Home of The Brave

I got home late from a Yoga class, but when I peeked in on Little One, She was still up.
She was pretending to read. But really, She was sulking.
I asked Her what was up.  She was upset because the school Basketball Game and Party was that night, and She was missing it.  And J and I didn't even CARE!
I had heard something about this event at some point in time and that's about all I could relate to this issue.
A hard part about Little One's new school being so far away, is that I am hardly ever there. I pick Her up at the bus stop, on this side of town, so I don't have much opportunity to interact with the staff or other parents, and gave up months ago on the PTA, so I'm pretty disconnected from the school as a microcosm.  The fliers She gets almost never come home on time, if at all.  They get colored on or torn up in games on the bus, or they sit in Her cubby before She remembers to pack them.  Sometimes I forget to check Her backpack.
I feel terrible about all this of course, so the Mama guilt kicked in right away.
I immediately checked my phone for the email about this event, and to our mutual relief, it was actually happening the next night.  I was reading the notice out loud.  They also still needed bake sale items and someone to sing to National Anthem at the big parents vs teachers basketball game.
Little One, who believe it or not has struggled with massive stage fright for a long time now, shocked me by saying, "Well maybe I could do that". 
"You would like to sing the Anthem for your school? For everyone?"
"Yeah....you know, mom.  I have some bad stage fright.  But...but I think...I think if I just go up there, and just give it a big try and like, go for it, you know...I think I could do it."  
I was so surprised, and so excited to hear this inkling of confidence from the Little One who somewhere around 6 hit the massive brick wall of realization that She cared what other people think of Her, that I instantly replied "Of course you could! That's just great! I'll see if they still need a singer".  And I sent that email right off.
*THEN I bothered to ask if She knew the song.*
How is it possible that the public school system, her family and friends, and J and I, have all so epically failed at teaching this kid the Star Spangled Banner?! Doesn't everyone know that song? I mean, the kid is American.  It should just BE in there somewhere.  Right?!
Nope.  She had never even heard of it.
So imagine my predicament, when I got an email the next morning, after I'd packed Her off on the bus, saying how happy the organizers were to have a singer, and to meet them at 6:15 sharp by the stage to get Her set up with the microphone.
Hmm.  I thought this over.  Sure, the reasonable thing would have been to politely withdraw the offer, seeing as how it would be hard for Little One to sing a whole song She'd never even heard.  But have we ever known me to be a reasonable person?  Nope.
This was an Opportunity.  I could hear it.  It was totally knocking.  And we also all know how I feel about those.  So here is the crazy thing I did.
I emailed the school, and said that Little One had "an appointment", and I'd be there to pick Her up.  In 30 minutes.  And then I did; I took Her out of school in the middle of the day.  She had an appointment all right.  With destiny, guys.
Ok, well.  With me.  An appointment with me, in the basement.
Little One and I spent the whole afternoon learning and practicing the Star Spangled Banner.  We listened to it on repeat during dinner, and all the way to the school.
We brought the music we'd printed at home, and shyly approached the MC.  He showed Her the microphone, and asked Her to say "testing".
She was horrified. She couldn't even look at it. Like a toddler, She hid Her face in my shirt, and wouldn't even speak.  The guy looked at me with the fear in his eyes of a man realizing he had made a terribly rash decision.  I smiled at him.  "We'll be fine.  Come get us when it's time, k?"  And I pulled Her outside.  She sang it for me twice, with all the right notes and words.  We went in and waited.
Finally She was called over, and we sat together at the front of the gym, while the bleachers filled and the players were announced.  She hummed nervously and every 10 seconds or so made a funny squeaking noise and pressed Her face into my neck whimpering "I can't! I just can't! I can't ever do this! Oh no. I can't do it!" 
"Whatever happens, just be confident.  Get up there and have fun with your great new song. You can do it." 
Her name was announced and She squeezed my hand tight.
"Oh no!"
She was frozen.  I picked Her up and set Her on Her feet.
She turned to run!
I put a hand on Her shoulder and looked as calm as humanly possible.  I was like a freaked out teenager trying to be cool. Heeey man.  No big deal. Nooo big deal.
I looked Her right in the eyes.  "Go for it." 
She looked right back at me. Took a deep breath.  And stepped up to the mic.
She looked at the many dozens of people in the stands.  Her teacher, Her fiends, strangers.  She looked at Her music.
And She sang.
She sang the first line beautifully.  After that, She got the words right, and sort of marched to the beat of Her own drummer with the melody.  But She never faltered or paused; She stood there and She sang it out.
The fans cheered.  She smiled.  She ran off to watch the game with Her friends.
On the way home, I told Her how I was so proud of Her.

