Not identical

This past Tuesday, I took Matthew to his new school for his "meet-the-teacher."

Then, on Wednesday, I took Cameron for his "meet-the-teacher."  As we entered the school, a staff member said to Cameron, "Hi there, Matthew!  Oh, wait!  You're not Matthew, you're Cameron!"

"It's okay," I said, "I call them by the wrong name all the time."

At which point a father standing nearby said, "Oh, are they twins?" 

The staff member, who has met both Cameron and Matthew, looked slighly uncomfortable until I laughed and replied, "No, they aren't twins.  Actually, they don't look anything alike!"

I am enjoying imagining the first time that this dad sees me with both of the boys.

Brothers. Super Mario Brothers.

One of my favorite parts of the year is choosing and making the boys' Halloween costumes.  But this year, they decided that they wanted to go as Mario and Luigi.  I spent hours thinking about how I'd make their costumes -- how much do a pair of overalls cost?  felt for the hats?  accessories?  And it was adding up to a lot of time, a lot of effort and a lot of money.  And I knew I could get these costumes (not as cute, not as detailed, not as "I'm a good mom"-y) for about $20 a pop.  And I decided to give myself permission to let this go this year.  I ordered the costumes and they arrived one evening while I was off at my writing circle.  When I came home, the boys were asleep and David told me that they loved their store bought costumes.  And then, he showed me this series of photos that they staged. 

1.  Hello sir!  We are Mario and Luigi!

 2.  We hear you have a plumbing problem.  Not to worry!

 3.  Here it is.  Here is the problem.  My sink does not work!

 4.  Aha!  It's this pipe!  I'll use a screwdriver to repair it!  (Alternatively, Look at this mess!  Doesn't your wife ever clean the counters?)

 5.  We'll just tighten this . . . and replace that  . . . and . . .

 6.  Ta-da!  Good as new!  That'll be $794.

 7.  See you later, paesano!



Thespian vs. Athlete

Cameron has joined a drama club and one of his first tasks is to create a character for the play they will put on.  This morning he was mulling over the possibilities.

Cameron:  Maybe I could be a talking plant!  And we could make leaves from felt and I could wear a green shirt . . .

Matthew:  Oh!  Oh!  Cameron!  You could be the Michigan Wolverines!  No!  The New England Patriots!

Cameron:  Uh, Matthew, the Wolverines are college football and the Patriots are NFL.  Hey!  I could be a teacher and I could wear glasses and a button shirt.

Matthew:  Oh!  Pittsburgh Steelers!  Be the Pittsburgh Steelers!

Cameron:  And I could have a pencil behind my ear and I could be a teacher who doesn't know anything like "1 plus 1 is 18!"

Matthew:   DETROIT LIONS!  NOTRE DAME!  CINCINNATI BENGALS!!!

It's a tough choice.

Familiar

While in Chicago, Cameron pointed out a pair of pigeons.  "Those two pigeons were just pecking at each other with their beaks!" he said.  And as he said this, one of the pigeons hopped onto the other's back.  A short pigeon fight ensued, with much pecking and flapping before the victor snagged the piece of bread that apparently inspired the melee.  "Ahhh," said Cameron, "they must be brothers like me and Matthew."

Hiding something

Today, the boys and I took a few cardboard boxes, an empty paper towel tube, some string and tape and sat down to figure out what to do with it all.  After some discussion, a pirate ship was ruled out and it was decided that we would make a spy car/boat. 

I made the concealed wheels while Matthew went to work in his area.  He snipped away with his scissors and then held up his creation.  "A knife!" he announced. 

Cameron, meanwhile, had made the dashboard -- folded cardboard featuring an innocent looking speedometer and fuel gauge with spy tools beneath the panel.  He enthusiastically chattered about this feature as we assembled.  "Like, you would be driving along and then you'd press a button and, whoa!  The dashboard changes to your spy stuff!  And your passenger is like, 'So, what's the deal with your dashboard?'" 

With the taping and cutting and tying complete, the boys climbed in their new car/boat.  Cameron took the driver's seat and, from the back, Matthew said, "So, what's the deal with your pastor?"

By invitation only

Matthew has been a wee bit challenging lately.  Last Monday he was . . . a whole lot challenging and I was despairing.  I think there are a lot of factors at play -- sleep, food, getting dragged to big brother's activities, general being-three-ness.  But I decided that there were a few things I could do to make things a little better.

