Please and Thank You

Good manners is something that I, like so many moms, am a real stickler about. Nothing irks me more than when a pint-size dictator issues an order to the very person who brought them into the world (or one of her peers). So I was very happy when I found Carrie Finn's "Way to Be!" Good Manners series. The books are fun to read together and the illustrations by Chris Lensch are colorful and eye-catching...they've served to keep Matthew glued to each scenario anyhow. Here's one that's perfect now that September is here!



"Manners at School" (Way to Be!) by Carrie Finn



"Guys, I'm Here!"

Every mom has a dream for how she'd like her child's life to unfold. I certainly do with Matthew. From the moment he entered the world--all 4 lbs. 10 oz. of baby--I imagined who he'd be and what he'd accomplish. He'd already met his first challenge: he remained in the womb for an entire 32 weeks. In our book, that was full-term, though technically he came on the scene two months early. He was a toughie. Needed only one night on oxygen and (thankfully) spent a mere 10 days in the NICU. This time, we were blessed.

From the day we brought him home, he's had us at full attention. As paranoid new parents of a preemie, we made sure that we rigged the nursery with one of those monitors that not only allows you to hear baby's sweet murmurings, but also sends off a warning signal if it doesn't feel movement for 30 straight seconds. We figured if he had any bouts of sleep apnea (preemies often do), we'd be alerted and would have time to go over and poke him. Well, he never did have any breathing issues, though he set off that alarm on a regular basis. Seemed to think it was a real kick to shimmy to the nether-regions of the crib--beyond where the monitor was placed--to see just how fast mom and dad could run.

Yes, Matt's quite the character. Not afraid to make himself known. Kind of thinks the whole world is his bud, and he likes to greet everyone he meets during the day with a big "Hi!," "Hello!," or "My name's Matt, and this is my mom!" He's perplexed when someone doesn't acknowledge him, and throws me a look as if to say "What'd I ever do to that guy?" One day at the park, when Matt was closing in on his third birthday, he busted through the gates to the playground and announced to all those present (none of whom he'd ever met), "Hi guys, I'm here!" I fell in love with him all over again for that generosity of spirit.

I was never one to worry about what percentile he was in. I found plenty to obsess over, make no mistake, but when another mom would ask me about those stats, I could never seem to remember what had been reported at his last well-visit. I simply didn't care. He was here. He was alive. He was healthy and thriving, and that's all I needed to know. So for Matt, my dream isn't necessarily that he rise to the corner office of some Fortune 500 (though that might be nice) or that he head off to distant shores to save a rainforest. For him, I only ask that he hold on to that warm and loving spirit, the one that allows him to think that everyone-knows-his-name and that the world is essentially a wonderful and joyous place (because it is). I hope he always walks into a room with a smile on his face, confidence in his character, and a true love for people, bellowing "Guys, I'm here!"

The Start of A Good Thing

Here it is. My first post. I’ve been thinking about this for quite a while now, partially because my son, Matthew, comes up with such good material (which I always seem to share anyway), and partly because I thought it might serve as great therapy for me, a mom who has all her eggs—literally—in one sweet, big-green-eyed, cooky, blessed little basket.

One and done. I never thought that would be me. When I was younger, I pictured myself with at least three little nuggets running around my feet. Happily, of course. They were well-behaved, developmentally right-on-target, spick-and-span clean, and ate every healthy thing I put before them. Life, however, had another storyline in place. Pregnancy didn’t come easy. When my husband and I found out after six years of trying that “the test” was positive, we were thrilled. Over-the-moon, really. When we discovered that it was with twins, life took on a whole new dimension. We named the girls as soon as we felt them kick—Madelaine Rose and Charlotte Evelyn—and we fell in love. Sadly, Maddie and Charlie couldn’t hold out for an entire nine months, and were born on March 23, 2004—four months too soon. They did not survive. I won’t go into how devastating a blow that was on so many levels.

Matthew came into my life a little more than two years later, and is both my joy and the cause of every grey hair making its way toward the surface. He is the answer to a prayer. He is a funny, smart, crazy handful, and I adore him. In my heart, he’s one of three, but to the world, he’s my one and only. Whether I’m at the playground, the library, the supermarket (it doesn’t matter), if someone catches wind of a Matt comment, if they’re privy to one of his long-winded-yet-charming anecdotes, or they’re just making conversation, the question always comes up: “Any other children?” I’m starting this blog because of the conflicted feeling that arises every time I’m forced to answer that question. It’s not all I’m going to talk about, of course. Motherhood is so multi-faceted, it can't be reduced to the ONE core thing that drives you mad. But I thought, “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a place to air all this out without the cost of psychotherapy?” Wouldn't it be nice for all moms to have "that place"?

So now you know how it all begins. I’m hoping “That’s My Boy” will grow into a community of moms who are sometimes starry-eyed over their offspring and sometimes want to pull their hair out at the end of a trying day, or gals who like funny kid stories, or women who have—whether by choice or by fate—come to realize that the little tyke now in their midst IS their one-and-only, and not feel like they have to apologize for that. Basically I want you all to join me on this crazy, heart-wrenching, wonderful ride called mommy-hood through my stories, my thoughts, and my musings on Matt. Yup. That’s my boy.