Aren't we supposed to teach him the lessons?

A couple of weeks ago some books came that I had bought for my son. I left them on his chair right before bedtime so he'd find them and be all three-year-old happy about more books about Trucktown, Cars, and dinosaurs.

When he ran into his room, my husband said, as he followed him in, "What the...!?"

Our son said, "WHAT THE HECK?!"

Now, our son said this in his ultra dramatic, high-pitched voice that he's perfected over the last few months, so not only was it shocking because of what he just said, but it was darn cute because of his drama king persona.

My husband and I looked at each other. I shook my head. My husband's eyes got big.

We must have said something to the boy at that point, but I can't really remember. I just remember thing, ohhhhhh no. And, how many times have I said "what the heck" in front of him. Try as I might, I know I say, "Oh MY GOD," on many occasions, but lately I have been catching myself and saying, instead, "Oh my" or "Oh my gosh." One day the boy let out an "Oh my GOD!" over something, and I told him not to say that. When he asked why, all I could really answer was that it wasn't nice and some people won't like it. I mean, really, how does one explain that to a three-year-old? Especially when I find no particular offense to the statement except that I know it would offend other people, but since I find no real offense to it, I really can't explain it to him in a way he would understand.

After that bedtime, my husband vowed to watch his mouth more (and, in his defense, he has gotten way better with his, um, vocabulary, these past two years then he ever has in the time I've known him). I too said I would try to not say "What the heck."

Unfortunately we have no control over the other kids in his life.

Fast forward a few days. One of us let out a "what the heck!" over some minor thing that was probably inconsequential but, as we all know, old habits die hard.

"My teacher says we don't say 'what the heck'," our boy told the offending parent matter-of-factly.

My husband and I looked at each other.

"Yes, you're right," my husband said. "You shouldn't say that."

"Yeah, my teacher says we don't say 'What the heck'," our boy told us again.

"Yes, she's right," I said.

Since this minor infraction, we've been informed that we can't save spots anymore (there was a week where our boy was really gung-ho about saving spots in our house - either we save his spot or he saves one of ours) and that saying "the dog is stupid" is NOT nice. I'm not sure what dog he was talking about or why the dog was stupid, and I'm still not sure he gets that saying anything is stupid is not nice, but it's a start.

The funny thing about all this is is that his teacher is the sweetest young lady (just writing that makes me feel really old), and to think she has to put up with these kids saying "what the heck!," telling poop jokes, saying one is going to fart on another kid, and now the dog is stupid, makes me wonder how she remains so sweet.

Just tonight our boy burped and without thinking twice about it announced, "that was an ice cream burp." I found this particularly funny. I laughed. I shared it the story to my husband, who also found it funny. So guess who either learned something new this week or will be teaching others soon?

Sorry, teacher.

Life lessons start early and cause much pain.

I was working at home yesterday. The phone rang. I looked at it to see if I needed to answer it or not. My son's daycare name was listed.

Oh no, I thought. Please don't be sick, please don't be sick, please don't be sick.

I answered, and the center director was calling about Mateo. The first thing she said was that it's been a long time since she's had to call me.

"I know....," I answered, as in: Why ARE you calling me???

Basically, it happened like this: Mateo was playing with an xylophone when another child decided they wanted to play with it (the incorrect pronoun use is on purpose in case - this is how it was told to me...stay with me). A slight scuffle ensued because Mateo, being the xylophone loving fool that he is, didn't want to give up the instrument to the other child. That was when SHE scratched him. Right on his cute little chubby cheek. Everyone is fine, he got the scratch cleaned, so on and so forth.

Now, I found it really interesting that the director wanted to hide the gender of the student and then slipped when she said "...she scratched his cheek...." I think they don't ever want to give away the idenity of the other student who did the hurting or who got hurt because they don't want the parents to get into it like some crazed sports mom/dad rivalry thing. There aren't many girls in Mateo's room, but still, I was never going to figure it out.

My first concern was if he was okay, and then it was whether he did anything back to her. I hate the idea of him hurting another child even though I know it's part of being a kid. As long as he's not bleeding to death or has a broken bone or has been ruthlessly attacked by a rabid monkey child, I'm never going to get mad when a scuffle ensues. It's part of life. At least a 2-year old's life. I get the feeling my take on the situation is very opposite from most parent's take because the director always seems to fear confrontation after she tells me when something happens.

When I went into his room at daycare, I was greeted with my scratched-cheek boy, who was as happy as ever.

His teacher told me that he only cried right when it happened and then was soon over it. Sounds just like my boy.

I told the ladies that I told my husband he needs to start teaching Mateo that when lady wants something of his, Mateo needs to just hand it over immediately and save himself some trouble.

Ain't that the truth? I think so.

I give up! I do not know my child.

As a parent, I often find myself spouting off about what Mateo does and does not like. For example, he's never seemed too interested in chocolate, although loves glazed donuts. He doesn't care for super sugary things (except for the aforementioned glazed donut), and will eat a bit of a cookie or graham cracker, but loves ice cream (I just found that out last weekend).

I have realized that since he is changing on a daily basis, I must give up on knowing him in that way. That "this is my child and I know him" way.

This morning I gave Mateo a package of honey graham bunnies to eat before taking him to daycare. I was starving, so I grabbed the bag of chocolate graham bunnies to eat. I handed him his open package, opened mine, and he immediately wanted what I was having.

"It's chocolate," I said.

He looked at the dark brown bunny curiously, took it, and put it in his mouth.

"You like it? You like the chocolate?" I asked him.

He nodded his head in agreement swiftly took my bag of chocolate graham bunnies. So, being a mom who is used to this sort of thing, I took his bag of honey graham bunnies and began eating them.

"Cha-co-lat," he said. "Cha-co-lat buuuny."

Now, I think my kid is a good speaker. He's got a wide repertoire of words he uses, and some we're still figuring out (like "atches" = ashes, as in "ashes, ashes, we all fall down" - my husband always gets this but I sit there and say, "Atches? Itches? Something itches? Where does it itch?"). But he doesn't have too many polysyllabic words under his belt. We have to break up longer words into chunks for him to repeat them. And even then, we know there is no way he's going to walk away and use the word.