One of those things was creating a space for Matthew.  Cameron has a small room we call the Lego room, which has a desk for working at and floor space for impressive Lego construction.  But Matthew didn't really have any place to call his own.  So on Tuesday I announced that Matthew would have an area of the living room all to himself.  With great fanfare, I brought up a small table and chairs from the basement and Matthew helped me scrub it off.  Matthew selected a corner and, with a bit of rearranging, his spot was established.  "This is where I do my homework," he announced quite pompously.  "Where's my Scooby Doo coloring book?"

When Cameron got home from school, Matthew and I showed him Matthew's area.  "Cameron," I said, "this is MATTHEW'S area.  You are not allowed in this area unless Matthew invites you."

Cameron said, "What?  The whole living room?"

"No," I said, sweeping a hand in a broad circle around the little table.  "This is Matthew's area."

"Soooo," said Cameron, "can I do this?"  He stuck a toe inside the imaginary circle.

"Not unless Matthew invites you," I replied.

"Matthew," said Cameron, "I would like to work with you at your table.  Can I come in your area?"

"Hmmm," answered Matthew.  "No, I don't think so."

Matthew has taken great pleasure over the last few days in going to his own area.  And then, tonight, I was making dinner when Cameron and Matthew came running into the kitchen.  "Matthew invited me to his area!" shouted Cameron.

"We're going to eat dinner at my table," announced Matthew.  "I told Cameron, he can eat at my table with me."

So the boys took their dinner to Matthew's table and David and I enjoyed our Aloo Partha just the two of us.

Loving Matthew's area.

Unfair advantage

Matthew:  Hey Cameron!  Let's play soccer outside!
Cameron:  No, let's play Star Wars outside!
Cameron and Matthew, in unison:  NOOOO!  BUT I WANNA . . .
Cameron:  Wait!  What if we play Star Wars soccer?
Matthew:  Oh!  OK!
Cameron:  BUT, you are not allowed to use The Force.

In the car

This morning in the car, the boys were playing the syllable game.  'Cause that's how we roll.

"Matthew, how many syllables in 'neighbor?'" said Cameron.

"Nay *clap* burr *clap*  Two!" answered Matthew.

"Right!  How many syllables in 'insect?'"

"In *clap* sect *clap* Tttt.  Tttt.  Hey!  There's a T in insect!"

At this point, I interjected, "There is a T in insect!"

"Yep," replied Matthew.  "Aaaand, insects don't have a backbone but we do."

"Matthew!" said Cameron. "Are you learning about insects right now?"

"Uh huh."

"What insects have you learned about?  Can you tell me some insects?" asked Cameron.

"Well," said Matthew authoritatively, "there are blue insects.  And there are some green insects . . . "

Guidance counselor

Tonight, when it was time to come in from an evening spent playing basketball, baseball, soccer and lawn jarts, Matthew was NOT happy.  "I want to play outside," he wailed.  And then, for emphasis, he hit me.

That quickly ended any hope he may have had of playing outside a bit longer.  Inside we went, him screaming, "I want to play outside," and me saying, "Hitting doesn't get you what you want."  I suggested to Matthew that perhaps he could use some time alone to calm down and he retreated to the bedroom, still sobbing.  Cameron followed him.

A few minutes later, Matthew walked into the kitchen, took a deep breath and said, "Mommy, I am sorry for my behavior."

"Thank you for saying sorry," I answered.  "I know you were upset because you wanted to play outside, but it hurts me when you hit."

"I just really want to play outside . . . " he ventured.

"I know," I replied, "but it's time for our snack and then bed."

Calmly, Matthew turned and walked a few steps to Cameron.  "Cameron," he whispered, "it's not working." 

Cameron leaned down and whispered in Matthew's ear, then Matthew turned to me and held his arms out for a hug.

Either/Or

Yesterday, I overheard Cameron and Matthew in the bathroom getting ready to take showers.  "Okay, do we have towels?" said Cameron.

"Yep," answered Matthew.  "Aaaand we need washclothes."

"No," said Cameron.  "Mommy said we need to wash our hair.  She didn't say we need to wash our bodies."

At which point I knocked on the door.