"Really, mom? Even though...I got all the notes wrong." 

"But you told me that you were scared to do it.  You said you had 'stage fright'.  And still, you worked hard to learn this new song, and then you didn't let yourself down.  You got up there and you did it.  I always tell you to be brave.  Brave doesn't mean to never feel nervous or afraid, brave is to do what you have to do, what is right, and what you love and want to do, even when you ARE scared. Tonight you were brave. I am proud of you."

I am kind of amazed by Her.  I would not have been the least bit upset if She'd backed out at any moment.  But She never did.  How many of us would be willing to put ourselves out there like that? I'll be honest.  She's braver than I am.
It's true, pulling a kid out of school to teach them a song isn't exactly on the list of allowable excused absences.
But, I argue, learning Her national anthem is an educational activity.  And besides that, today She also learned how to overcome a fear.  How to work hard for something and not give up on it, how to do something She cared about without being stymied by what others might think of Her; how to be brave.  How to hear an opportunity knocking, and open up the door. Pretty good for a day's work, if you ask me.
Good work, my little American cutie pie.  You belong right here, in the land of the free.  Home of the brave.

From Baby to Boy With A Bang

I was doing dishes while Mr napped.  Suddenly I heard Him singing.  I smiled.  He does that all the time, just wakes up and entertains Himself with His own personalized soundtrack for awhile before calling me to get Him up.  But then I stopped smiling and got a dumb confused look on instead.  Because why did He sound so close?  And getting closer?
I stepped out into the living room, and there He was.

C: "Mister! How did you get out of your crib? You're supposed to be napping!" 

Mr: "Well now, Mommy. I counted, a 10. 9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1, and count a 1-2-3. And that's a long TIME, a long of SECONDS, and is ENOUGH napping, and well, Mommy. I just a busy guy. Got some trucks here."