So I was fairly surprised that he started saying "chocolate." He was even intoning "chocolate" in goofy ways, like "cha-co-LATE!"

I gather the boy likes chocolate. Or, at least, chocolate graham bunnies.

He took the bag of chocolate graham bunnies in the car with him, and when I got him out of the car at daycare, he said, "Bye bye, cha-co-late buuunies."

How did he learn to say 'chocolate' so well? I have no idea. Just like I had no idea he would want to eat the chocolate graham bunnies. I guess I just don't know much of anything.

First band aid.

Mateo had a well-check today and some blood drawn. For some stupid reason, I thought they would magically take his blood and it wouldn't be horrible or traumatizing or anything close to how adults get their blood drawn. I just view him as a baby and therefor, they should take his blood like he is a baby. But, alas, I guess he's not a baby anymore.

So I had to sit with him on my lap and hold him while a nurse held his arm while another nurse drew his blood. Needless to say, I was glad I couldn't see his face.

But, as with most things, he got over it pretty quick.

When we got home, I suggested putting a band aid on his arm and taking off the cotton ball puff taped on with surgical tape. Because I'm sorry, that band aid method is plain stupid.

Mateo must have heard the word "band aid" before because he kept saying "banad, banad" over and over as he followed me into the bathroom. We've never put a band aid on him, and, in fact, I recently purchased a bunch of those cool band aids of cartoon characters and ones with different colors just for this occasion (and I needed to spend my health expense account money, and what better way to do so than buying a bazillion band aids?).

He sat down, and since I didn't remember which cartoon character I had bought, we were both pleasantly surprised to find out I bought a box of Diego band aids. "Diego" is the first character name he's spoken, even though we hardly watched it. That was during the summer. So he knows Diego when he sees him. Somehow. Because we hardly watched him. I still don't get that.

Digressing again...

I told him we were going to put it on his arm where it hurts, and he thought that was a fabulous idea until I took off the stupid tape and cotton ball, which hurt him like the dickens, and then he didn't want anything to do with my Diego band aids. After trying to play mind games with him (band aids make hurt feel better! these are magical band aids! etc.), he reached out his hand and presented me his palm.

"If you let me put this on your arm, then I'll give you one to play with," I told him.

He agreed. Until I reached for his arm.

"Okay, if I put this on your palm first, then can I put one on your arm?" I asked.

"Yeaaaaa...," he said and scooted toward me.

I put the band aid on his palm.

"Okay, now let me put this on your arm," I told him.

He wasn't too keen on the idea, and after a slight wrestling match, I got it on. I told him when Daddy came home, he could show it to him and then we'll take it off.

And so, I present to you, Mateo's first band-aid, a band aid on his palm, a palm that isn't even hurt. And yes, he's still got the dang thing on his palm as I type. I've also had to give Diego kisses.





He was so proud of his band-aid, he had to show off his other band-aidless palm, like his palms were something special.

And, well, I have to say they are.

Bored and helpful at the same time.

Long story short, I sell Mateo's old clothes at a Mom's club sale thing that my sister is part of.

I needed to start inputting the clothes into the online system that tracks each seller's inventory, so I dragged out Mateo's bin of clothes Sunday night in preparation for Monday, when I was home with Mateo all day because his daycare was closed for "professional development" day otherwise known as "let's eat donuts and have lunch brought in while we watch soaps on TV" day (okay, no it's not, but that's what I envision, and yes, I still have to pay for that day, so I think I'm allowed to be bitter.)

Mateo likes to be helpful most times, so I thought I could get him to help me sort the clothes into price piles. He's helped my husband with laundry sorting before - my husband tells him where to put the item of clothing, and Mateo does it, and it's all great and grand for the both of them. I started putting clothes in piles, slowly, mind you, in hopes that he wouldn't think I was just throwing clothes about for no good reason. He was interested in what I was doing, but didn't want to help me (of course - isn't that how it always is?).

I pretty much decided to forgo the price piles and just dumped all the clothes out into two piles: the regular clothes that would go for $1.50 to $3 and the Gymboree clothes that would go for a bit more.

I grabbed the first item I was going to input, sat down on the couch, and that's when Mateo decided to go bizerko and attacked the larger pile of clothes, throwing them at me, on me, on the couch (I even found one item later on tucked behind the couch cushion), everywhere and anywhere and upside down and right-side up and left and right and you get my point.

At one point he decided to lie down on the deconstructed pile and watch TV. This was right before I decided it was time for a nap.

And now, for your viewing pleasure, the mess:






It looks like he's sleeping, but he wasn't. That boy would never fall asleep like this, and believe me, I've tried to get him to.

While he napped, I cleaned up, re-sorted clothes, folded them up and piled by price, and then bagged them so some child couldn't do this again nor any cats could sleep on the clothes and get them all nice and hairy.

I really don't know how people get anything done on a daily basis when they have young kids at home.

My baby turned 2...

Why is that so bittersweet?

Mateo is now two and a big boy. We had a small family celebration for him on Sunday, where he got to blow out the candles on his cake and eat a tiny bit of cake (because, you know, he's a fruitarian and doesn't partake in chocolately cake like everyone else does). Yesterday, on his actual birthday, I brought cake to his daycare for a little party. My mom (aka Bucket to Mateo - don't ask) came with.


You'd think your kid would be tickled to have his mom there and cake - a cake with a matchbox car shoved in the frosting - and his grandma and his friends and all that. But no. Well, he was really happy to see me, but when he realized he wasn't leaving, I think he was totally thrown off.

This is basically what he looked like the whole time he was there:



Why the hell are you here?


My kid is a smiley kid. A happy kid. But in every picture I took of him, he looked like he'd rather be in forced seclusion with no fa-fa or baby in reach. And in the dark too since he's not liking the dark much these days.

As soon as everyone was done eating and he got his hands washed, he wanted to go home and he told me so. Repeatedly. So we left, he had one of his typical flip-outs because he wanted to go into this one classroom but couldn't because there was actual kids and a teacher in the room, so he became a screaming, limp ragdoll.