Polite as Pie

It's 8:30am and this is the conversation I'm listening to:

Matthew:  Cameron pie!
Cameron: I'm not pie.
M:  Cameron pie, Cameron pie, CAMERON PIE!
C:  I'M NOT PIE!

Ahhh, brothers.

Last night, we had some friends over.  They don't have kids yet and they hadn't met our boys before.  And it was . . . surreal.  The boys were delightful, friendly and charming.  Cameron set the table with no prompting and during the meal said, "This is really delicious!  Thanks Mom!"  When the conversation turned to movies, David mentioned that we had watched the classic Alice in Wonderland recently and he hadn't liked it.  Cameron said, "I liked it, but I still preferred the book."  After dinner, he cleared the table, again without prompting.  Then he and Matthew played together, creatively and cooperatively, for a few hours.  They made tickets and invited the guests to watch a "jumping show," which actually turned out to be very funny. Afterwards, Matthew said, "I want to go to bed now," went and put on his pajamas and brushed his teeth.  No one punched anyone else.  There was no wrestling over Lego minifigures or Wii controllers.  No one called anyone pie.

It was lovely. 

And short-lived.

Matthew:  CAMERON PIIIEEEE!!!!
Cameron:  MOOOMMMM!!!  MATTHEW'S CALLING ME PIE! 

  

Mistakes Happen

Over the holidays, David introduced Cameron to chess.  Actually, he introduced me as well, but Cameron grasped the finer points of the game a bit more quickly -- I kept saying things like, "What's this horse called again?  Wait, do I move forward or sideways or diagonal?  Hey!  How'd you take that guy?"

The fates smiled upon Cameron, because the day after he said, "I wish I could learn more about chess," his school announced a new chess club! 

The other day, Cameron and Matthew decided to play against each other on the computer.  Cameron quickly grew frustrated with Matthew and tried to direct him.  "If you move there you'll be in check!  Matthew!  No!  You don't want to move there!"

"Cameron," I said, "you need to let Matthew make his own mistakes."

"Yeah," retorted Matthew, "that's HOW I LEARN!"

Tough call

I just broke up a fight between the boys over whether or not Matthew had hit a home run.  "HOME RUN!" shouted Matthew.

"THAT wasn't a home run!" contested Cameron, the pitcher.

"It WAS a home run!" replied Matthew.

"Was NOT!"

Here I jumped in.  "Boys, stop arguing.  If Matthew wants it to be a home run, just let it be a home run.  Cameron, when you are the batter you can decide if you get a home run."

This may seem an odd solution but, you see, there was no bat or ball involved here.  Matthew loves baseball (and all sports) so much that he plays imaginary baseball in the house.  "Pitch it, pitch it!" he'll implore as he stands in the kitchen, imaginary bat on his shoulder. 

The pitcher must then wind up and pitch the imaginary ball.  Matthew swings his imaginary bat and then the players watch the imaginary ball sail out off the imaginary ball park. 

It's very exciting.  But I gotta tell you, it is really tough to call a ball or a strike in an imaginary ball game.

Growing

On our visit to Michigan last weekend, we stopped in Ann Arbor -- our very most favoritest town -- to snap a photo of the boys on the bench.  (Well, really, we stopped to get a Zingerman's coffee.  And Zingerman's breakfast.  And the Zingerman's Dancing Sandwiches to go for lunch on the drive home.  But it doesn't hurt that Zingerman's is right across the street from the bench.) 

We started taking photos of the bench when Cameron was little and whenever we're in town and think to take another photo, we do.  I could swear that we took a photo of both of the boys on the bench before, but I can't find it, so you're stuck with this sequence.

Brothers at the Park

The boys and I hit the park today, where we ran into one of Cameron's school friends.  I'll refer to him as Takashi.  Takashi has met Matthew many times but today, after greeting both boys enthusiastically, he stared at Matthew quizzically.  Then he turned to me and said, "Is Matthew . . . is Matthew . . ."  English is Takashi's second language so I waited as he searched for the right words.  "Is Matthew . . . a REAL brother for Cameron?"

"Yes," I said.  "Cameron and Matthew are real brothers.  I think you are asking why Cameron and Matthew look different.  They are real brothers but they look different because we adopted Matthew.  Do you know what adoption is?"