And just like that he went off to make a train out of trucks.  
I knew it was the end of an era, but I didn't realize how serious it was.  
Because that night, I put Him in bed like always, and like always He pulled the blankets up to His chin, rolled over onto His side, and went to sleep.  Maybe it was a one time thing.
But later, the peace of the morning was shattered, sort of literally, by the sound of a huge crash, something glass smashing, and then, after the briefest vacuum of silence (all parents know the terror of this moment), the hysterical screaming of my son.  
Peanuts you can believe I was on my feet and across the house before my brain had even fully registered those sounds.  
There are moments (many while driving in DC traffic) in which I have to believe in guardian angels, because nothing else can explain the miraculous escape from injury.  This was totally one of those times.  
Little Mister rose from the midst of epic wreckage like a giant at the end of a good smiting.  There were broken shards of green, a storm of pennies and quarters, and scattered random keys and little things.  Oh.  And an iPad.  
Mister had awakened first, let Himself out of bed, and wandered out of His room to spy an iPad sitting on the high shelf over our entry table.  It was up there, of course, to be out of sight, out of mind, out of reach.
He pushed a big chair over to the table, climbed up, and must have stood on His very tip-toes on that narrow table to reeeeaaaaaach for His prize.  Something went wrong there, because the iPad, the shelf, the Boy, and the big ceramic dish full of change all took a big leap into the arms of gravity and hit the linoleum by the front door.  Pennies for miles.  Pennies for days.  Pennies in places we didn't know we could find pennies. 
And that dish.  J and I got that dish in a small village outside Budapest, on one of the best trips we've ever had.  I kept it over the doorway so I could see it throughout the day.  It reminded me of a beautiful, peaceful place, and a time when J and I were so happy there was actual bliss going on, guys.   It was our first trip as parents on our own, such a wonderful adventure we promised ourselves we'd do one every year.  
Well, we modified that promise due to Life.  But the dish stayed the same, and was a special piece of proof that the whole dream really happened.  Also, it was really pretty.  
Still, as I looked at the splinters of it while folding my crying son into my lap, all I could be was thankful that the dish got broken, and not Little Mister.  He somehow emerged without a scratch or bruise.  
Somethings can't be replaced, like intrepid little boys who try to steal illicit material while their parents are sleeping.  
I can't exactly replace that hand-thrown dish either.  But as I swept up the pieces, I called to mind all the memories of our trip and tried to tuck them into my mind somewhere they won't get lost.  The memories don't mean less because their icon is gone.  Honestly, I would have kept that dish.  It would have been one of the things that would be too hard not to keep.  But life and Mister did it for me.  Thanks for the assist guys!
As for that Mister, He won the freedom of His Big Boy Bed.  Sometimes He wakes up ready for action in the wee hours and terrorizes us by jumping on our heads or pitter-pattering up and down the hall at 3am. But for the most part, He just sleeps. Like the big two-year old boy He is, somehow and all the sudden.  
So. I had this pretty Hungarian ceramic.  I had this little baby, this last little baby, sleeping in a crib.  
I let them go.  

Let It Go

Bet you thought this was going to be some Disney Frozen thing, huh?
Well with three kids under 8, that's a safe bet.  But nope.  Although I do like warm hugs.
In my effort to (literally and figuratively) lighten loads around here, I've made a pact with J to take very little with us to Japan.  No furniture.  No knick-knacky stuff.  No "for fancy times" or "holiday times" or "in case we ever need it times" stuff.  I have no idea whether we can pull off a minimalist lifestyle with 3 little kids and my strong subconscious impulse to save everything and get attached to everything and get things at the thrift store for no other reason that it was 50 cents and a nice shade of blue.  But we can try, right? Moving to a place where some people live in houses the size of a typical American linen closet seems like a great impetus to give it a go.
I love my kids' childhoods so much; I love to look at tiny outfit or a little toy and remember each of my Littles at an even littler age, when they were so teensy and wearing this or playing with that.
But even if we did one day add another little to the mix, after raising three (plus bananas) for a while now, we know this secret.  It's a secret that the baby-shower-planners and registries don't like to share, but it's a truth.  Which is that, really, you hardly need any stuff to have a baby.  Some diapers and bottles and a handful of outfits, all of which will get stained by some lord-knows-what anyways.
We could probably scrounge that much up if we ever needed to.
The point being, I don't need to save ALL of the cute things my kids have ever touched.  Some things are harder to let go than others, of course.  The outfits they barely wore before growing out of them and the toys that make REALLY LOUD REPETITIVE NOISES, for instance, are much easier to say goodbye to than the first Christmas dress or the chair I rocked them all to sleep in.  So I started with the easy stuff.  Baby steps, we might say.
I took loads of stuff to a consignment sale last month, and am happy that a whole bunch of toys and games will be traveling soon to the new AFC community center in Ethiopia. We've been arbitrarily passing stuff out to friends.  Oh, you like that rocking horse?  Great.  Take it home!
It's true I started out gently, but so far it has been a relief to send things off to a new home.  We appreciated all that kid stuff when we needed it and used it, but it should be appreciated again by someone else who isn't too big for it.  So, I packed it off and it felt like a first step on a new journey.  A step closer to Japan, to a new life, to a new kind of living, maybe.  We used to have all that outgrown kid stuff sitting our my basement.  But we let it go.

MisterIsms

All from the mouth of Mister:

"Ima gweatest, Ima gweatest Ima gweat gweat Little Mister!" Sung 1000 times. 

