' x 10'. This year I want it about twice that size. It's a great family activity; I turn over shovel-fulls of dirt, and the boys rush in to see what kind of bugs and worms I've unearthed. Today I found a couple of disgusting-looking grubs that were the size of my thumb. They looked like aliens. I'm not very squeamish for a girl, but I was grossed out. There was something oddly menacing about knowing that there were horrible-looking fat grubs just lying there. Their stillness added to the grossness somehow.

I don't know if I will ever get over Matteas and his love affair with "wormies." He can't say his r's, and the way he pronounces the word kills me. He's thrilled when he sees one inching its way through the dirt. He rushed over and very gently picks it up, then whispers sweet nothings to it: "Don't worry Little Wormy, I will keep you safe. Do you want me to help you find you family, Little Wormy?" He collects them all day in that cup, then releases them into the wild before we go inside for the evening. He's able to part with them because I told him they would die if he brought them into the house, and because he finds enormous satisfation in setting them all free together. Wormy togetherness will take the edge off the sting of being separated from their new friend, Matteas.

I ♥ Policemen

Before the haircut

After

The haircut pictures don't really have anything to do with the police, they're just the most recent shots I have of Matteas. I loved his hair long and shaggy, but it was getting a little bit out of control. He saw me giving Aaron a haircut the other night, and asked for one of his own. With Aaron's help I managed to do a pretty decent job, although it was touch and go for a while; Matteas is so darn wiggly, and then he thought the comb was tickly so there was a lot of moving around and near-chopping of fingers(mine, not his). After a lot of patient head-holding from Aaron, we got it done. My only regret is that all the bright blond highlights are gone, but I'm sure Summer will come along and take care of that. And now, where the police come in... I have never really been a terribly "together" person; while I excel in certain areas, there is usually a trade-off. I choose to focus on a few things that are my top priorities and pretty much don't worry about the rest. I'd like to be more on top of things, but a lot of the time I feel like it isn't worth the struggle. At least not as long as the struggle involves wrestling whiny kids. Last week Jack was invited to a birthday party, which we missed due to Matteas being in a state of serious snottiness; every few minutes there would be a fresh smear of boogers across his face, so I thought it was best not to take our slimy selves to the birthday party. We hung onto the present for the birthday boy, and yesterday at school pick-up I actually remembered to give it to him. I was having a semi-together day; I'd done my hair, was wearing an actual outfit as opposed to sweatpants and a coat, managed to fill the car with gas and pull off a trip to Trader Joe's with Matteas in tow, and now I was thoughtfully remembering birthday presents for a kid whose party we didn't even attend. Someone give me a gold star. I get Jack from school, collect his papers from his cubby, remember to grab his water bottle. I see the birthday boy and tell him that we have a present for him in the trunk of my car. I hit the trunk button on my car remote, simultaneously hitting the "lock" button(you know where this is going, right?). Matteas is already buckled into his seat. I pull out the present, toss my armful of school stuff into the trunk, and shut it. With the keys inside. I knew I shouldn't have put on a bra today; it probably cost me my last few "togetherness" points. Jack's teacher immediately calls 911(Aaron was more than an hour away) and the mom of the birthday boy kindly waits with me, and she and the teacher take turns regaling me with stories of all the times they locked themselves out of the house while their newborn was napping, it's happened to all of us, etc. I stand by the window next to Matteas and tell him that Mama locked the keys in the trunk, but a nice policeman is coming to get them out and everything will be okay. He was well for a few minutes, but the windows in the car are up and it's starting to get a little warm in the car. I try instructing him to slide the top harness of his carseat buckle down and pull his arms out so he can reach forward and unlock the door, and he does actually get the buckle to slide down but then he's too upset to listen to further direction. The cop shows up, has me sign the release form and gets to work on the passenger-side door. Matteas is freaking out by now, his little face is flushed and sweaty, and he's crying. I put my hand on the window next to his face and try to talk soothingly to him, but this is difficult because he's crying and can't really hear me through the glass anyway so I have to shout which isn't really very soothing. In spite of the stressful circumstances I feel a quick moment of embarrassment that my car is so messy, the floor of the backseat littered with buckets from the beach, extra clothes and coats and about 16 half-used packages of diaper wipes. The cop tries valiantly to unlock the door, but apparently my car is extra difficult to burglarize. This is not comforting news under the circumstances. At this point, Matteas is so upset that he's screaming and rubbing snot all over his face. The snot irritates him and he tries to brush it off his face, but he succeeds only in gashing his own cheek. Between the snot and the screaming he's getting pretty worked up, and in short order he barfs all over