Regardless, I'm glad he got to celebrate with his friends since just yesterday I realized he actually has friends. I never knew he had an attachment to this one kid in his class, and he to Mateo, until yesterday. I just assumed Mateo was still in that "I'm the only kid who exists in this world" stage. And, of course, Mateo moves out of his room next week and leaves his friend behind for a month or so, which is going to break both their hearts and mine as well.

Growing up is tough. I'm still working on it.

Happy Birthday, my sniggly biggly, monkey love, sweety, baby boy!

Fa-fa.

And what, prey tell, is a "fa-fa," do you ask?

It is my son's pacifier. That is the name he gave it.

To this day we still don't know where this name came from. It isn't from daycare because he's not allowed to have a pacifier at daycare. I've never called his pacifier anything but "pacifier," and my husband calls it a "chupon," which is the Spanish word for "pacifier." Can you fathom how "fa-fa" came out of those two words? Because I can't.

We've been trying to get that boy to give up the pacifier for months now, but as soon as he gets sick, we let him have it more regularly during the day so he would feel better mentally. Because it is all mental at this point. The boy is addicted. We decided that at age two he was going to have to give it up completely, but I think both of us have decided without really talking about it that really? Who cares. He only gets it in public when he needs to calm down. Other than that, he has it at home, in the car, and definitely at night.

The only negative aspect of the pacifier, in my humble opinion, is that it's delaying his speech progression. But then, that boy is talking up a storm all of a sudden and saying these amazing things to us, that I can't really believe the pacifier is doing that. And anyway, if I can't understand him, I pull out the pacifier and tell him to repeat himself since his speech is not clear with the pacifier in his month.

In hindsight, I wish we had cut the pacifier out at age one. It would have been so much easier back then, back in the day when he wasn't really talking and wasn't as aware of things as he is now. But we didn't.

Another item he's named on his own, and we don't know where the name came from, is his favorite blanket - baby. Yes, he calls his blanket "baby." My husband and I used to call his baby "woobie" because of the Mr. Mom movie, and I can sort of see how he's turn "woobie" into "baby," but really, they are two different words and pronunciations.

I think the best moment of this week (out of many) is when my husband called me while on the BART train and said, "Oh, and his fa-fa is in the center compartment." Later I asked him if anyone heard him say "fa-fa." I mean, you're never alone on the BART train unless it's the day after Christmas, so everyone can be listening to your conversations if you so choose to have one while on the train. He said no. I don't think he really cared either.

And, as I mentioned in my previous post, my son is turning two next week, and I don't think he nor my husband and I are ready to let fa-fa go.

Nothing like being bitch-slapped by your son.

Oh, and in public too. I tend to like to keep the parental abuse I suffer behind closed doors.

After spending many minutes discussing the wonderful child known and MY CHILD with a friend today, my wonderful child had to go and make me curse myself. I repeatedly told her how Mateo hardly has bad days, and so, when he does, I often feel like I'm never going to last until the end of the day before the men arrive with my straight jacket, but usually and most often times he's not having bad days, and is usually very happy and loving and full of life.

Well, of course I had to go and curse myself. That is my personal tragedy in life, don't you know?

Mateo was in a mood when I picked him up from daycare. When he's in a mood, he's very demanding, and since he doesn't talk 100% perfectly, I sometimes don't know what he is demanding, which just makes the boy even more upset.

As soon as I got him in the car, he started demanding something that started with a "p" but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what he was saying. I gave him his baby #2 (blanket), his new Elmo head toy, both of which he didn't want until I tried to take both away, and then, of course, he wanted them and was mad that I was trying to take them away. He and I can play that game repeatedly, I tell you.

I gave up on trying to appease him, and got in the car and started driving home. He got his usual crackers, seemed happy enough, and when we got home, he started saying, "Home...Home!"

As soon as I parked the car, he started up again with the "p" thing he wanted, and I just ignored him because I still had no idea what he was talking about. Then I realized my husband left Mateo's pacifier in the stroller storage compartment, and when the stroller is moving, the pacifier rattles around and makes a very distinct noise. That's when it dawned on me what Mateo had been asking for - pacifier.

He immediately started yelling at me about wanting it, and I just ignored him. I opened the back door to the car and he started moaning about his pacifier and just about life in general. I asked him if he wanted to get out, and he promptly told me "NOOoooo!" I unstrapped him from his car seat and he got mad and started spewing toddler obscenities at me.

Right as I was bending back out of the car with him, he cocked his little arm back and let one mean slap fly at my face. BAM!

Needless to say, I was a tad shocked. I inhaled deeply. I said, "Mateo! No! You do not hit people!" in a calm yet firm voice.

His little face immediately bunched up and the sobs and crying let loose. Some old man walking through our parking lot started staring at us because the way Mateo was crying, it really seemed like I just slapped him across the face, and not him slapping me. Another neighbor came home and immediately ran for the hills after she got out of the car.

I gave Mateo a talking to about hitting and how that's not nice, etc., etc., managed to get the crying mass of toddler into the stroller, and proceeded to wheel him to our condo while he screamed and fought the stroller straps.

And, like the little crackhead he is, as soon as I got him in his room where there is carpeting so he could flop and flip and cry and moan without much fear of hurting himself, he crawled to his crib, looked under it, found a loose pacifier on the side of the crib, plunked that baby in his mouth and crawled back over to me and plopped himself into my lap.

We hugged it out, I told him again that hitting is not nice, and we made up.

This will be his last week of the pacifier because he really is turning into a crackhead about it, and he's going to be two, and it was time a long time ago for the pacifier to go away. We're bracing ourselves for probably the worst week of our lives when we finally do chuck those babies in the trash compactor and say goodbye because Mateo will have some serious withdrawals going on. I've been told to replace the pacifier with something else that he will think is special, but that's nearly impossible unless it's just another pacifier since that kid has too many "special" things at this point in his life.

Stay tuned for more tales of parental abuse and pacifier crackheads in the near future.

Charades with a 22-month old.

Mateo is talking more and more, starting to string words together (momma eat, feet kick ball, ball bounce, take it, etc.), and is getting more and more frustrated with his obviously stupid mother who doesn't understand what he wants.