Reading about trains:

C: "...and this type of tanker car is full of gas."

M: "Ohhh yes. Yes is. Full a gas. This twain all full a gas. Has go a big poo poo. Go you poo, twain!"

At bed time getting PJs on:

C: "you picked out these jammies all by yourself! You are really a big boy!"

M: "Oooh, yes 'am! And YOU! You really a big Mama! Yes! A big! Huge! Huuuuuge Mama!"

Looking at a dr Suess book:

"Uh, mama. Whoa man! This book, is all cwazy. Is all stuff all awound a place, and flyin funny an'mals and all jus all is cwazy like that. Take-a this cwazy book mama. Les have some twain book. Is better, k?"

Me: "can I get a hug?" 
Mister: "um,no. I'm just a all outta hugs. Maybe you can make one, your own hug. Outta some tofu, somepin like that."

Me: "uh oh, buddy. I see that face. Do you need a time out?" 
Mister: "Uuuuhhhmmm...yah. Need time out. I'm SPICY."

Letting Go

People can't grow wings.
We look the same as we age, just maybe a little softer around the edges, maybe we fade a bit.
But that's just the outside, though.  The most substantial part of people is the inside stuff.  All kinds of things can happen in the soul parts.
For me, the year I turned 21 was a moment in time I look back on as a chrysalis in my life.  I was pretty colorful before that I think- a topic for other days- but that was the year I stopped crawling around as usual, took stock of my surroundings, the season, and the direction of the wind, sunk into myself awhile, and emerged at the end of the year an altogether different creature.
It was the year I grew my inside wings.
That was the year I learned to Take Things On.  It was the year I became suddenly aware, like a new butterfly finally rising above it's old leaf to see the wide horizons, of the wider world around me and my little place in it. The year I figured out what mattered to me, and what kind of me I wanted to become, the year I Grew Up.
I found that I had strength; not just one kind, but many, and that I could Do Things. I could take steps and get to where I wanted to go, all on my own.  That year I felt that the world and life were huge and limitless, and so was I.  The year I turned 21 I broke out of the cocoon and took off into life knowing that I Can.
Since then, in my own small way, I have made a point of flying towards the things that matter most to me, and while I have made mistakes sometimes, and sacrificed some things for others, I have tried to lean into the wind, to take opportunities before they pass by, to do my best, operating under the assumption that I Can.
A decade later, it's been another defining year for me.  That last year, we lost six close family members, and our dog.  We had some major unexpected financial blows.  I became a working mom- and a full-time, at-home mom- at the same time, and J took on the dreaded Residency. We were far from family during the year we wished most to be near them for so many reasons. Still settling in from our last move, we learned we are moving this summer to Japan- both a great adventure and a major change. I had a year of health problems including a sudden unplanned surgery right at the most demanding time of year at my job, and the Littles needed us more as there was less of us to go around.
I kept leaning into that wind, repeating at my desk at four in the morning "I Can", repeating as I raced from PTA meetings to phone conferences to the grocery store "I Can", repeating as I tried to entertain Mister during a 3 hour bank meeting followed by medical appointments and cooking dinner while J was working a 90 hour week, "I Can. I Can".   I was still calling out instructions for volunteers and reminding J about piano lessons literally as I was wheeled into surgery.  I spent the day I was released from the hospital framing artwork with a team of people in my basement, and twice ripped open my stitches carrying Mister as I hurried from here to there because "I Can" had become "I Must".
I woke up in 2016 and it had been a really long time since I'd written a blog post or put a photo in an album and I wanted to say something to commemorate the year.  But looking back, being real and honest... I would say that if I'll always remember 21 as the year I found myself, I think I will always remember 33 as the year I found my limits.
This was the year I realized I even had limits.  I've learned that I can only "I Can" until.... I can't.
So this was also the year that I learned to accept help.  And, ok, to beg for it sometimes.  I learned to lower my expectations (so. much. lower.) It has been the year I learned how to say "no thanks".  Even when I wanted to say "yes".
I  have learned that I can ignore my limitations, or I can glare at them, hating them, and there they still are. So instead of continuing to beat my wings against the glass, I am trying to take stock of my surroundings, the season, and the direction of the wind.  Sink into myself for awhile.  I'm not exactly sure what I will be when I come out on the other side- I'm still metamorphosing over here.
But after reviewing that last year, and looking ahead to the next one, I keep getting the feeling that whatever the answers are, they have something to do with Letting Things Go.  To not have quite so much to carry.
Maybe I'll come out on the other side of this Defining Time with more streamlined wings- or without any.  Maybe there will be something even better. Who knows?
If I have to grow older and stay boringly similar on the outside, at least on the inside, I can keep changing, evolving, growing...or ungrowing and getting simpler, lighter instead.
I guess it's part of the transformation that I used to never want to say openly "this is hard".  But in the last two years, I have, because I had to- it was the truth.  I definitely needed not to say "This is TOO hard", because that's a slippery slope into words I needed not to think, much less say outright.  "I Can't".  So sometimes I just didn't say anything at all.  But you know.  Sometimes I Can't.  Sometimes I just Can't.  So I think I will start this new stage in life, whatever it may be, with getting a little lighter:
I used to have this need to I Can all the time.  I let it go.

