Dear Matthew,
Happy second birthday! Just a year ago we celebrated your first year of life, back when you were so small and bald and - relatively speaking - lightweight. And now here we are, looking back on the last 12 months of growth and progress and personality revealed.
It's hard to remember that you started this year crawling. At 13 months old, however, you were beginning to toddle and walk, always in the opposite direction from me. The idea to escape has never left your brain. To this day we still battle over holding hands because, quite frankly, carrying all 38 pounds of you hurts my biceps. The stroller continues to be one of my best friends to keep you safe and strapped in!
Determination seems to be the name of the game for you. You are a persistent problem solver. If there's something you want, Matthew, you have no trouble figuring out how to gain access. It took me by surprise that you had mastered door handles by 18 months. Anything to be near Morgan and Andrew... or their stuff.
Speaking of Morgan, she's like your second mother. Most times you enjoy all the smothering and attention, and even more, you love when she takes you outside or lets you into her room. It's a dream come true for you - hanging with and pretending to be a seven-year-old. Always wanting to be like the bigs.
For as much grief as you give Andrew, you sure do love him, too. Now that you're closing in on him size-wise, you hold your own with your older brother, especially when he can't keep his hands off you. I never put it past you to clobber Andrew when you've had enough. We're working on how to communicate "stop" instead of just taking people out with your fist.
You love to wrestle, tackle and rough house. You throw your weight around without any reservation. You plow through people like a tank on a mission. Quite frankly, it's a bit dangerous the way you move, and I've been on the receiving end of your strikes. Big ouch. Nothing gets in your determined way, and accidents and injuries don't seem to slow you down. Scraped knees only require a kiss. Bonks on the head, just a hug. Your fractured wrist didn't prevent you from the action, either. Can we all just whisper up a prayer that this is the only cast your body will ever see? Please?
It never took long for you to get the concept of silverware and you prefer to eat everything with a fork, even toast. As the son of Mr. Scott A. N, this is perfectly acceptable in our household and keeps your hands exceptionally clean at the table. Win for all.
For the entire last year, you did not eat a single vegetable unless it was mixed into your favorite stir fry, chicken pot pie, or some other casserole-type dish. You simply refused. Daddy and I hold firm on our veggie policy with you: If you don't want what is offered, that's fine, but there's certainly nothing else to eat, especially dessert. Your chair has seen many tears and tantrums over food. We were delighted when two weeks ago, you conceded your stance and agreed for the first time ever to taste, chew and swallow three entire bites of fresh green beans. I guess Scooperman ice cream will do that to a veggie-hater.Even though we go toe to toe at the dinner table and have a zero tolerance policy for hitting, kicking, and the like, Daddy and I have relaxed a bit in other areas since you've come along. There's all the leniency with television, you sing along to way too many PBS shows. We faced you forward in your expired car seat before two years old (I feel awful guilt and rebelliousness about this all at the same time). And then there's the ice cream at IKEA before lunch. Who are these coo-koos raising you, claiming to be responsible parents?
One of your favorite pastimes is being outside. Mostly you enjoy playing with water, but other activities will also do. Anything to get that body moving and into the fresh air. I'm curious to see how you'll be when the snow flies, since we spent much of last winter debating the merits of mittens.
Your other favorite? Playing trains. All it took was one randomly selected Easy Reader from the library on Thomas the Train for you to fall in love. Your engines are always nearby, even with you when you sleep, alongside your most beloved "blanken". Sitting still for an entire half-hour episode of Thomas is out of the question, but you insist on reading the books multiple times every day.
Daddy is the one who reads to you most often. Or at least the most consistently. Bedtime is when you two connect. And it's not just with books - you prefer Daddy to say prayers, sing a song and get you perfectly situated to sleep. Whether it's the stories or prayers or song lyrics, you easily finish the sentences of your favorite rhyming phrases. "...forgive my sins, and when I wate, help me the paff, of love to tate. A-min."
The words you speak increase every day. While "Daddy" is crystal clear, it's difficult at times to decipher "Moe-din" and "Ah-din" as you refer to your siblings. But what's most comical is that you just call me "Mom". No Momma or Mommy or any other cutesie toddler speak. Just straight-up, mature and to the point Mom. Period. You've started putting two words together to make little sentences like Bumpy Woad (Bumpy Road) or What Daddy Dooo-een (What is Daddy doing?). I love how your little mouth forms letters into words and the way you emphasize certain sounds like Bee-ib (bib).
Afternoon smoothies are your favorite snack with apples following closely behind. And you know the routine well: pick up Morgan from school and come home to a place on the couch.
I'm amazed that you sit so well for books, considering you are constantly needing to move. It's that discovery thing, you always want to know more about your newest encounters from the food I'm prepping to the one-inch binder Morgan is using for class. "What's Daht?" you constantly ask. And already, "Why?"
Happy second birthday, Matthew Evan.
All my love,
Mom
Follow God’s example, therefore, as dearly loved children and walk in the way of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. Ephesians 5: 1-2
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