My kid knows what he wants when he wants it. He's always been like that, and I have to assume he always will be that way. And I think that's great because he may actually become someone really special in this world. I want him to feel comfortable asking for what he wants and needs instead of quietly peering at adults, wondering if he should open his mouth. I want him to take chances so he can fail at times and then learn how to get over failure and move on. I want him to always try and always know he's worth it - whatever the "it" may be.

And with all that, I'm at his mercy when he wants something and I can't, for the life of me, figure out what it is he's saying.

The other day he really wanted to hear a specific song. He's got a few CDs, and the only songs he really knows are nursery rhymes, so I put on each nursery rhyme and waited for his approval. None of them were the songs he wanted. Well, I thought, I'll just buy him a CD full of nursery rhymes. I got on Amazon, found a $4 CD, ordered it, it arrived on Monday, and on Tuesday I put that baby in his CD player, hit the play button, and expected, foolishly, to be greeted with a very happy child.

At first he was very happy. I think the first song on the CD is "Wheels on the Bus," and he knows the song well and does all the motions while it plays. He also seemed tickled that kids were singing the song.

That all soon faded, and he started looking at me imploringly and saying, "Blalahdheh shehehs jememe."

"What?" I asked.

"Blalahdheh shehehs jememe," he repeated.

"I'm sorry, baby, I don't understand you," I said. To say I wasn't disappointed that he wasn't just dancing around like a little goofball because of his new CD would be a big lie. Really, what I was thinking was, Ugh, not again....

He began to frantically attack the CD player, trying to press any and all buttons. I assumed he wanted to fast forward until the song he wanted was on, so I sat down and manned the forward button while he kept adjusting the volume (I think he thought he was fast forwarding).

"This one?" I asked.

"No, no, no," he replied.

"This?" I asked.

"No, no, no," he said.

Whenever a song came on that he knew well, he would stop and look at me and wiggle his butt back and forth, but then he went right back to attacking the volume button.

I got to the end of the CD, and sadly, we never found the song he wanted. That CD is full of all the nursery rhyme hits too. All except one.

He looked at me and said, "Down?" He then bent down and touched his toes.

I looked at him while he did that and kept thinking, down, down, down, what the heck song talks about going down?

"Wait a minute," I said as I snapped my fingers. "You want to hear....what's it called...."Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes!"

"YEAAA!" he yelled.

That song wasn't on the CD, nor is it on any CD we own. One of his toys plays it, but I figured that wasn't going to float with him. Then I remembered The Wiggles' DVD Mateo's benefactor (my boss) gave him. They sing that song on it.

I explained to him that the CD didn't have that song, but we could go into the living room and listen to it there. He looked at me like, My god, she still doesn't get it! How have these people been keeping me alive all this time - they are so stupid!

I then mentioned "Wiggles," a term that got him all goofy and excited (they listen to The Wiggles at daycare), and so we headed into the living room.

I put the DVD on, went right to that song and played it. I fully expected Mateo to be so happy that I figured it out and now he's getting what he wanted, and looky us playing toddler charades, that I got my Flip camera ready to shoot some super cute videos of him singing and dancing to the song.

Mateo just stood there.

Nothing. No smile, no movement, no singing. Just staring.

"No, no, no, no," he said after a few more seconds passed by.

I still don't know what he wanted to listen to. We ended up watching The Wiggles DVD from the beginning, but when it got to that particular song again, he told me, "No, no, no," so I skipped it.

Okay, so after Damien left me, Jennifer Beals stopped by.

Today was my lucky day.

I guess after the fourth dose of amoxicillin, my child gets all goofy and starts twirling in circles and stomping his feet, and then he will eventually wander over to me, which makes me look down, and low and behold he's got one arm out of his long sleeve and now through the neck hole and he's looking an awful lot like Ms. Beals over there to the right (even though her shirt is off the shoulder, but come one, you can't expect a toddler to go and get scissors and cut his own shirt, can you?).

And yes, I'm the stupid parent who didn't get her Flip video camera she received for Christmas so she could videotape the twirling and dancing or the fancy shirt manipulation. Instead I said, "How'd you manage to do that?" and put his arm back through his neck hole and then back through the sleeve.

He responded by demanding to be free and shirtless to match his sockless feet that he sported all day while recovering from his nasty illnesses (no fault of mine - I don't like that Damien character so I obliged but harassed him with socks as best I could - eventually Damien put them behind the blinds in his room, smart daemon, that one), but I wouldn't allow it. When I said, "What? You want to be naked now?", which was a rhetorical question, but try explaining that to a toddler because he answered "YEEAAAAAH!" very loudly, I didn't give in to him and his Flashdancey ways.

I'll be with him all day tomorrow while I try man my group's email inbox and answer any incoming calls from my work (thank goodness for caller ID, I will say it over and over), and I plan to have my Flip with me this time because if he ends up reenacting scenes from The Godfather, I so want to get that on video and share it with the world.

Damien. Or is that Daemon? I really don't think there is a difference.

Damien from the movie The Omen came to visit me today.

Now, now. Don't be all jealous about this. You too can have Damien come visit you. And I'm here to tell you how.

First, get your kid nice and sick. A simple cold will suffice. Make sure you get ahold of some super cold germs that will make you sick as well, just for fun, mind you, and will cause your kid, whose immune system is still trying to build itself up to Iron Man capacity, to get only slightly sick at first, but in a day or two cause a high fever, loss of appetite and a nasty cough that keeps him and your husband up at night (becuase you're sick and have taken nyquil and don't really know what the heck is going on between the hours of 9pm and 4am). Yeah, get some of those germs. Okay good.

Second, make sure your kid gets an ear infection or two, which will be confirmed by a nurse practioner at Kaiser. Oh, but really, before all that, your kid will surely throw up a bunch of times, which is the reason you're taking him to Kaiser in the first place. So I guess the ear infection is really the third item, but it probably started rearing its ugly head the day before.

