Young

22 - Matthew

Over the next six years, I experienced both the heights of joy and the depths of despair.

In 1974 I gave birth to my second child, Matthew. Blake wasted no time in purchasing a tiny football jersey. Soon, the house was full of things to keep a little boy busy; the floor dotted with trucks of all shapes, colors and sizes.

One of Blake's favorite things to do with Matt was something he called 'airplane'. He laid on his back and held little Matt close to his chest so that their noses were almost touching. Then, suddenly, pushed his arms up into the stratosphere where Matt surveyed the world from up high, giggling gleefully. Then Blake swerved him back and forth like an airplane. Matt couldn't get enough of it and thought it was the funniest thing in the world. Blake repeated the cycle three or four times until Matt laughed himself silly.

Beth was an enormous help with her baby brother. She loved teaching him new things. But, on rare occasions, when Beth felt that Daddy was giving Matt all the attention, she'd dump jello all over Matt's head and stomp off in a huff, pouting.

Mom moved in with us when Matt turned four. The reality is that I did most of the work, but it was really nice having her around. I think she finally came to terms with Dad's death and was at peace.

I didn't tire easily. I could stay up with Matt and calm him down from a nightmare and then get up a couple hours later with breakfast on the table, completely rested.

Beth developed into a strong, decisive teenager with a personality that had echoes of Annette. I made sure that she made it to and from her school activities on time and fixed dinner for everyone without missing a beat.

I listened to the other women around the neighborhood complain about how run down they felt, how they needed a break, and how the kids needed constant attention. They felt that a restful, uninterrupted sleep was something they could only dream about. I nodded with empathy but didn't say a word since all those challenges were foreign to me. I had energy to spare.

One fateful day, Mom was taking a walk around the block when Matt was five years old. It would be her last when a teenager, going far too fast, ran her down in a Mustang. I took the sudden death of my mother very hard and wallowed in depression for several weeks.

My children made efforts to cheer me up in their own way. Matt enjoyed watching reruns of I Dream of Jeannie; a sitcom about a young, female genie who had the power to accomplish anything in the blink of an eye. When Matt noticed me staring listlessly into space he'd run up, cross his arms, and blink, just like Jeannie.

"Does Mommy feel better now?" he'd ask after his magical blink.

I smiled, hugged him tight, and exclaimed, "Yes Mattie. You have such wonderful magic."

After his accomplishment he'd run off with a gleeful laugh and shout, "Daddy and Bethie! My magic worked on Mommy!!"

I found the same technique to be useful when Matt was feeling sad. One time he stubbed his toe and came screaming to me in tears and buried his face in my arms as I rubbed his back.

"Ohhhh....honey, I know that hurt."

I rocked him back and forth to console him without success as his tearful wailings continued. So, I pulled away from him, just a bit, crossed my arms, and blinked.

"There, Mattie. I blinked your ouchie away, just like Jeannie."

His cries settled into a pout with sniffles.

"Wow, Mommy, I didn't know you had magic too!" he said with a big, toothy grin.

From that point on I used the same trick anytime he was feeling down with run away success.

Beth gave me plenty of hugs and brought up all the good times she had with Grandma.

"Mom, remember the time Grandma baked chocolate chip cookies and I threw bacon in the batter when I was seven?"

I rubbed my tummy and said, "Mmmmm....as I recall that made the cookies even more delicious!"

Stories like that gave me a good laugh and lightened the mood when I needed it the most. With the help of my family, I recovered quickly. What a blessing they were.

Beth constantly reminded me that all her friends thought I was the coolest mom ever. Sometimes she brought boys over to a suspicious raised eyebrow from Blake. I did my best to make them comfortable despite Blake's cold disposition towards any boy claiming to be a friend of his only daughter.

He took me to the side and said things like, "Whatever happened to having a nice, clean haircut? Boys these days look like sheepdogs. Do girls find that attractive? Honestly, do they?!"

I ran my fingers through his graying hair and explained that yes, girls did find that attractive and that fashion had moved on from 1963.

It was difficult for Blake to adjust to the times unless I wanted to change something about myself.

Recently, I took to feathering my hair and wearing it wavy. I felt much younger than my age of thirty-seven and wanted to try new things. I remember a time where Beth brought a group of friends over including two boys. I overheard the boys talking about her 'cute sister'. When Beth introduced them to me, they blushed in embarrassment.

In July of 1979 I went in for a routine physical and ended up seeing a different doctor due to scheduling conflicts. The doctor thought it was a clerical mistake when he noticed my age on the chart. I assured him I was thirty-seven and showed him my driver's license. He peered at the chart, glanced at my license, and back at the chart before putting it down with a puzzled expression. He sat across from me, took off his glasses, and scratched his head in bewilderment.

"I'm going to be very frank with you Mrs. Preston," he said. "I have a hard time believing that you're thirty-seven years old."

"Well, that's very complimentary doc─"

"Mrs. Preston," he interjected. "If you're truly thirty-seven this is nothing short of a miracle. Judging from your appearance, you don't look any older than eighteen to twenty. Did you have any cosmetic surgery? I don't see a record of it."

"No, doctor, never."

"I can tell someone's age within two or three years right away just by looking at them. I have a trained eye. Would you like to go through some tests to determine your true biological age?"

"What kind of tests?"

"X-Rays, blood samples...things of that nature, and, free of charge."

I was intrigued and always had the feeling that the lightning strike changed me to the core but didn't know in what way. Maybe those tests would give me the answer.

"Mrs. Preston, do you understand the enormity of what the results may show?"

"Yes, I've often thought about it...the possibility that I haven't aged in sixteen years. Where do I sign up?"