"Noooo," answered Takashi.

"That means that Matthew didn't grow in my belly," I started.

But before I could finish Matthew jumped in.  "I grew in J's belly," he said authoritatively.

"Matthew grew in another mommy's belly," I agreed.  "Her name is J.  And Matthew looks a lot like her.  And after Matthew was born, he came home with us to be a part of our family."

"Oh!" said Takashi, still looked a bit bewildered.  But Matthew was grinning ear to ear.

A while later another mom said to me, "How old is he?"

"He's 2 1/2," I responded.

"Wow!" she said.  "He's so coordinated!  I've been watching him and he can do everything the big kids do!"  Then she pointed to Cameron.  "Is that his big brother?"

"Yes," I said.

"That must be it.  Big brothers always teach little brothers how to do stuff!"

At this, Matthew marched forward and pointed towards Cameron.  "THAT'S my big brother.  His name is Cameron," he said.

"Oh, his name is Cameron?" said the woman kindly.  "I could tell he's your brother.  You look just like brothers, the way you were chasing each other around and playing together."

I thought it was a lovely way for her to acknowledge that Cameron and Matthew are real brothers in so many important ways.

Developmentally Appropriate

Matthew has begun testing out some charming, developmentally appropriate (I keep repeating that phrase to myself over and over, "developmentally appropriate.") new tricks.  He'll take something that clearly belongs to Cameron -- his bear, Henri, for example -- and say, "Dis is MY bear.  Dis is my bear forever and ever and ever!"  Cameron, in the tradition of oldest siblings everywhere, then screams, "No!  Mommy!  Matthew says that Henri is his bear!  He's MY bear!"

Or one of us will say, "I love you Matthew!" and he'll reply with a sweet smile, "I don't love you."  Well, actually, he tried that a few times before I taught him that there are two acceptable responses to "I love you," and they are "I love you, too" or "Thank you."  So now he says, "I don't love you.  Oops!  I mean I DO love you."

Yesterday, Matthew tried out a new one.  At the lunch table he smiled and said, "Mama loves me." 

"Yes, I love you, Matthew," I answered.

"Daddy loves me," he continued.  "And Cameron?  Cameron does NOT love me."

Now, if there is one thing that Cameron is clear on it is that he loves Matthew, in his words, "more than my heart can hold."  So when Matthew declared that Cameron does not love him, Cameron looked devastated.  "Matthew," he said softly, "I DO love you.  I love you from the bottom of my heart.  You're my brother."

"Oh," said Matthew.  "OK!"

Big Boy Negotiations

Yesterday, a day the boys had been eagerly awaiting finally arrived:  the day they would share a room and get a BUNK BED!!!  We've been talking it up for weeks, hoping that enough pre-big boy bed enthusiasm would make for an easy transition.  This worked magnificently until it was time to actually go to bed -- posing for photos in the bunk bed, climbing the ladder, admiring the sophisticated robot bedding ("Look!  The other side is gray with squares on it!  We can CHOOSE which side we want!") was a whole lot different than actually, say, sleeping in the bunk bed.  At least for Matthew.  Very sweetly, Cameron presented Matthew with Henri, his beloved bear, to make him more comfortable for his first night in a big boy bed.  This, to my grave disappointment, was not enough.  After about two hours of book reading and light dimming and increasingly less patient encouragement from me, the little guy big boy was finally asleep and I creakily stood up to find that, despite the racket, Cameron was fast asleep in the top bunk.  Success!

Matthew was up three times during the night, sobbing, "I don't want a bunk bed any more!" I did a lot of hand holding and back rubbing.  Cameron slept through the first two episodes, but sat up cheerily during the 5am round and said, "Hi mommy!  It's morning!" 

"It's five in the morning," I corrected.  "Go back to sleep."

"Then why are the birds chirping?" he asked.

"Birds wake up early.  Go back to sleep."

David slept through all of this leading me to think that the moniker "that man that I live with who helps me take care of my kids sometimes" might actually be appropriate for the late night hours.  As I comforted Matthew he said, "I need a snack."

"It's night time," I replied.  "You can have a snack in the morning."

"Something vvveeerrrryyy special?" he asked.

"If you sleep in your big boy bed all night, all the way until 7am, then you will have a very special snack tomorrow," I gave in.  I was thinking a couple of chocolate chips, but Matthew knew this was a big opportunity. 