Fourth, make sure you child is nice and tired. Like really tired. Like so tired anything you do or say or insinuate doing, like bringing Elmo into the room thinking he might actually want Elmo like he normally does, will cause him to flip out and shake his head and repeat "no, no, no, no" over and over until his face bunches up and he begins to cry.


Finally, make sure that cough never ceases, especially the day after visiting Kaiser and vomiting and all the fun stuff, so your child can't nap. Even when he's dead tired at 9am. Or 10am. Or 11am. or noon. Just make sure that cough never lets up, no matter how many cups of water you give him, visits to the bathroom for some shower steam, gentle pats on the back, or asthma inhalers given every 2 hours.

Okay. Done?

Now, here's the kicker. This is sure to bring out the Damien. Introduce honey to your sick child. Something he's never had before. (But first make sure he's not allergic to honey because I don't want to be held responsible for an allergic reaction.) And because he thinks he's getting food and for a brief moment he'll actually think he wants it, he'll demand to sit in his high chair, all nice and proper. When given the spoon with honey on it, he'll easily find it a method for expressing his artistic side, and he'll soon be wiping honey all over the tray.

Now try to take the spoon away. Go ahead. I dare you.

BAM! Damien!!!!

After this point, try as you might, you won't be able to do anything to make Damien go away. Sure, you'll look at your child and see your child but deep inside Damien has taken over your precious baby.

Don't believe him when he runs to the high chair, demanding to be let up into it, because as soon as you stand up to head over there to put him in (with the simple hope that he may still eat something, if not honey, which was supposed to lovingly coat his throat), he'll turn around on a dime and yell, "No no no no!!!" and bum rush you and push you back onto the couch (well, as much as a 26 lb person can do, in my case).

As soon as he sees you sit down, Damien will bum rush the high chair again and plead to be let up so he can sit like and angel and eat something, anything and hey, why are you trying to starve your daemon???

You will foolishly get up again, only to be bum rushed again by Damien and be told "No no no no!!!" And to think you were only trying to the little daemon's bidding.

This is when Damien will crumple and lose all bone stability. Before his head starts spinning around or he accidently kills you by tossing a hard plastic toy at your head, I suggest grabbing him, wrapping him in his woobie, and wrangling the daemon out of your child before Damien thinks he's found a permanent residence in your angelic baby boy.

Naps always do the trick.

And, well, by then? No cough is going to hinder that from happening.

Twas the day after Christmas.

I think the worst thing for a relatively new parent is having to get her butt up (in this case, this parent is ME) and go to work the day after Christmas. My husband is lucky enough to be able to stay home today with Mateo, who is in love with all his new toys and tricycle Santa brought him (and many thanks to all the Santas out there), and I have to say that while I'm not exactly jealous of him being able to do so, I am sort of sad.

Anyway. Enough wallowing in my stupid sadness. Now on to Christmas!

How was your Christmas? Good? Good. Mine? It was very good. My husband gave me a Flip video camera that he seems to think I absolutely hate, but I don't. I also got some Flip video camera extras and a book by David Sedaris because I was laughing so hard reading Me Talk Pretty One Day a couple weekends ago. I gave my husband a t-shirt with the "Dayman" song on it from Always Sunny in Philadelphia, a Fred Perry track jacket, and a Ben Sherman laptop bag for his nonexistent laptop, but he'll be using it as a messenger bag. Mateo gave him a calendar full of Mateo pics.

And Mateo. Ah, that little boy was very confused by Christmas. Our big plan was to get all the presents situated the night before, including his tricycle, and then I would have him come out into the living room while his Daddy was filming his reaction. Because as we all know, kids love presents. Mateo made a beeline to the trike because they have trikes at daycare, but not with pedals, so he's got to learn how to use pedals and to stop falling over on it. I don't think he noticed the presents at all until we pointed them out to him.

What was his reaction? He wanted the one present sitting on top that was unwrapped - a gift from relatives he received the night before. And then he wanted to run for the hills. The kid just didn't get it at all.

We slowly got him to open his presents. With each present, he demanded it "out" of the packaging, so it was a very slow process. Eventually he warmed up to the idea that he was getting all kinds of new toys, but it wasn't until all the gifts were opened, tags taken off, and things were sorta back to normal did he liven up.

Later we went to his Aunt's house for Christmas dinner, and with the help of his two cousins' excitement over their gifts, Mateo really got into the whole thing and was acting just as we hoped he would have on Christmas morning.

All in all, it was a very good Christmas even if we totally confused our child. I'm sure next year will be very different for him.

Let me tell you about Edwina and how she should be extinct.

I'm lucky enough to live less than 5 minutes away from a Scholastic Books warehouse. During the year, they have about three or four warehouse sales where books and other items are ridiculously marked down. (They are having one now, in fact, but I'm too poor to go and that makes me very sad.)

If you're a mom who likes to read books to her kid(s) (and if you don't, shame, shame on YOU), then you may have heard of this kid's author named Mo Willems. Mr. Mo (as I'm going to keep calling him) wrote a book about Edwina, The Dinosaur Who Didn't Know She Was Extinct.

I love Mo Willems. I think his books are fantastic both for the content and the illustrations. He's great. I picked up a copy of Edwina at one of the warehouse sales probably when Mateo was four months old and could care less about books or dinosaurs or Mr. Mo or that I can be pretty dang animated when I read out loud.

A few weeks ago, I read Edwina to Mateo. I had read it before then, many times in fact, but for whatever reason, as I've been told will happen, Mateo took a liking to Edwina and horseshoes. And when I say horseshoes, I really mean dinosaurs, but the way Mateo pronounces dinosaurs sounds just like horseshoes. It's all very complicated. Especially when one forgets that horseshoes means dinosaurs and one can't fathom why one's son is repeating horseshoes over and over.

So now every time he's going to take a nap or go to bed, he immediately starts repeating horseshoes over and over and over and over, and no matter how many times I try to suggest another book, we end up having to read Edwina. Don't get me wrong; I like Edwina. But reading it 50 bazillion times has really taking the "wow" factor out of the whole plot.

