A Grand Visit

Cameron's school has a Grandparents' Visiting Day and this year he was lucky enought to bring THREE of his grandparents along! He had a great time showing them his classroom and they enjoyed seeing all the amazing work he does there.

After school, we had a soccer match in the backyard. After two injuries, Matthew was sidelined and moved on to quieter play with grandma in the sandbox.We had more grandparents than beds, so Grandpa Frank camped out on an inflatable mattress. The boys thought this was endlessly funny, and jumped on it for quite some time before settling down.

As the grandparents departed the next morning, each asked for a hug and a kiss. Cameron was happy to oblige and then was off to play. Matthew gave hugs and then sweetly presented his own cheek for a kiss from each!

Wake Up Call

"Ohhhh no. Mama! Oh no, mama, look. Look, mama. Ohhhh no." It is 6 am and Matthew is alerting me that his diaper has leaked and there is a wet spot on his sheets.

"I sorry Mama." Matthew is unfailingly polite, which is odd as I have not made a huge attempt to teach him manners. I can only conclude that he has picked up on these niceties thanks to Cameron, his role model.

"It's okay, Matthew."

"I sorry. Ohhhh no."

"Don't worry, Matthew. I'll clean it up."

"Oh. OK. Good. Thank you mama."

I change the sheets. "Good job mama!"

I have no idea how I got so lucky that I have a 1-1/2 year old who says please and thank you, and acknowledges a job well done! Who ever said that motherhood was a thankless job?

Why I Always Carry Wipes

Yesterday, Cameron had his first outdoor soccer practice. He couldn't wait to get out on the field with his new green ball and his soccer cleats. He was completely unfazed by the threatening clouds overhead or the soggy field.

Matthew was also excited. He loves soccer and had to be restrained from joining the team on the field. Fortunately, David had thought to bring a soccer ball along for Matthew to play with and he was soon running along the sidelines, kicking his ball and shouting, "SOCC-A BAWL! I KICK IT!" Sadly, we had not equipped Matthew with cleats and his Robeez shoes were no match for the wet earth. Within minutes, he had slipped and fallen on his knees and hands in the mud. David pulled him up and he stood, frozen with muddy hands outstretched. I quickly wiped him off as best I could. When I was done, he gazed up at me and said regretfully, "Ohhhhh no. Poo-poo hands."

"No, no, Matthew! That was just mud!"

"Ohhhhh!" he said with apparent relief. "Mud!" And off he went to kick the soccer ball some more.

It's confusing

Today, Matthew and I were out walking when a little girl spotted us. She was across the street, playing in her driveway and I saw her watching us. She was probably about five years old. "Hey!" she yelled. "Is that your black baby?"

This actually did not bother me in the least. Questions from children rarely do. They are refreshingly candid compared to adults, who ask far more invasive and offensive questions. Many children have asked me why Matthew doesn't look like me. Never once has a child asked me why we chose to adopt or why his first mom made an adoption plan or how much he "cost."

Plus, kids just ask, they don't attempt to pretty it up. The little girl didn't start out by shouting, "I've always thought of adopting . . . " or "Oh, he's adorable! I'm just curious . . . " She cut to the chase.

"Yes," I replied. "This is my baby."

A puzzled frown crossed her face. "Why's he so brown and you're so . . . light?" she asked.

I answered as I usually do with young children. "He's adopted. That means that he grew in another mommy's belly. She has brown skin just like he does."

"Wait. Are you his mommy?"

"Yes, I'm his mommy. But he has another mommy, too. The mommy whose belly he grew in before he was born."

This little girl was confused, but bound and determined to figure this out. "So HIS mommy is YOUR mommy, too?" she asked.

"No . . . "

"Wait, so where IS his other mommy?"

This was a complicated question to answer, as there are many possible answers. "Well, she's not here. She doesn't live with us."

"So, where does YOUR mommy live?"

"Uh, my mommy lives in Michigan."

"Not on this street?"

"No," I said.

She pointed at Matthew. "So, does his other mommy live on this street?"

"No."

"OK. Wait. So . . . why is his skin so brown and yours isn't?"

At this point, all those years of graduate school kicked in and I had to resist the urge to start talking about melanin and inheritance of quantitative traits. Finally, I settled on something a bit simpler. "We were just born that way," I said.

"Oh. OK!" she smiled and went back to playing.