Little Mister Two

The birthdays always bring me back.  And this Little Mister had a big one in December- Two.
As He will tell you, proudly, brandishing an arbitrary number of fingers like He's displaying the ark of the covenant, "Ine TWO!"
What a Two He is, too.
Little Mister has had the effect on our family of figuratively (and very nearly literally) turning the entire house upside down and inside out.  He rips through our lives like a two-foot tall tornado that sings, leaving a trail of mess and chaos, and all of us feeling like maybe we just got off a carnival ride we don't remember getting in line for.
The thing about Him though, is that we turn to scold Him for it, and find this golden-haired angel, beaming at us with big innocent eyes, saying things like, "Ah wuv oo!" "cuddle time!" "sungle me up!" and then showering you with hugs and kisses and sighs of "MAma home!" (or Daddy, or Sister, or MissMiss, or whoever you may be).
This deep appreciation for your existence and generosity of affection entirely stuns the brain so that all you can do is melt into a puddle of warm-fuzzies and bask in the adoration.
Then, He's off to get Himself some milk (He does that), and you turn around, and through the stars in your eyes see the wreckage He he's trailed behind Him in a swath of destruction.  Argh.  That Mister.
What can we do with Him?!
He's impossible because He's impossibly sweet.  He's not so much rebellious as just spring-loaded. The absolute best way to imagine Mister, if you haven't met Him, is to envision the personification of a big bottle of soda-pop, having just been vigorously shaken.  So, so sweet.  SO about to explode all over everything.

His big achievements at two are:

Total mastery of the limbs
-From climbing and running and monkey bars to delicately removing the loose screws from whatever-it-is, Mister has the motor skills checked off the list.

The Alphabet
-uppercase, lowercase, spoken or sung- this kid rocks His letters and He's plenty proud to show you.

Counting (except for 14 and 15)
-He can get to 30, but 14 and 15 are usually a stumble, and after 10 the written form gets mixed up.

Shapes and Colors
-Thanks to bossy sisters, Mister knows not just His primaries, but His teals, lavenders, and fuchsias.  He thinks carefully if you ask Him what color something is, because He knows that if He calls turquoise green, He is going to hear about it.
-He's good with the basic shapes, kites, and pentagons, because He has a puzzle that says so and He has a small love affair with all puzzles of all kinds.

Headstands
-Thanks in part to His beloved gymnastics class and in part to His two personal coaches (Missy and Little One), Mister's favorite party trick for guests is "looka me this!" and running to the sofa or wall to do a headstand.  If you don't notice at first, no problem.  He'll just stay like that, turning red, until you notice.

