2 years 3 months

I keep remarking how a year ago you couldn't walk. You were sort of this little rump roast that we carried everywhere, like some kind of peace offering we would sacrifice to a volcano. Heed the rumping roast of a baby boy! Consume him and be satisfied and pour forth lava no more! I have to strenuously trace my memory for some idea of what you were interested in or something you said because you were such a chill little dude along for the ride. Your imprint was a soft one, which has changed dramatically. You are all bulldozing boy now. You are attentive while reading books, until you want to steamroll my head. Which you do, every.single.time. You have no sense of quiet. Except when you whisper something to imitate me. Like the other day, you patted my waist and said, "I love you. I love you," which is the way I must always say it to you. You are happily occupied with your train table as you have since we poached it from the craigslist seller last year.

Little Man, August 2011

Your verbal toolbox has grown exponentially, even in the last few months. Without your spokeswoman at home during the school year (see also: Baby Girl), you really worked to communicate words, and now you are an active describer and inquirer. "Is Daddy coming? Is Mommy coming? I see trucks as big as monsters. There you go." By far my favorite Little Man-ism is the syrupy sweet voice and look you assume when you want some kind of treat. I am helpless to resist giving you a popsicle when you pull out that card. Sigh.

I believe you are in possession of a sweet spirit that can be quite fierce at times when you want something and are willing to fight for it. I think this is an excellent combination that can be used for good, but certainly it can also be used for selfishness and I consider it my chief duty to steer you toward the former in this life to honor God, your family, and your fellow fella.

Little Man, we cannot wait to find out what you are going to do tomorrow and twenty years from tomorrow but we are so proud of the boy you are right now. The boy who insists on bringing the entire package of too-big Thomas underoos to the gym daycare, whilst wearing a singular pair over his shorts. (If you think that sounds way too indulgent, it was all I could do to keep you from wearing the whole pack at once, so. :))

In other news, Baby Girl started school this week and the memory of this time last year for her was searing. We practically had to bribe her with an Audi to get a picture of her on the first day. What a difference a year makes. Little Man, you were sweating her backpack something fierce so she offered you her Buckeye bag so you could feel a part of this social rite.

All Aboard the Hot Mess Express

There was a reason we were in the hobby shop. Part of the reason was because I am a twirtysomething female who had, heretofore, never visited a hobby shop! The crime! The other half of the reason is because there was a rockin' train table in the front of the hobby shop whereby my Little Man could play while I explored the aisles chock full o' Dungeons and Dragons paraphernalia.

Of course the part about leaving the child to be babysat by Chuggington & Friends is patently false. I would never venture to the Dungeons and Dragons aisle! The! I was obviously trying to find the hardest puzzle that a hobby shop could offer. You figure this was a shop for hobbyists, you know they be having some Rhodes Scholars-caliber jigsaw action, am I right or am I right?

We're making fine time in the hobby shop, Little Man running all the trains on schedule, and I finding puzzles that would make NASA cry salty tears to solve.

But then, my organs decided to fail me.

I was perfectly poised for the pending pick-up of Baby Girl in 35 minutes.

I was standing in the middle of a retail establishment run by men who freelance as Pokemon at ComicCon.

So of course, my intestines start to combust.

I gather Little Man and we make a break for the restroom THANK YOU, PROVIDENCE, there was a restroom in the back of the hobby shop. But it was a one-top situation. There was just the singular crapper and the sink and then there was the door.

When you pry a 2 year-old away from train candy, he will thank you by giving you options:

1. 1. You can choose to leave him at the train table where after 0.2 seconds he will realize his abandonment and child protective services will be waiting for you with the cuffs when you get out. 2. You can bring him into the restroom with you where after 0.2 seconds he will reach up for the handle WAIT YOU CAN REACH THAT NOW?!? and expose his mother, sitting on the throne with her pants around her ankles, in front of Pokemon & Co. 3. You can hold him on your lap while your intestines Chernobyl and you can watch the unicorns jumping over rainbows as you soak in this sweet moment of motherhood.

***

35 minutes later and you are right on time for pick-up. Winner Winner Chicken Dinner! Pay no attention to the thrashing toddler in your arms, who is so hysterical from being wrenched from his beloved train table YOU HAVE A BETTER ONE AT HOME, KID, who does not fail to go for the jugular even in front of 500 of your closest churchies.

The most amazing part is that you are muttering all kinds of colorful things to yourself Why the flerkity flerk flerk is this shibblety shibble happening and then lo! Baby Girl OH HONEY, HOW WAS VACATION BIBLE SCHOOL?? TELL ME ABOUT THE MEMORY VERSE YOU LEARNED TODAY!!

Your son is convulsing so loudly now that this is not even about public restrooms or trains. It is just about humiliating you and making sure you know that you are NOT actually the conductor. You are still just along for the ride.

This train is bound for glory, y'all.

Turned Two

Dear Little Man, You completed your second lap around the sun this past weekend, and for the first time since celebrating one of my childrens' birthdays, I wasn't sad. I wasn't filled with an overwhelming ache over your growth at breakneck speeds. I wasn't heavy-hearted over moments that like lightning bugs glowed and then quickly faded, becoming a part of the darkness of the past.

I was just happy. Happy for your health, happy for the family around us to celebrate, happy that you are this very age in this very season of life.

There is no profundity, nothing I could explore that hasn't already been discovered and about which the poets haven't already waxed eloquent. You just turned two, and you are joyously content.

You joined our family at a time of great exhaustion. You slithered in, marsupial-like, demanding very little beyond snuggles and milk.  You continue to ask very little of me beyond snuggles and snacks. And Youtube videos of trains.

Thank you for being our laidback second-born, quick to smile a bedimpled grin, brimming with laughter and twinkly eyes, hands curling a toy tractor and train car like secondary appendages. You are a charming creation, teaching me everyday about the power of a heart at peace. You are a little professor of contentment. You are the lightning bug in my hands, glowing just for me.

Love, Mama ***