Mateo happens to have another horseshoe book, How Do Dinosaurs Clean Their Rooms?, another one I bought at the warehouse sale. I never really wanted to buy him books about specific things until I knew what he was interested in, so yes, he's only got two horseshoe books at this point, and I'm only allowed to read the second one on occasion because Edwina is "it" as far as horseshoes go.

As I mentioned, I am animated when I read books to Mateo, so he now expects me to pull out all the stops when we get to certain parts in Edwina. Which means he knows the book as well as I do. Which means I can't try to trick him and skip to the end. Which means I wish Edwina was extinct. Or that Mr. Mo would make a stuffed Edwina so I could buy it and give it to Mateo, but alas, he does not, which truly is a shame because while I think it's nuts to spend a lot of money of stuffed animals, Edwina is definitely one I would buy if she was priced high.

I liken my son to Navin R. Johnson.

This might come as a big shock - I love the movie The Jerk staring Steve Martin. I could watch this movie fifty bazillion times over and over and over and still love it. It is one of the best comedy movies of all time. Because I said so (I'm predicting your question, "Why?" before you mutter it).

There are many fantastic scenes in The Jerk that I often refer back to during troubled times when I need a good laugh. One such scene is when Navin (Steve Martin's character) leaves his mansion after finding out he's dirt poor again. I think he's drunk too. Drunk and distraught - two of comedy's finest ingredients. Anyway. So he starts saying all he needs in life is this and that, and he starts randomly grabbing items from his office, hallway, and then outside. I've been kind enough to embed the video clip, in case you don't know what I'm talking about:


The Jerk - All I Need - Click here for more blooper videos

Mateo is my Navin R. Johnson. No, no, he's not getting drunk and even slightly distraught (well, unless we tell him Zoe is going to use his toothbrush or wear his socks or something, then he gets distraught, but he also gets his teeth brushed and warm feet), but he does have this odd tendency to start grabbing random things and lugging them around with him as he trails me while I'm going from room to room, doing whatever.

Case in point: Yesterday when we got home, we went into his room to take off his shoes and put his jacket away, and he grabbed a stuffed cat and was holding it. I moved into my bedroom, and he followed with the cat. While in there, he grabbed an edge piece from his play mat that made it into our room (the are all over the place because of him and the cats dragging them about) and a box that held a bra I particularly like, so I'm keeping the box in hopes I can find a good deal on the brand/style online (the bra goes by a number; I'm so sad that I wear bras that go by numbers and not sexy names like "lacy love lumps"). I went back into his room, and he followed me like a little duckling, clutching the bra box, an edge to the play mat, and his stuffed cat.

Then in the wee hours of the morning, he woke up and was screaming Mommmmmmaaaaaa!" and since he's been having those night terror issues, I don't hesitate to go in there now. After scrambling all over the place, trying to find him a pacifier, he calmed down and was just silently watching me. And, of course, he was wide awake by then. Because it took me forever to find the stupid pacifier, which was in his crib with him. Because that's how things go in the wee hours of the morning, I'm finding.

As I was getting him out of the crib, he grabbed his "baby" (blanket) and his stuffed Elmo. I sat him on my lap and rubbed his back. All of a sudden he decided he needed the stuffed cat too. I gave it to him, and he was holding Elmo and the cat in a death lock of a hug while fingering the "worry corner" on his blanket. Right then and there I thought: Navin.

So yes, my boy is a reincarnation of Navin R. Johnson. And that's okay. Because maybe he'll invent something like Navin did in the movie, but hopefully if he does, he won't make people be permanently cross-eyed like Navin did.

Night terrors, anyone?

So how poignant was my post yesterday where I ever-so-slightly complained about Mateo's wakings during the night only to find out today that the poor boy is suffering from night terrors?

Yeah. Real poignant.

A little history. I have massive sleep issues. At least, I used to. I guess they are night terrors, but I never really thought of them that way. My night terrors started when I was about 17 or so, when I was working at a busy movie theatre. During the holidays movie theatres are super busy, especially when children's shows are playing. While I had everything down pat, be it working the concession stand or in the ticket booth, the holiday period stressed me out beyond belief. I "woke up" during my first night terror, and found myself sitting up and counting "money" on my blanket (not really - just going through the motions). These things are hard to explain unless you've had one; basically you're stuck in a situation you can't get out of, nothing makes sense, and you feel so completely stuck that when you finally start waking up, and you know you're waking up, the feeling of doom weighs heavy on your consciousness, enough so that I, personally, break down crying.

These dreams continued off and on, and I got to the point where I would start walking in my sleep as well. I also hold conversations with my husband, who is so used to it now, that he just tells me to go back to sleep and gently pushes me back down (I'm usually sitting straight up). The last time I remember this happening was after having Mateo, and I was dreaming that I put him somewhere, and I couldn't find him, and I was completely panicked. I had gotten out of bed and was looking under our bed. Really. Not just thinking about it in a dream. I was physically doing it. Talk about thinking you've lost your marbles. I was so freaked out by the dream itself plus the fact that I got out of bed and was on the floor, looking under it, that I started balling. It took me a really long time to finally understand that I did nothing with Mateo, and that he was in his crib, sleeping.

Mateo's been having sleep issues off and on during the night. Last week when I was home alone with him, he woke up from a nap in a complete tizzy. Since this was the first time I could really see him because of the daylight, I started thinking that maybe he was still asleep while freaking out. When I talked to him and tried to touch him, he acted like I was trying to kill him. When I finally got him out of the crib, he sat on my lap and wouldn't let me touch him at all. Eventually his little body relaxed and melted into mine. I believe this was when he finally woke up completely.

He's done the same thing almost every night--the freak outs, the crying, the screaming, the acting like I'm going to kill him, the not wanting me to touch him, the saying "no, no, no, no, no" over and over like some thing's trying to get to him--and last night was no different. After we let him cry and moan for an hour (this killed me, by the way), my husband went into his room to calm him down. By then Mateo was fully awake. My husband made a little bed on Mateo's floor, laid down with Mateo, and they both went to sleep. Mateo didn't wake up again after that. I went in at 3:30am and told my husband to get in bed, and I moved Mateo to his crib.