himself. Good thing he drank a lot of milk with lunch. "This kind of thing doesn't usually happen, I'm a very attentive mother!" I want to blurt out. "I control Jack's eczema by giving up wheat as a family! I read to them everyday! I feed them only organic fruits and vegetables! I'm training for a $%#@ing marathon!!!" But none of this matters right now, so I don't say any of it. I meekly accept that it is my turn to feel sheepish, that no one gets everything right all of the time and it doesn't make me a bad mother, it just makes me human. Another cop shows up to help, and Jack's teacher gets me a damp cloth to wipe Matteas with when I eventually get him out of my car. Twenty minutes after the 911 call was made, Cop #1 succeeds in getting the door open which of course sets off the alarm, so now that sound is added to the screaming. I lunge into the now-open passenger door and hit the unlock button, run back around to Matteas and pull him out, sweaty and covered from head to toe in various bodily fluids. His whole little body is trembling and his hair is matted with sweat. "I'm sorry baby, Mama's so sorry," I whisper over and over again as I rock him in my arms. "Mama was right here all the time, I knew the policeman would save you, it's okay now baby, it's okay," and in a minute or two he calms down. I thank the cops, who are very friendly and understanding and they don't even tell me I'm a bad mother or that I should have cleaned my car that morning instead of having coffee with Anna while the kids watched cartoons. We get home and I run a warm bath for Matteas, change my clothes and get Matteas a bottle of grape juice to get the taste of curdled milk out of his mouth, and in short order everything is just fine. I give myself permission to make macaroni and cheese for dinner(with brown rice pasta). My friend Anna's words come back to me: "It's the mothers who think they have it all figured out that you need to watch out for; they're not open to the fact that they might be getting something wrong. The good mothers are the ones who know they need help; they know they can't always do it alone." Anna's like that; she can make you feel like a good person precisely because you made a mistake. As I'm making dinner, the phone rings. It's Aaron's brother Tristan, calling to say that Grandpa Caseri has passed away quietly in his sleep. I light a candle and say a prayer for Grandma Caseri, who will probably never quite understand where her husband went. I resolve to be extra-nice to Aaron when he comes home, and start tidying up the house as a welcome. As the noodles for dinner are cooking, I load the dishwasher to the brim which is a good thing because after dinner we will be totally out of clean silverware. I put in the soap, close the door and push the start button. Nothing happens. I fiddle with it for a while, then realize that something must have shorted when Matteas flooded the counter earlier in the day while "doing the dishes," a process which bought me fifteen minutes of peace to eat my lunch unmolested but which apparently cost me a working dishwasher. Aaron gets home and I open wine, kiss him hello, ask if he's alright. He says yes and then asks me if today's events have motivated me to get the spare key(which isn't spare anymore because the real spare broke off in the lock a few months ago) back in its hiding place, which I wrongly interpret as criticism. I bite my tongue, and all I say in reply is "yes." The phone rings. It's a young kid named Will, trying to earn money for college by selling me knives. I hate solicitors. Especially the kind who call during the dinner hour because they know you're home. Poor Will. He doesn't deserve what's about to happen, but unfortunately for him he's the last straw and I let fly. "Will, I'm sure you're a very nice kid and that your knives are of the finest quality, but I accidentally locked my kid in the car today and the police had to be called to get him out but not before he got so upset that he barfed all over, my husband's grandfather passed away less than an hour ago and my dishwasher is broken. I really hope you get to college but I'm just not interested in any knives right now." "Oh, uh, I'm really sorry about all that; I completely understand. Have a good evening," stammers Will, beating a hasty retreat. As I pray with Matteas that night, we thank God for cozy beds, warm baths, and policemen. Later, in my own bed, I say a prayer of gratitude for emergency help that comes when you need it, and for moms who are willing to have the "I'm not perfect either" conversation. Then I promise myself that tomorrow while Jack's at school, I will buy myself a cheese danish to eat after I wash all the dishes by hand. And I will wear sweats to school pick-up.

It's a Boy

Me: "I can't believe that much poop was inside Matteas; I feel like I just birthed a baby." Aaron: "I think Matteas feels the same way."

Still Working on That

A few nights ago, we had tacos for dinner. Jack asked for a 'margagrita' to go with his. In the summer, we'd give him margarita mix combined with something carbonated and a fresh wedge of lime, things we didn't have on taco night. We did have a bottle of Martinelli's, so I gave the boys some in miniature wine glasses that belonged to Aaron's Grandpa Mathias. Matteas was absolutely thrilled to have his own "wine," but unfortunately he dropped his cup before the end of dinner and it broke. To console him, I gave him some extra Martinelli's in a shot glass(not because I wanted him to think he was getting a shot, just because it's a good size for small hands). He couldn't quite figure out how to keep the top of the cup out of his mouth.

Can I Get a Break?

