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.