Let's Grow Old Together

 
















 “Papa didn’t like the beach either, it was the sand that bothered him the most,” my grandmother reminisces to me on the phone, after I recap our trip to Maine to her, “We once went for a picnic with all five kids and he was the only one to get sand in his sandwich.”

 I share with her that aside from his first trip to the beach, we visited the library last week, that he calls all animals doggies, and loves to eat blueberries. I don’t mention the choking incident. 

Matthew made it thirteen months and seventeen days without choking but then one morning he was snacking on mushy watermelon and cheerios when it happened. I saw him bite off a piece of watermelon larger than he could chew. He does this all the time or he shovels ten meticulously cut up pieces into his mouth at once. A few seconds later I saw him frantically gulping for air and quite literally choking to death.

I leaped out of my chair and wrestled with the straps of the high chair with the same difficulty I would have if I were wrestling an octopus. Then I whacked Matt on back until the watermelon went flying out and sliding across the kitchen floor amongst scattered cheerios

Once at a party I went to a baby choked on a teething biscuit. Not breaking conversation, the father whacked the baby over his knee a few times and the biscuit came up and out followed by a puddle of spit up. The parents cleaned it up with a burp cloth and carried on talking as if it were perfectly normal to save a life while discussing sautéed red potatoes.

I, on the other hand, was not nearly as composed. When Matthew wailed I announced that it was happiest sound I had ever heard! Those ten seconds  felt longer than my pregnancy with him did.

Trip to Maine

 















Here we are embarking on the milestone of our first family vacation, as a flock of three. The car is stocked with toys, snacks, and borrowed books on tape to keep our much-loved crab cake busy during the two-hour car ride to Maine.

Lighthouses. Blueberries for Sal. The bookstore where older versions of otherwise new books are all sold at 90% off. The place Bob proposed to me. Lobster Calzones. Childhood memories of vacations there. Td Banknorth on every corner saving me a bundle in ATM fees. Salty air. Candy and t-shirt shops. There was so much I was looking forward to.

Matthew fell asleep ten minutes after we pulled out of the driveway and stayed that way until we arrived. The car items we packed wound up being quite helpful a day later, when we were driving around lost in Portland, on our way to the children’s museum.

We stopped off at York’s Wild Kingdom Zoo. Everywhere we walked ducks roamed the sidewalks pleasing Matthew to no end. During lunch he chose to sit backwards on the handle of his wagon instead of at the on the grass at the picnic table. He looked adorable. We left the zoo as happy as clams in mud.

We checked into our hotel room and walked down to the beach. “Matthew, look at the ocean,” we crooned. “Do you feel like you are standing in a giant sandbox?” Bob nudged a plastic shovel into his hand.

“Doggie!” Dropping the plastic shovel, he pointed at a Welsh Sheepdog trotting by with a tennis ball in its mouth. It’s not exactly a moose or other Maine-y type of animal but he stood captivated for several moments watching it play fetch.

Then Bob did the unthinkable and brought Matthew into the ocean with him. It goes without saying that the boy, whose mother fills up his kiddie pool with warm buckets of water from the kitchen, enjoyed it as much as a clam in an angler’s boat.

On the second day at the beach, we went shell collecting. It was all well and fine until I put a crab in the bucket. Matt took one look at it, threw the bucket, and started to cry with an exaggerated frown on his face. We spent the rest of the morning swimming in the hotel pool.

Each afternoon Matthew took long grumpy naps past dinnertime. So we stayed out on the boardwalk until ten-thirty every night, eating ice cream from Dairy Queen, and taking rides on the merry-go-round. To think that Bob and I once were a couple who criticized parents that kept their children out past nightfall. Add that to the list of things we said that we would never do as parents.

On the morning that it was time to leave for home, it was pouring rain outside. Matthew had woken up still clutching the baseball printed rubber duck we had won him at the arcade the night before. Honestly, this trip to Maine did not feel much like a vacation for Bob and me. We put so much effort into planning day trips, fretting over Matthew, and tiptoeing around his nap schedule. Perhaps next year we won’t try so hard at relaxing and instead wait and see if it happens on it’s own.