"Matteas, would you like some more apple?" "No." "Say 'No thank you,' Matteas." *** "Matteas, would you like to pick another book?" "Um, no." "Baby, say 'No thank you.'" *** "Matteas, it's time to put the toys away and go to bed." "No thank you."

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire...

Another Milestone

Poor Matteas has a little diaper rash, so this morning I gave him a bath and then let him run around naked. This was apparently just what he needed to inspire him to finally use what he calls his "baby toilet," which has been sitting in the kitchen(tile floor=easy cleanup) for a few weeks collecting dust, not pee. For a while now he would ask to sit on it, so I'd take off his diaper and then he'd just sit there and giggle, no action.

See that look of satisfaction?

After we heard the tell-tale tinkling sound he grinned and shouted "I CAN pee!!!" I've thought he was ready to start potty training for a while now, as he has taken to announcing it to us whenever he has any sort of activity in his diaper. We hear a lot of "I peeing," and "I working(pooping)" but today, on Aaron's 31st birthday, he finally figured out how to do it on purpose. We made a big deal out of it and gave him some m&m's, which prompted him to pee three more times. On the baby toilet. We may have to get some more m&m's.

Where's Your Face?

Sick Day

The boys have colds. Again. Matteas wouldn't wake up this morning, so I made the mistake of letting him sleep in. He decided to skip his afternoon nap, so he was one grumpy little bear all evening. At dinner, he made it through maybe three bites of noodles before passing out.

Matteas the Garbage Man

He shoots, he scores!!!

Baby's First Sentence

I think it is entirely appropriate that Matteas' first sentence was "I do it." He started shouting it about a month ago, in this very highchair. There are light switches behind him, and he climbed up in his seat and turned around to flip them on and off. "Matteas, what do you think you're doing?" I asked him. "I do it!" he shouted back. It is his mantra these days, his declaration of independence. I find it especially endearing that he shouts it when he's having trouble doing something, like it's his way of encouraging himself. When we took the boys to the pumpkin patch he insisted on getting out of the backpack and walking around himself, but the ground was pretty uneven. He'd take two steps and then tumble over, pick himself up and keep going, all the while shouting "I do it!"

August 14th, 2007

One year ago today, at almost exactly this time, Aaron and I brought Matteas home from the birth center. It was overwhelmingly hot and muggy, just like today. I have all the doors and windows open, with fans in the bedroom windows blowing in the cool night air. I had a small sense that night of what Matteas would bring to my life, and a year later I can say that I severely underestimated the joy and peace that was born with our sweet little Matteas. When I found out I was pregnant with Matteas, I wasn't overly pleased. I didn't bother getting terribly upset though, as I'd had a miscarriage two months before and figured that something beyond my control or scope of vision was at work. I struggled through crippling nausea, ate my way through the second trimester and then hoped and prayed for an early delivery in the sweltering weeks of the summer we packed up the Brier house and moved. Weeks away from my due date, we had yet to pick a name. Aaron hated everything, and nothing seemed to fit. Four days before he was born(but still four weeks before my due date) we were at Albert's birthday party. Anna's friend Ingrid, sweetly concerned that we couldn't find a name, marched into Anna's kitchen and pulled the Byzantine calendar off the fridge. This was extra-resourceful of Ingrid since she isn't Catholic. She began reading the names of the saints whose feast days were in the coming weeks, and, mispronouncing "Matthias"(which is Aaron's grandpa's last name) we had our name. "Matteas" is Portuguese for Matthew, meaning "gift of God." From the very moment of his birth, when the midwife first placed his warm, wiggly little body on my chest, I felt overwhelmed by his sweetness. He laid there gurgling softly but not crying, slowly blinking his peaking little eyes trying to make sense of the world he suddenly found himself in. Even his actual delivery was peaceful and sweet, a long soak in a big tub on a beautiful August evening. When he was four days old, we took him to meet Albert and Anna. The first thing Anna said as she took him in her arms was "Tirzah, he's SO sweet!" I know lots of people say that about new babies, but it was especially true of Matteas. It is his most striking quality, and I have enjoyed absolutely every minute of his babyhood. Part of me is so excited to watch him grow and discover and learn about his world, but a small part of me is a little sad that the first chapter of his life is over. It was such a very good year with him and while I'm sure the years to come will be just as good, there is nothing quite like new baby sweetness, that complete and total helplessness. He will never need me again the way he needed me that first year and while I rejoice in his small independence for his sake, part of me is a little bit reluctant to let him go. But I know that holding on will hold him back, and refusing to acknowledge his growth won't actually keep him a baby. So happy birthday sweet Matteas; don't grow up too fast.

In Which Matteas Gets Very Excited and Smiles