Thursday, November 29, 2012


I have a two year old.

There's a lot indicated in that statement.

It's true. My baby is two, the last baby I'll ever have this side of grandkids. It's good. And sad. Because I'm addicted to babies. But that's another post. But that he's TWO, and where has time flown, where has my baby gone but to toddler-land of changes and God help me, batten down the hatches, folks, he's two. 

Two year olds are curious creatures. 

Not only are they into absolutely everything and beyond, but they are most interesting to observe. They do some seriously funny stuff. The faces they make, the things they say, the wrong ways they say it. Their timing! And then the fact that they usually love the attention they're geting with everyone looking at them and laughing just feeds it so much more.

Huggyface just strutted his stuff into the kitchen where I was trying to hide and eat my mashed potatoes in peace (I know, it was a ridiculous dream). I love it when they act all official and serious, like they are talking business, and it's important stuff. Chin down. Voice low. Looking up at you with wide, "serious" eyes. Nodding their head a lot. Such little mimickers. He's intent on getting a spoon from the drawer. I'm intent on him not getting such weapon device of destruction object. We're playing a game of open drawer / close drawer. Since we are done eating, and he didn't first go scouring the fridge, I'm trying to ask him why he wants the spoon. But two-year-olds don't understand why, so this is basically a pointless line of questioning. Still I persist. He answers matter-of-factly.

Why do you want a spoon?
What do you want a spoon for?
What are you going to do with the spoon?

Out of ways to rephrase, I repeat.

What will you do with the spoon?
H E O I.

Oh. Well. By all means then. Ok. H E I O. Why didn't I think of that?


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