Chattier and chattier

Here are some things Matthew's been saying lately, usually loudly and in public, which makes it a good thing that his pronunciation is a mystery to most people.

1. We were at the doctor's office looking out the window at a construction site. Matt named all the trucks then spotted a Porta Potty. He was so excited! He shouted, "Mom go pee blue dinda (building)! Mom go pee in blue dinda! Mom go pee!"

2. We went to Walmart the other day and bought some groceries, assorted items, and a purse. Ever since, "New purse from grocery store! New purse from grocery store!"

3. Every time we're in the library's children's garden, Matthew asks, "Matt go pee tree?" Loudly. Over and over. Every time, same answer: "You can go pee inside. You only pee on trees in our yard." (Lots of talking about peeing all the time around here. Probably for the next fifteen years or so.)


He's also very chatty about what everyone's doing all the time.

1. Before naps: "Matt go beep (sleep). Mom go beep. Dad beep at work? Dad up at work!"

2. During lunch: "Matt eat peanut butter. Mom eat soup. Dad eat peanut butter... at work!"

3. When we go in the car somewhere: "Matt hop out our car at grocery store. Mom hop out our car at grocery store. Dad hop out... Dad car! At work!" Then when we get back in: "Mom hop in our car. Matt hop in our car. Dad hop in Dad car at work! Dinda! (Work on buildings.) Eat peanut butter! Pee at work!"

4. About food he's eaten that we don't have anymore of in the house: "Goldfish all gone. In here." He puts his finger in his mouth. "More goldfish!" I say, "We don't have anymore goldfish (or whatever food)." He says, "More goldfish... at grocery store!"

5. About our kitchen chairs: "Matt in Matt chair. Dad in Dad chair. Mom in Mom chair. Grandpa in Grandpa chair. Tommy in Tommy chair. (Those last two share a chair, apparently)."


Some of Matthew's other favorite conversations right now are about who gave him what toys. So every day, he wants to go over which truck is from Cat Grandpa and Donna, which truck is from Other Grandpa and Grandma, which ones are from Tommy, Annie, Stephenie, and on and on. And, of course, which shirt is from Abby! Abby, Abby, Abby is apparently the most fun name in the history of names for other toddlers to say. And when he hears the name Jennifer, in any context, he makes his elephant noise to indicate that Jennifer's son Jacob has a stuffed elephant. At a certain playground one time, he pointed in each direction and wanted to know which way is home, Dad's work, the library, and Abby's house. Then he remembered and tells me whenever we're there.

All day long, conversation, conversation. 

Identity crisis! (Except I know who I am)

I've had a lot of time to think lately. (Mainly because this pregnancy joint pain wakes me up at least every hour and I stay awake about an hour or so near morning. And there's nothing else to do.) And a lot of that time, I think about how I wish I had some friends who are like me.

But maybe I do.

But maybe I don't. Herein lies the dissociation problem. (Also, the fact that I use words like "dissociation" in casual conversation. Annoying.)

Adults are supposed to know who they are. I know who I am. Clearly, I am an extremely hardworking but wholly unambitious lower-middle-class wife and mother who loves country music, is very strongly socially conservative, enjoys board games, card games, lawn games, and is known to go overboard a bit with not-so-fancy crafts, like crocheting, and with reading. Physically, it's apparent that my athletic pursuits are important, and it looks like it. (As my grandmother once said, "You always did go for those roughneck sports.") And my evangelical Christian faith is a strong foundation for everything I (intend to) do. I dislike anything that seems sophisticated or pretentious and most hobbies that require electronics. My sense of self is somewhat over the top, too; whatever it is, I'll find a better way to do it. This all seems obvious to me.

But maybe it's not so obvious.

Definitely I'm not part of the lower middle class, if I ever was. We live in a nice house that doesn't require work. My engagement ring diamond has some type of impressive stats (but you'd have to ask Jeff what those are.) We have two vehicles in good repair. We aren't in debt.

Wholly unambitious? I am, on the inside. But I also have two graduate degrees with a 4.0 GPA for each. And multiple academic awards and recognitions. And I'm a professional editor. So maybe that's not coming across right. Maybe people see the facts instead of how I know I am. I remember one time, when I so strongly did not want to go to college because I couldn't see the point of it all, my dad saying something like, "You can't clean rooms at Best Western your whole life." And I said, "Why not? I like it." I wasn't being antagonistic; I just couldn't see the point. (And still it doesn't matter that much, all that education. Sometimes it feels like a burden, like I "learned" so much but I still feel like the same rational, assiduous thinker who has not been converted to liberalism. But that's too political an explanation.) And apparently there's something about me that says "educated." I can't pinpoint it––diction, topics of interest, Friends of the Library volunteer position, who knows?

And liking a certain type of music doesn't necessarily say anything about a person. Games? Non-electronic hobbies? Hmm... I am on Facebook quite a bit. (Though, really, what a lifesaver when otherwise you mainly talk to a toddler in your free time.) But my disinterest in movies, tv, computer/video games belies my interest in being outside! doing things! staying in motion! getting stuff done! As a side note, I'm a little bit horrified that we have a computer, a large tv that is hanging on the wall, an iPod, SiriusXM, and an iPad (though in defense of that, I won it in a contest for reading a lot of books. Real paper books).

And athletics. Pshww. I haven't looked like an athlete in, like, three years, and I haven't been an athlete in one year and counting. Random guys rarely check me out. (This could be because of my adorable, constant sidekick, though. I'm not sure. Not really tuned in to that––just aware that fewer people whistle out their car windows nowadays.)