"A big boy cake?" he said, to my surprise.

And thus, he was convinced to stay in bed until the morning.  I awoke to the sound of two little big boys running down the hallway.  "Let's see the Big Boy Cake!" cried Cameron.  Apparently, they figured that I would have gone straight to the kitchen at 5am so the cake would be fresh from the oven when they woke up.  Sadly, they were forced to wait HOURS for the cake to be done.  "With sprinkles," instructed Matthew when the cake was finally ready.  "A Big Boy Cake with sprinkles."

Here's hoping night two in the big boy bed is a little easier on mama.

Put Me in the Zoo

Cameron:  Hey, Matthew, guess what?  We're animals.
Matthew:  No, we're not.  I'm a big boy.
Cameron:  No, really, we are!  We're mammals and mammals are animals so we're animals.
Matthew:  NO, I am NOT an animal.  I am a BIG BOY.  I. AM. NOT. AN. ANIMAL!

This nearly came to blows.  It leaves me dreading the day that Cameron tells Matthew about evolution.

Doggie Days of Spring

It's a rainy day and we spent the whole morning playing Doggies.  "Woof, woof," said Cameron, crouching on the floor.  "We are two *woof* little doggies!  When we *woof* say 'woof,' it means 'yes.'"

I've played Doggies many times before, so I was able to pretty much instantaneously get into character.  My character being The Little Girl Who Wants a Doggie and Gets Two of Them.  "Oh!" I said brightly.  "Look at these cute little doggies!"  Then comes the part where I try to decide which doggie I would like to come home with me.  "This doggie is bigger."  Cameron pants excitedly.  "And this doggie is smaller."  Matthew, who has joined Cameron on the floor, gives a high-pitched bark.  "This doggie has beautiful golden fur, and this doggie has such a cute, curly coat!"  Now comes the part where the doggies try to communicate to me, through a series of animated woofs and some pretty impressive canine miming, that they are brothers and they would both like to be my doggies.  The Little Girl is usually a bit slow to catch on.  "Hmmmm.  How will I decide?  This doggie seems very friendly.  And this doggie is full of energy."  The doggies hug each other and begin to howl plaintively.  "What's that?  Oh, are you friends?" 

The doggies nod and the bigger doggie typically barks, "Brothers!  Woof!"

"My goodness!  Brothers!  Would you BOTH like to come home with me?"

"Woof, woof, woof!" yip the doggies.

Today, the Doggies game went on much longer than usual and, for the first time ever, the doggies revealed their true names to me.  The smaller doggie went first, arfing that his name was Beanie.  The larger doggie was at first a bit reticent, leaving The Little Girl in a Rumpelstiltskenesque guessing game until, finally, the doggie ruffed that his name was Ralphie.  Beanie and Ralphie, it turned out, were thirsty and wanted some water.  "Ruff, ruff!  In bowls!"

The Little Girl began to question her parenting skills as she watched her new puppies slurp loudly from their water dishes.  The doggies got in some exercise despite the weather, enthusiastically chasing down balls and Frisbees in a raucous game of hallway fetch.  "Woof, woof!  Hungry!" said the big doggie.

"Arf!  Want something veeeerrrryyy special," enjoined the small doggie, who has recently taken to asking for veeeerrrryyyy special snacks on a regular basis.  "Woof!  Want chocolate chips!"

And here, The Little Girl discovered something very wonderful about Doggies.  "Oooh, doggies can't each chocolate!  It makes them sick.  But I can give you each a bowl of puppy chow!"  And the two little doggies eagerly gobbled up snack of raisins and pretzels.  The Little Girl is considering whether or not the puppies could be convinced that they love brussel sprouts.  Served in a bowl on the floor, of course.

Matthew to English translation

Matthew is still pretty congested and it seems to be making his speech more difficult to understand.  He usually speaks pretty clearly but at lunch today he kneeled on his chair, wiggled back and forth, smiled and said, "Disacawdaiscoantsing."

"What?" I asked.

"Disacawdaiscoantsing."  He wiggled again.

I turned to Cameron.  "Do you know what he's saying?"

"This is called the disco dancing," replied Cameron.

"YESSSS!" agreed Matthew.  "Da isco antsing."