The Potty.
-Unless He's busy and having fun. In which case He does not mind being wet so long as the train tracks link up so that the bridge connects to the whatever.  Fortunately, we have left the days of stinky pants far behind, but being dry all day still requires a lot of reminding and cajoling.

the iEverything
- Sigh.  I did all I could to keep screen time from Him entirely until He turned two, but He has seen all of us on a phone or tablet at some time, and so such devices have held this mystique that He is obsessed with.  Turn around for one moment and your phone is gone.  Wait, what? Wasn't it just here? Wait, what? Who emailed my boss from my account to say "asdfsgjgwieortjjdhfgjnfverBBB43fi9g"?!   And why is it so quiet....  oh there you are, Mr.  Hiding under my bed/in the closet/behind the sofa.  How did I find you? Must have been your giddy conversation with your crush, Siri.

The mastery of His sisters
This guy.  His sisters are basically the minions to His super villain.  The pawns to His king.  The tweens to His bieber concert.  And He knows it.  "Sissy, hab some?" blink blink.  Whatever they were eating is now His.  "Sissy, my want it.  Give me toy please".  His.  And I can't tell you how many times I've caught them comforting Him in Time-Out.  He has them wrapped around His chubby, drooly fingers, and they love it.

Things He loves include:

Food. The spicier, the better.  If He won't eat it, sprinkle on some of the Mexican chile-lime powder we stockpile for Him, and it will disappear.  Just don't give Him the bottle, or He will eat it straight, until His face turns red, the tears stream down His cheeks, and He is panting, "More...'picy....More 'picy... please.."   He loves Ethiopian food, Indian food, Cajun food, all the 'picy stuff.  We have even put cayenne in His oatmeal, upon request.  He loved it.

Chocolate- He is all my influence when it comes to desserts.  He loves chocolate and frequently approaches me out of the blue- "mommy.  Think a time a make a chock-it cake. Wan' some chock-it, Mama? We can make some, chock-it cake".  He knows He's asking the right person.

Cars/trains/planes and especially construction vehicles.  I'm still flabbergasted about how this information infiltrated into His tiny mind deeply enough for Him to become so obsessed with it. But He is constantly on the lookout for interesting vehicles, and if you call an excavator a backhoe, you will be corrected.  Believe me.

Repeated brain damage.  I sometimes take a big, steadying breath and wonder whether I would be arrested if an MRI was ever done on this child.  I send up a little prayer that He will retain a decent amount of control over His faculties as an adult.  Because He has lived like a linebacker pretty much all day every day since He could walk.  I promise I do my best to protect His little skull, but He seems to have a magnetic-type material in there that is attracted to all hard surfaces, especially those with sharp corners.  He is so constantly going, racing, jumping, crashing, diving into, around, and over things with no consideration whatsoever for any possible consequences, that we have simply come to think of blue as the normal color of His forehead.

Since we don't have a padded room (which might be a good idea), the next best thing is the trampoline.  And it is one of the great loves of His life.  We have a small one with the big net walls around it in the basement.  Plopping Him in there is like putting a hamster on a wheel.  He'll just go until He is so tired He can not stand up anymore.  He positively loves gymnastics classes on Saturdays, and the trampoline is the crowning glory of this day He waits for all week.  He can do seat drop, pike, open-closed with His legs, arms up and bounce in a circle, and a front flip, landing on His back.  We aren't sure whether to be proud or quite concerned.

Music.  Mister reminds us of Little One with His affinity for music and knack for pitch.  He sits through His Sister's piano lessons positively emerald green with envy, and often I have to take Him outside to wait because He simply will not stop clapping and counting to the beat, or loudly repeating the names of the notes His sisters read off. Or just random strings of letters that might be notes.  When they practice at home, He insists that He also has to have a turn to "practic my pano", and He sits there plinking along very seriously.
He loves music and dancing, and thanks to His sister knows all the steps to the Whip NaeNae, which is totally His song. Standing in line at the grocery store He will suddenly burst out singing and dancing- "watch me, watch me, watch me, watch me! Watch me yooooo, watch me supa-may-an.." and I never really know how to respond.