So I don't know. There's no conclusion to this rambling post. I just feel like the person I am is nothing like the person I seem like. I'm sure that's how most people feel to some extent (and what are your contradictions? Or is this something you don't think about?)

And then how do I make friends? Real friends, maybe with some commonalities. Or maybe at least who don't care about the dissociation or who aren't put off by the few things about which I feel extremely strongly even if they disagree?

In all this thinking, though, there's one thing for sure that I'm not the same now as I always have been. I don't feel the need to escape anymore. Seems like my whole life was moving, moving, moving, being different, trying something new, going somewhere else, making new friends, not being trapped... But then I met Jeff. Same ol' story. But it's true. It seems like with Jeff I can just stay here––in a place where the culture and the city-ness and the sheer number of people and school zones and entertainment options and other accoutrements never seem routine to me––and maybe it will be okay. I might not get used to it, but that's okay. Maybe I'll never get used to hanging out with people who wear makeup every day, either, or put a lot of effort into decorating their houses or dressing their children fashionably, but maybe that will be okay, too. (Little boys' smocked clothes, though, uhhn-uhh, can't get used to that.) It's working out, taking Jeff into consideration. These other things don't matter. And I have friends who know me and who are not like me elsewhere, and the differences and similarities aren't that important (I'm talking about you, Jennifer and Maria!).

So that's that. Nothing like a little light thinking to cheer me up during the nightly insomnia.

Talk, talk, talk

A month ago...

Me: Matt, where's Deedee (my mom) going to sleep when she visits?
Matthew: Pack N Play.
(Real answer: Couch.)


A few days ago...

Matthew was watching the motor grader (his favorite!) drive up and down the road at the construction site outside the gym. The driver stopped for a few minutes, and Matt got a little antsy. He said, "Go, go, go," a few times and pointed down the road to where he thought it should drive. A few minutes later, he got really agitated and started shouting, "Green light! Green light! Green light!" (Maybe he'll figure out the nuances of traffic signals once he can see them from the car.)

More toddler silliness

1. I've been telling Matthew that he can go outside without his shoes on in the morning before the driveway gets too hot, like to put mail in the mailbox or help with recycling, or if he's just going in the garage. The conversation goes like this:
Me: "It's okay. You can go out without your shoes."
Matt: "Shoes on?"
Me: "Nope, you don't need your shoes on."
Matt: "Feet on?"
Me: "Yep, you need your feet on."

Sometimes he switches it up, I guess to see if I'm going to change my story, especially when we're coming inside from somewhere and he has his shoes on:
Me: "You can take your shoes off now."
Matt: "Shoes off?"
Me: "Yep, you can take your shoes off."
Matt: "Feet off?"
Me: "Nope, that's so silly. You have to keep your feet on."


2. Matthew has a blanket with blue dots on it, and one day I was sitting on it. He pointed at each blue dot, saying, "Blue dot. Blue dot. Blue dot," etc. Then he pretended to see blue dots on my arm and back and said, "Blue dot. Blue dot..." When he got to my face, he said, "...red dot?" and looked really confused. Sure enough, pregnancy acne. Ha ha.

Louisiana Saturday Night

Yesterday, Matthew and I were sitting in the living room working on puzzles when he suddenly started staring intently toward the window. It was like he was completely dazed. I even waved my hand in front of his eyes and got right in his face, asking him what he was looking at. Then he jumped up, ran into the kitchen, and grabbed his shoes. I said, "Do you want your shoes on?" He just kind of stared at me. Then he threw his shoes on the floor, with force, and started hopping wildly. I was so confused that I didn't even say anything about the shoe-throwing; he didn't seem upset, and his behavior was bizarre.

Then I realized. We had Alabama songs playing in the background, and "Louisiana Saturday Night" was on. Sure enough, when the chorus came around, it all made sense:
"Well, you get down the fiddle and you get down the bow
Kick off your shoes and you throw 'em on the floor
Dance in the kitchen till the mornin' light,
Louisiana Saturday night!"

"Just the facts, ma'am"

Matthew's been telling me a lot of facts lately. Many, many times per day. Here are the things he thinks I need to know about a hundred times every day.

"Go, go, go! Green light."
"Stop. Red light."
"Slow. Yellow light."

"Dad pee work."
"Dad poop work."
"Dad eat honey yogurt work."
"Dad eat peanut butter work."
"Dad work dinda (buildings)."

"Dad car work."
"Dad car home."
"Our car home."

"Cat meow."
"Cat purr."

Yep, he's our son

Matthew's been getting funnier and funnier now that he can talk more understandably. And he's so like Jeff and me with the wordplay, my goodness. Here's some funny things he's been doing.

We say a prayer at night that starts, "Savior, lay thy hand on me..." and every night, Matt pipes up with "paw" when we say "hand" since he calls his own hands his paws.

If I tell him to hurry, he starts barking... because of Murray, the dog, of course. You know, hurry, Murray, it's all the same.

We taught him to sneak up on people by tiptoeing quietly. One day I called the gym to ask for details on a class called SilverSneakers... then laughed out loud when I looked over and saw Matt "sneaking" toward the couch.

Matthew was looking at the tattoo on my ankle, so I said, "That's my tattoo." He laughed uncontrollably for a while then managed to explain, "Tat-three! Tat-three! Tat-three!" Ah, the height of hilarity.

I'll think of more later - it's something new every day.