For Mateo

May 6, 2011

My dear Mateo,

Today, you are five years old. Five. I can hardly believe how fast time flies. And its amazing how much you've grown in the past year.

As a just-turned-five-year-old, you have such a range of interests. In the mornings, if you're not exhibiting tulog mantika symptoms, you like to put on your blue rain boots and help Ate Em sweep the front of the house and water the plants. And, if you're feeling especially helpful, you bug us to wash the car, even if its raining or about to rain.

Not content with outside chores, you fight us for the broom and mop,

and if you have your way, the Pledge. You'd rather do housework than eat breakfast. You eat and prepare for the day only because you need to go to school.

Your daddy and I always say that if we lived in the States, you would do all right. You'd find some form of employment because you're not one to shy away from hard work.

After school (and a forced nap), you engage in a range of activities. Tennis with Coach Arcie,

gardening with Ate Em and your sister, playing with Mikey, sneaking in a tv marathon (if you can get away with it), taking out and using your "builder toys," and baking with me are some of the things that keep you busy. Recently, you've enjoyed playing with your Nerf gun, the water guns your lolo bought for you, and the fire trucks you have at home.

Oh yes, from Bob the Builder,

you now have this immense fascination for firemen and fire trucks.

So much so that you want to be one, to Hannah's horror. She keeps explaining to you the dangers of becoming a fire fighter. I think she worries too much for an 8 year old.

You, my little boy, although amusing, have also been quite a challenge in the past year. You're my Mr. Picky Eater, and its only really now that you're starting to try new things.

And that's because I force them on you.

But I'm glad that you're being really cooperative about it. You give them a try, at the very least. And I'm glad to say that you've started eating rice, and have included an increasing variety of food to your previously oh-so-limited repertoire. Now only if I can get you to try eating some veggies...

You're also my Chief Negotiator. You negotiate everything. And I mean, everything. From your bed time, "please, last five minutes," to finishing the food on your plate, "only three more bites," or "how about this, I will eat only the banana and rice," to what snacks we're buying, "we can get this and that snackie," to getting what you want, "if you don't buy this, you're grounded." Let's just say all the negotiating keeps me on my toes. You've gotten away with many things with your daddy because he sometimes doesn't listen...but I've had to stay alert when it comes to your negotiations. Your dad thinks you'd make an excellent lawyer... or hostage negotiator. Maybe one day.

You are my Mr. Tenacious and my Mr. Impulsive. When you're fixated on something...hoo boy. You've had many a melt down because we didn't give you what you wanted at that moment. But I'm glad to see that recently, you've been more open to listen to reason, to the idea of delaying gratification. But of course, you still cannot resist asking us every day, "do you have a turprite?" (Yes, you still cannot pronounce the letter s.) In fact, you've come to dictate what kind of surprise you want, "I want a big turprite, not a tmall one."

And sometimes you fluctuate between my Mr. Wuss and my Brave Boy, again refusing to enter the sea because there are fish (naturally!), or telling Lola upon seeing the cow in the farm, "let's go home, the cow is freaking me out," to bravely walking in for x-rays and taking in the pain of a CBC needed for your dental procedure. You bravely marched in with your dad for your procedure,

and upon awakening from your general anesthesia, you calmly accepted the IV in your hand. Your bravery astounds me and your cowardice amuses me, Matt.

And when I think that you're just completely off the wall, that you're driving me nuts, your moments of tenderness catch me completely off guard. When you wake up in a funk, you still allow Enrique to hug you (and you hug back), and then everything seems all right again. You come to Enrique's aid and comfort him when he hurts himself. You give me kisses out of the blue, and you reach out for my hand when we're walking together. Although you hate hugging, you let me hug you, especially when I need one the most. And when I'm not feeling well, you check in on me to make sure I'm ok.

My little man, you're growing up. And as I see more of your personality, as I see you become, I can only hope and pray that I do you justice. That I am able to take your gusto, your charm, your passion, your strengths and weaknesses and help you become who you are meant to be.

I love you, my little man.

Happy birthday!

xoxo,
mommy