Now to come up with a simple line for the curious grown-ups.

A Cryptic Discussion about Adoption

Today, Cameron decided that he and Matthew would be puppies and I would be a little girl who wanted a puppy. He turned over some laundry basket (Empty! Because I am caught up on laundry! I am awed by myself.) to use as puppy cages/beds/play areas. "Woof, woof," he said.

Matthew quickly got in on the act. "Woof, woof," he cried in a much higher pitch.

"Oooooh, look at these cute puppies!" I played along. "I want to bring a puppy home with me! I want a puppy that is cuddly." Cameron quickly crawled across the room to snuggle up to me. Matthew followed.

"And I want a puppy that is playful!" Cameron scampered around the room, woofing and crawling in a laundry basket. Matthew, apparently a dog who knows a few tricks, stood up and ran around the room on two legs. Former circus dog perhaps?

"Oh, this little puppy is so sweet! I love his shiny yellow fur," I said, patting Cameron on the head. "But this little puppy is very cute, too. I love his curly black fur," I continued, giving Matthew a pat on the head. "I don't know which puppy to bring home!"

Cameron crawled over to Matthew, hugged him, and whined. "What is this puppy's name?" I wondered.

"Albert. Woof, woof," said Cameron.

"And what is this puppy's name?"

"Way-chee-yo!" squealed Matthew.

"Well, Albert and Waycheeyo seem to love each other very much. They must be good friends."

"Woof, woof," said Cameron. "Brothers!"

Now, occasionally I will attempt to elicit from Cameron what it is like for him to have a brother that is not immediately identifiable as his brother. Cameron hears all of the comments we hear, and gets plenty of questions from curious preschoolers when Matthew and I come to school. But my attempts at discussion are usually fruitless, so I have found imaginary play to be useful.

"Brothers! But you can't be brothers! You don't look anything alike!" I protested.

Cameron put a paw around Matthew's shoulder, pointed at Matthew and then himself and replied, "Woof, woof! Brothers! Adopted!"

Well, I was sold. Both puppies came home with me, although Albert subsequently received a time-out for whining for his dinner and Waycheeyo had an accident on the floor. I think we're headed for puppy boot camp.

Chillin'

Today, I suddenly could not locate Matthew. For those of you without children, I will clarify that it is problematic to be unable to find your youngest child. It is generally accepted that parents should have some idea of where each of their children are, so I began to search.

"Matthew," I called out.

From a distance, I heard a faint voice. "I here! Are you, mama?" This is Matthew-speak for "I'm here! Where are you, mama?"

I followed the tiny voice down the hallway to Cameron's room. Cameron had closed his door to protect an intricate Superstructs creation and I didn't think Matthew could open the door on his own, so again I called out. "Matthew, where are you?"

From inside Cameron's room, Matthew replied, "I here! Drink juice! Sleeping!"

I opened the door to find this:
Matthew was reclined in Cameron's bed, legs crossed, serenely enjoying a sippy cup of juice. "Hi mama!" he squealed. He apparently opened the door, dragged in his Elmo chair, closed the door, used aforementioned chair to climb into Cameron's bed and then . . . "Ahhhh, this is the life!"

Something fishy

We love a good April Fools joke around here, so Cameron and I began plotting well in advance. We decided on a dinner of faux fish sticks, to be washed down with Jello impersonating apple juice. We sliced pound cake into fish stick sized slices, covered it with a thin layer of frosting and rolled it in crushed Golden Grahams. To make our prank even more convincing, I made real fish sticks in the oven to give the house that convincingly fishy aroma. A few things may have clued David in that the fish sticks were not authentic:

• Cameron made mention of the fact that April Fools Day was approaching a few too many times.
  
• We never have fish sticks for dinner.
  
• The white frosting showed a bit too much. (When I found the faux fish sticks in Family Fun magazine, it called for peanut butter but with Matthew's food allergies we are strictly peanut-free.)
• Cameron was sitting at the dining table casually holding a camera and winking surreptitiously at me.The apple juice, however, made with lemon Jello and just a hint of red food coloring, was a success.Cameron also spent much of the day playing his own April Fools tricks on us. "Mommy, there's a tarantula behind you!" he'd shriek. "April Fools!"

And Matthew might not follow the pranks, but he can scream, "TRICKED YOU!" with the best of 'em!