It was then that I realized Mateo had to be suffering from night terrors. He just had to be. When I went back into our room, I looked up night terrors with toddlers, and everything described fit Mateo. He generally starts up around 9:30pm, give or take 30 minutes, and he continues to have night terrors every hour until one of us has to stay with him. The basic advice was for us to stay calm when we first go in his room, don't try to talk to him or touch him, and just make sure he's safe and doesn't hurt himself (and if you've ever seen it in action, that is easily done).

I e-mailed Mateo's doctor, whom I love, and asked him if he felt Mateo was suffering from night terrors, gave him the general description of what happens, and he replied yes, most definitely. He told me that we should wait until we think he's fully awake before trying to comfort him, if he wants it. So I have to assume the last few times this has happened, and we let him cry for a good hour, he was fully awake and completely distraught and upset but didn't really get why. Well, he didn't know why except that his momma wouldn't come and hold him.

Yes, the guilt, it does hurt.

So now we're going to start a new practice with him. Mostly taking turns with sleeping with him in his room if he has a night terror. We all need our sleep, our neighbors don't want to be tortured by the screaming, and I really don't like the fact that Mateo is going through something I can't help fix.

Should be fun, no? I just can't imagine what's been going on in his little head. Luckily, he probably doesn't remember the actual night terror itself. I hope.

And we females sign up for this craziness?

I often look back at the first 4-5 months of Mateo's life, think about all the nights I didn't get much sleep, all the nights I was woken up every 2 hours, then 3 hours, etc., all the sick nights and fussy nights, and then I think about how I did it. I, for one, do not like being woken up after only being asleep for an hour or thirty minutes. So how did I do it? How do any of us do it?

Maybe it was the knowledge that some day Mateo would be sleeping through the night, which meant I would be sleeping through the night (unless our cats woke me up, which happens, a lot), which means life would be, dare I say it, normal again.

Yeah, okay, that dream isn't entirely true. I live in a bubble of goofy pre-baby dreams when I could sleep-in and nap at will.

So here were are at the end of Mateo's 21-months, and last night my husband and I took turns trying to get that boy to go to sleep, but more importantly, stay asleep. Nothing worked.

While he was sent home from daycare due to a fever, by the time he got home and sat around watching Blue's Clues for a bit, he was pretty much normal again. So I can't blame his night issues on being sick.

We replaced lost pacifiers, we gave him milk, we held him, we let him cry it out for a good hour, we brought him into our bed (that NEVER works with him, so why do we bother trying?), and as a last and final resort, I just took him into the living room and turned on the TV so I could lie down while he went into a TV coma. I also gave him pancakes. Does that make it okay?

The "fade into TV coma" occurred at 2:30am. I get up at 4am. So, at this point, I felt it was either I get him into a TV coma so I could lie down on the couch while he sat on me (he sits on my belly or legs), or I just sit in his room with him, falling asleep and waking up and falling asleep and waking up while sitting the rocking chair, risking dropping him on the ground or getting a really bad kink in my neck--neither being good choices.

Well, seems that was the best thing I could have done for both of us because not only did I get a tiny bit more sleep in, but Mateo finally gave up and passed out on my chest. My husband came out at 3:50am to see what we were doing, saw that we were asleep, left, then came back at 4:20am, saw that we were still asleep, so he left us there while he went to the gym.

(Side not: How annoying is that? The man barely gets any sleep and he still goes to the gym in the wee hours of the morning! Bottle that up and sell it, I say! Whatever that is.)

I woke up at 5am, took Mateo into his room, put him in his crib, took my shower and then started working. I had to wake up Mr. "I love to stay up all night and so that means you will too" Party Animal at 7am to get him to daycare so he wouldn't miss his breakfast. Needless to say, he was not happy to be woken up. But then, neither was I at 10pm, 11pm, 12am, 1am, or 2am.

He did get me thinking about when he was a baby though, besides the waking me up all night long business. He used to lie on my chest and sleep, something he hasn't done in, like, forever, and it really was quite nice. He was warm and toasty and felt so good. And then later on when I was holding him as he slept, his little mouth opened up, and he gave me the briefest dream-smile with the breathiest giggle. I loved watching him do that as an infant, even though I knew he was only doing it because of nerves and not because he was really dreaming about something funny. At least this time he probably was.

And even with all the sleep debt I've incurred in these past 2 years or so, I would so do it again. Even though I don't know how I did it before, I would. Because I don't know how I do it now, for that matter. He's just about the only thing that can keep me up all night long that I don't want to shove into the hallway and close the door on so she can't come back in (Sophia).

My boy? He's got confidence.

I arrived at daycare to pick up Mateo at an odd time. I wanted him to get some snacks in but wanted to get him home before it was outside time. As I already mentioned, he's been sick, and I figured he'd be tired from a full day at daycare today, so I wanted to get him home as early as I could.

When I walked into the room, there were no kids around, which was not what I expected. I grabbed his artwork, jacket and daycare paper, and then I peeked outside the bathroom window to see if they were outside since I couldn't hear any ruckus.

The kids were outside today (the weather is still freakishly warm) eating their snacks. I opened the door to the outside and quickly scanned for my child. In a room full of 13 boys, he's not too easy to spot unless he's running straight at me. All the kids were sitting in a group in front of two of the daycare ladies, just like perfect little ducklings. I didn't see Mateo right off.

"Mateo! Look who's here!" one of the ladies said.

I looked to the left. There was a kid wearing the same color brown pants and black shirt as my child, yet this kid had a blue bucket on his head and was waving his arms around like he was putting out a fire.

I stopped.

"Mateo! Look! Look who is here!" she said again.

He continued to flap his arms while going in circles. He was the only kid not sitting, not eating, not drinking, not being quiet.

He is so my kid.

I started to laugh. Someone called him a "buckethead." He finally took the bucket off of his head and saw me. He ran to me and gave me a big hug.

My kid, I tell you, he is awesome. While I know he's not the first kid to run around with a bucket on his head, he is the only one in his room doing it, and, well, that just makes him pretty darn special to me.

(I probably don't have to mention it, but this is yet another reason for a spy camera.)

My child is smarter than I am.

