Independence

Shea and I have been getting better acquainted over the past few weeks. It is now to the point where he will actually go somewhere with me without his mommy. He still looks for her, but only before and after the fun has been had. 

Last week we went to the park. I strapped him into his car seat, and shoved his tricycle into the front seat, singing "We're going to the pa-ark! We're going to the pa-ark!"

As we pulled out of the driveway Shea said in a meek voice Is Mommy coming?

[Shea, if this blog is still up when you're eighteen years old and starting your freshman year at the University of Washington (or the college of your choice), please know that I fibbed for your own good.]

"Yes," I replied. "We'll look for her at the park."

So of course, as soon as we got to the park, he asked Where's Mommy?

[Trust me, eighteen-year old Husky (or whatever mascot of your choice) student Shea, this was the moment your future was set.]

"Let's go look for her." So we took a ride on the flagstone path around the playground looking for Mommy. 

Silence followed, accompanied by this longing stare, as if he was ravenous to get on the jungle gym and the spring rides. So he dumped his bike (yes, it's a trike, but Shea calls it otherwise) on the side of the path and made a beeline to the enticing structure.

He got on the spring rides, but only if Auntie Netty rode the motorcycle. Which, by the way, was the only spring ride that he never got on. 

[Sorry Uncle Paul, I really tried to convince him that it was your motorcycle.]

Suddenly he stopped mid-play. I followed his gaze... Two kids had taken his trike, and were now riding it on the flagstone path around the playground.

And Shea said in that meek little voice My bike?

He was now totally distracted by the fact that the two boys had taken his trike all the way to the other end of the playground. Auntie Netty, my bike?

 

"Don't worry, Shea. They're just borrowing it."

My bike?

"Okay," I said, thinking it was getting dark and cold, "let's get your bike, and go home."

I don't wanna go home.

Oh boy, what do I do now? I thought I'd convince him with "Oh, you know what, Mommy isn't here after all! Let's go home to Mommy."

"No! I don't want Mommy, I want to play some more."

[So you see, freshman Shea at the UW College of Engineering (or whatever major you choose to take), that fib, told one fall afternoon, launched that two-year old on his first step to independence.]

And just like a proper good son at the end of his freshman fall quarter at the University of Washington School of Engineering, as soon as we pulled into his driveway he said Mommy?

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Fast Monkey

Isn't it amazing how quickly babies grow up? It feels like it was just last month that I met Mateo when he was merely hours old. Two and a half years ago! Now he eats, plays, and does his "thing" like a big boy. I spent an afternoon with him and his Tia Alfonsina this weekend.

Observe: when you tell a child that the only way he can go outside to play is if he eats his food already.

He'd shove the entire plate into his mouth if he could.

Mateo is exceptionally strong and sure-footed for a two-and-a-half year old. Thanks to his Tia Iris, he can climb almost anything!

 

And he's not afraid of speed.

 

*Break time...*

He lives for speed!

 Even on his bike. A REAL bicycle, as in, no training wheels ever! EVER!

Not only is Mateo like a little monkey, he's a speedin' monkey who knows how to do his thing when he needs to do his thing.

Watch Mateo biking.

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