Stuck

The other evening, the kids were sitting at the table eating a snack that David had made for them.  From another room, I suddenly heard Matthew screech, "HELP!  HELP!  I'm stuck!"

"Mommy, come help!  Quick!" shouted Cameron.  "Matthew really needs your help!  He's stuck!"

As I raced to the kids, I yelled, "Stuck?  Where's he stuck?"

"In a huge cobweb!" answered Cameron.  Being a wee-bit arachnophobic, this was about the last thing I wanted to hear Matthew was stuck in.  Although, in fairness, there are few answers to the question "Where's he stuck?" that would be good answers.

As I rushed in to the kitchen, there sat Matthew, hands covered in a web of sticky marshmallow from the S'more David had made him!

Guess I Can Cancel the Megaphone Order

Cameron attends a Montessori school and I'm a big fan of their teaching methods.  I love that Cameron is learning independence, I love that he is able to both follow his own interests and be challenged, I love that he is in an environment that values respect, creativity and responsibility.  I have observed Cameron's class many time and have tried to apply many of the techniques at home.  And at Cameron's recent birthday party, I resorted to a technique his teachers use without even thinking about it.

Cameron, four of his Montessori classmates and two neighborhood friends gathered to celebrate Cameron's birthday and to have a LOT of fun with Legos.  At one point, the party was getting a little rowdy and I was trying unsuccessfully to get the boys' attention.  On a whim, I clapped my hands *clap clap clapclapclap*  Immediately, instantaneously, the five Montessori kids stopped what they were doing, turned to me and clapped back *clap clap clapclapclap*  And the other two kids stopped what they were doing to stare and wonder, " What was THAT about?"

Observation

A few nights ago, during dinner, Matthew held up his arm and observed it.  "Brown," he announced. "My skin is brown."  He looked over to me and asked, "Your skin is brown?"

And so it begins.  We read Matthew lots of books about adoption, about family and about skin color.  We tell him his adoption story and talk about his first family and how much they love him. But I'm pretty sure this is the first time that he's broached the topic himself. 

"Yes, Matthew, your skin is brown.  My skin is not brown, my skin is peachy.  Do you know who else has beautiful brown skin like yours?"

"Who?"

"J.  Do you know who J. is?"  (Note:  Matthew's story is his own, so I'm not going to be sharing his first family's names or details of his story here.)

Matthew thought for a moment, studying his arm, then smiled.  "J. is birf mama!"

"That's right!" I reply.  "J. is your birth mama!  And her skin is a beautiful chocolate brown color, just like yours is!" 

It's a pretty easy conversation to have right now -- pretty simple question, pretty simple answer.  But each time I tell Matthew his story or each time Cameron asks a question about adoption (typically a more challenging question!) or each time a curious preschooler wonders why Matthew doesn't look like me is training for the more in-depth questions and conversations to come.

Not a Fan of Fringe

When Cameron was about 2 1/2 years old, he took a pair of kiddie scissors to his PJs.  Apparently, they needed to be livened up with some fringe on the sleeves.

This morning, Matthew came to me with a look of bewilderment on his face.  He held up his arms, then pointed to one sleeve.  (Yes, he's wearing the cut up PJs.  They are still plenty warm!)  "Look, Mama," said Matthew.  "Somebody cut my PJs!"

"Yes," I agreed.  "Someone did cut your PJs.  Those were Cameron's PJs when he was a little boy.  Do you know who cut them?"

Suddenly, comprehension dawned on Matthew's face.  "Mr. Charlie cut my PJs," he answered.  No matter how much I insisted that Cameron, not Mr. Charlie the barber, was at fault, Matthew was convinced.  "Yes, mama," he said.  "Mr. Charlie cut my hair.  Mr. Charlie cut my PJs."

I have a feeling Mr. Charlie is going to get an earful at Matthew's next haircut.

I Couldn't Believe My Third Eye

This morning, the boys were running wild as I was trying to make lunch.  "Please," I begged, "settle down!"

To my astonishment, Cameron stopped running and said to Matthew, "Try this Matthew.  Sit on the floor criss-cross-applesauce.  Then put the backs on your hands on your knees."  Matthew attempted to imitate Cameron.  "Now close your eyes and breathe iiinnnn through your nose and oouuuttt through your mouth.  Now isn't that relaxing?  We do this at Tae Kwan Do.  It's called meditation."

One Foot in the Grave

This morning, Cameron walked in as I was putting on some makeup.  "Oooh," he noted.  "That makes your cheeks look nice and red.  That makes you look younger."

I don't know what possessed me, but I asked, "Do you think I'm a young mom or an old mom?"

"Oh, you're a VERY old mom!" answered Cameron earnestly.  "You're even older than Daddy!"

"Do you think I'm older or younger than your friends' moms?" I asked.

"Well, I think some of their moms are even OLDER than you!" he said, his voice filled with disbelief that there could be mothers older than I.

"How can you tell how old someone is?" I persisted.

"Well," he explained.  "If a mom isn't wearing makeup and she's old, her face is kind of smooshy and crackly.  Good thing you wear makeup, huh?"

He's Got the Look

Cameron has never cared much about what he wears.  Oh, sure, occasionally he would spot some particularly appealing item of clothing -- a Stars Wars Lego t-shirt, for instance -- and beg that it be purchased.  But for the most part, he's as happy wearing plaid shorts and a Hawaiian shirt as he is wearing a nice pair of khakis and a polo shirt.

Matthew, on the other hand, seems to have an opinion on his wardrobe.  It started a few months ago, when he snatched a pair of Crocs off the shelf as we passed by.  "These MATTHEW'S shoes," he declared.  "I want dese.  Dese my shoes."  He clutched them protectively all the way to the checkout, where the cashier has to assist me in prying them from his grip long enough to scan them.

Then, yesterday, we went to buy Matthew some new pants, of which he is in dire need since I apparently gave away or donated the 2T winter wear prematurely.  As I picked up some cheap jeans and clearance rack t-shirts, Matthew pointed to a pair of gray pants on a nearby rack.  "Those ones," he said.  "Those my pants, Mama.  I want those pants." 

I picked up the pair of pants and held them up.  "These ones, Matthew?"

"Yes, those ones."  Then he pointed to a shirt.  "Wit dat shirt.  Dat's da shirt I want.  Those Matthew's pants, Matthew's shirt."  He was absolutely beside himself with excitement when I handed him his selections.

When we picked Cameron up from school a little later, Matthew breathlessly told him of his new clothes.  "Did you get me anything?" Cameron asked.

"Yes," I said.  "I got you these two shirts."

"Oh," said Cameron with disappointment.  "Just clothes?"

Just clothes.