Mateo and I took a sick day yesterday; he was sick, I was not. I wanted to sit on the couch all day and work on my homework, plot how to fix the financial crisis our world is in, and maybe solve that world peace problem. And read because I'm on a huge reading kick now that I have some more free time. Mateo? He wanted to play.

Because as we all know that, those of us who are a parent to a crazy toddler boy who doesn't understand the concept of relaxing, even when sick, crazy toddler boys still want to play. All day. Until Blue's Clues is on, and then they will fall into a coma (my secret tip to you, dear reader).

I made a new rule a few weeks ago. If I am being forced to sit on the ground while Mateo is playing then I get to watch one of my recorded shows because it's either I do that or I have to deal with him trying to eat my laptop cord, attack Zoe (a cat), or rip down what is left of our vertical blinds (and yes, mom, that means we still haven't put up the curtains yet - would like to come over one of these days and assist me with this fun project?). Because the kid could care less if I'm phyiscally playing with him, he just wants to bounce off of me, talk to me, ask me to help him, accompany him across the room to pick up a random toy he suddenly needs to have but can't fathom making the trip by himself - anything but sitting on the couch or trying to play with his toys, something I just not allowed to do at all. He's been known to completely destroy my fabulous mini houses and castles I create from his megblocks.

Later on in the afternoon I declared it time to play, put on part one of the season finale of Top Design, turned my laptop so I could see IMs, and sat my lazy butt down on Mateo's play mat. He immediately went goofy on me, flipping and flopping, and playing to his heart's content. Nothing strikes joy into my boy's heart than an adult pretending paying attention to him.

That is until he realized I was paying a tad bit more attention to my laptop all of a sudden.

That little boy of mine, who is quickly turning into a person (how dare he), got up, walked over to my hand, and batted it away from my laptop. He then took my hand and moved it towards his toys.

Well, well. I was certainly shown.

After that I point, tried to remain focused on Top Design Mateo's playing and not so much my laptop, but that's until my virus scan found a few trojan horse viruses and got me in a tither.

When did the smart switch flip on? What else will I not be able to get away with?

Curses to you, stink eye!

When Mateo woke up yesterday he felt really warm. I took his temperature to make sure he wasn't running a high fever because that's what it felt like, but it was normal. I chalked up his hotness to wearing blanket PJs with feet during our rather weird warm spell here in Northern California. After a little bit, he cooled down, and I decided he definitely not sick and was fine to go to daycare.

When I got home that night my husband said the phrase I always dread, "Oh, I forgot to tell you...."

That is usually followed up with something I really don't want to hear, like he got another ticket, he's leaving me, his mistress is pregnant (but his mistress is the gym, so that would sorta difficult to accomplish), he invited everyone he knows over for poker, we've been invited to a bunch of soirees that I'd rather not attend, etc., you get where I'm going.

"Umhmmm?" I mumbled.

"I think he's sick."

He being Mateo.

"Darn it! I thought so. Those stupid blanket PJs probably incubated whatever cooties he got from daycare."

"Well, I don't know about that, but I do know this: he was coughing and his eyes are leaking snot."

And yes indeed, he was growing some rather lovely greenish-yellow blobs out of his eye ducts.

What makes this whole sick thing even worse is that we planned to finally go to the zoo on Saturday. We've planned this off and on since Mateo was old enough to handle going somewhere for an extended period of time, but it's just never happened for different reasons. What makes this time more exciting is that Mateo recognizes a lot of animals by making the sounds they make. So to see a real elephant? A real lion? A real bear? Oh, just think of the videos! Also, last weekend was a rather dull one for him, so I really wanted to do something different this weekend. And finally, this is the last nice weekend, I'm pretty sure, before the cold kicks in, and cold plus zoo doesn't make for an appealing trip.

When Mateo woke up this morning at that very late hour of 6am (thank you, my dear sicky son, for the extra two hours of sleep), both his eyes were crusted closed and he just looked horrible. I told my husband he was correct about the pink eye and the cold, and I asked him to call Kaiser to get Mateo an appointment while I worked on cleaning his eyes so he could open them again. Lucky for Mateo and since he's had pink eye so many times since starting daycare, the nurse prescribed him eye drops to clear up the infection instead of him having to come in for an appointment. Normally I would want the appointment, but he's really okay overall, and I'm not worried that something else is going on.

Today was spent at home. Mateo was having a serious case of "attached to mom by the hip" syndrome, but I was given a two hour reprieve later on in the day to take a much needed nap.

So yet again, germs foiled our plans, and yet again, I've realized there is no reason to make plans of any kind for the next 5 or so years.

The moments we share, ah, they are precious.

Scene:

I'm driving Mateo home from daycare. On the days I work from home, I always bring with me a sippy cup of the good stuff (water) and some crackers (usually of the graham variety). Today I decided to bring ritz crackers I bought just this morning with Mateo in mind.

"Do you want a crawcka?" I ask. (The kid's got me saying crawcka and not cracker and this makes me sad, sad sort of English major.)

"Cwacka?" my parrot repeats.

I dig into the Tupperware container, pull out a cracker, reach back like the stealthy driving mom that I am, and Mateo takes it.

He's also still holding his sippy cup of the good stuff, so I reach back to take that from him.

"NO!" he tells me.

I wait. I reach back again, and this time my attempt is a success, and Mateo hands it to me.

Silence for about 20 seconds.

Then I begin to hear what sounds like a small child crunching up a ritz cracker in his hand while periodically wiping bits of it on his pants. At a red light I turn and look, and my suspicions are fully confirmed.

Said small child begins to cry and yell: "NOOOOO!"

I'm assuming he didn't like the ritz cracker, he expected the graham variety of cracker, and he wanted me to know of his displeasure.

Said displeasure continued all the way home. He went from "Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww*!!!" to "NOOOO!" to just crying, and all because he was the one who wiped and crumbled ritz cracker bits on his clothes and car seat.

Mom's advice to said upset child? Simply put, "You did it to yourself."

*Mateo's new favorite word, and every time he says it, I cringe because he sounds like some 80's valley girl who should be saying, "Gag me with spoon."