The alphabet.  Letter flashcards, puzzles, and games never get old.  His favorite book is Dr. Suess's ABC book, and He prefers to recite it to us, if you please.  He sees His sisters reading, listens to Missy practicing with me, and wants it so badly He's practically drooling.  It's like watching a baby on the brink of being able to crawl, two inches too far from a toy they want.  So...close....but so far.

My Do It.  Mister wants to help- stir the pot, put the laundry in the washer, put the silverware away, zip the zippers, drive the car, vacuum the house- ALL the things.  ALL by Himself.  Others who complete tasks of any sort without Him, are treasonous traitors and will be treated accordingly.
Elevator broken and we have to walk down four flights of stairs?  "NO mama, carry me.  No pick-a up. MY do it. MY self do."  I find myself frequently talking to me, like lunatic, reminding myself that independence is good, that this is a wonderful opportunity to practice patience.  Unless we are late.  In which case there will be screaming.

Telling it like it is.  Mister can not, as much as He wants to, drive a bulldozer.  But one thing He can do, is talk.  He has a voice.  He has a vocabulary. And He is not afraid to use it.  He will tell you all about it.  Whatever it happens to be.  He will be sure to correct you if you say something crazy like "no, you can't drive the bulldozer".  He will tell you long stories about His day:
"Oh, we play a game, chug some trains 'round, read a story, I see a alligator..." 
"you saw an alligator today?" 
"Yes!" 
"Really." 
"Yes! An' lookout! Still in here! Gonna bite you! Scary-yikes! Hahahahaha no it jus' me.  Got you, Mommy.  I scary you. HAHAHA!" 
He will patiently and lovingly take the time to teach you everything you need to know.  "K, mommy, now time for make a cookie, uh-kay? So, now time, you get out a shiny bowl.  Get em a-gredients weady a counter.  Need a spoon- my pick it- we make a cookie time.  My stir it, and we make cookies kay.  Mommy.  DON' washa bowl.  Don' wash it. My lick it, eat a cookie stuff in there.  Then-a wash it.  Ok? Ok Mommy.  Let's go.  Right now Mommy.  Mommy.  IN A KITCHEN TIME!" 
He will see you coming a mile away and stop you right there. "Mommy, ok, listen me.  Read a story me, ok.  Ok, read a story, but no is sleepy-time. No put a jammies, no zip a up. No singing songs, no sleepy time. No rocka chair, for no sleepy time now.  2 stories, mommy.  K, two story, then I chug some trains. Ok." 

His Sisters.  Yes, we have reached the age of metoo.  He works those little legs very, very hard trying to keep up with the Sisters, and whatever they are doing, He wants to do.  Whatever He is doing, He wants them with Him.  Most days, the first thing He does when He wakes up is call out for them, and if I get Him out of bed, the first thing He wants to know is where they are.  Lucky for Him, this adoration absolutely goes both ways.

His Daddy.  Little Mister at 2 is a 100% Daddy's Boy.  The look on His face when He stares up at J can only be described as the type of thing religions have been founded upon.  Whenever there is an option, "Daddy take me" "Daddy sing me" "Daddy read me" "I go Daddy" "I ride Daddy's car".  Nothing can cause Mister's sweet little face to fold and crinkle and dissolve into sadness like the dreaded words "Daddy is at work".  Nothing can top the exultation in His voice when He hollers "Daddy home!" Lucky for Mister again, this adoration goes both ways, too.

In fact, Mister is pretty hard not to adore.  Is He a human wrecking ball? Yes. Is He frequently regarded as the world's tiniest acting dictator? Yes.  Has He developed the indescribably annoying habit of shrieking when He is upset or at random times and do we hope this phase passes like the fastest kidney stone ever suffered through? Why, yes.  But is He also the gentlest cuddler, the most empathetic care-taker of us all, the most joyful, infectious belly-laugher, and the most hysterical source of crack-ups He could possibly be? Also yes.

Little Mister shaken soda-pop, we wouldn't have you any other way.  You are the chile powder in our bowl of life, and we love you.  Happy Two.