Two

Traditionally, these updates have been sweet, a little funny maybe, and a chance for me to reflect on how quickly the times flies when we’re having so much fun. I’m going to try, friends, but I just don’t know if I can muster the affection this time around. Let me explain it simply.

KATIE!

Colin, how old are you?

COLIN

I two!

KATIE!

That’s right! You are two years old! What a smart, delightful boy you are! Oh look, a passing speck of dust…

COLIN

NO NO NO MOMMEEEEEEEE NO MINE MIIIIIINE AAAAWWWWWWRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH

(Falls to the floor in fulminant fit of rage and despair)

(Remains inconsolable until the MaiMai is produced or mention is made of a cookie)

(COLIN morphs into a flailing, snotty, screaming version of himself, terrifying enough to warrant an NC-17 rating and permanent sterilization for all witnesses)

FIN

Colin is TWO, boy howdy is he ever. He is developing firmly into his own person, fighting fiercely for the right to have his own opinion, his own say in his world. It’s not that I don’t sympathize. I am currently paying more money than is reasonable to work like a dog and beg for a job come March, so I understand the feeling of fighting for survival. What I can’t get behind are his strategies for defeating me, the apparent enemy. His brain tells him that I am the keeper of the cookies, for example. Fine. Then his brain develops a plan to create a massive diversion from whatever fun and/or productive activity we are enjoying in the form of a tantrum capable of waking the dead, with his anticipated end result being winning and consuming a cookie. In what reality would this work? It has never worked, will never work (over my dead body), so it is unlikely that this time is the one to change all that. The workings of his mind baffle me.

It is not that he isn’t cute. Good lord, on the contrary, he just keeps getting better looking (which terrifies me, but is a topic I will save for his “Fifteen” update) and his penchant for knowing just when to smile or bat his long eyelashes or look back over his shoulder at you is impressive in its own right. He is lucky that he is so cute, otherwise he would never survive this age. His mastery of manipulative body language is terrifying. Specifically, he says with his smile and lashes, “Because I am so adorable, I am superior and you should bend to my will. You don’t mind, do you? No, I didn’t think so.”

But that doesn’t fool me. I see that stage presence for what it is: trickery. He is a master player, and he works the crowd like a professional. “Tiss? Peees?” He coos, and the unsuspecting victim gladly accepts a kiss and a quick snuggle, not knowing that they have been tagged as helpless prey, soon to be lured in and captured by his inescapable charm. They are not kidding when they say toddlers are indistinguishable from sociopaths. The look he gives me as he barrels down the driveway, blatantly ignoring my loud and emphatic “COLIN STOP NO COLIN COME BACK RIGHT NOW DOYOUNEEDATIMEOUT” tells me that we have a lot of ground to cover on the Morals and Values front, not to mention Respect Authority.

Two is a horrible age to be, truly, but I have to admit that it is also incredible to be around him. Our friends across the street, who house a similarly-aged buddy of Colin’s, say that we “found Colin’s talking switch and we flipped it on”. While I wish that were the case, as it would indicate that such a switch might also have an “off” position, Colin seems to have learned to communicate all by himself. Suddenly, we have entire conversations that are mostly linear and logical. Granted, they are about the color of the car in his hand or whether or not we are allowed to watch another god forsaken episode of Thomas the Cheeky and Rude and Altogether Unpleasant Train (I hate that show with a fiery passion), but I will allow that concession for a two year old. He has unique and relevant thoughts and them communicates them to me. It is completely amazing, and, while I joke about how now I have two boys who yammer at me about cars all day long, I love watching his little mind and body sort itself out.

He sees his world new everyday, full of possibility and adventure. He still finds comfort in his routines, in the MaiMai (you cannot imagine how disgusting that thing is), in his family and his friends, but he also seeks out what is interesting and exciting and obsesses over it. He got his first bike for his birthday, a red and blue plastic thing that took the whole neighborhood to assemble, and which now occupies much of his waking thought. “Bike? Outside? Ride? Peees? Bike?” He begs and pleads to be let outside to explore, which is not something I can argue against.

His school learned about Fire Safety recently, and now he insists upon “Roll”-ing everywhere, including the dirt and mulch at a pumpkin patch and apple orchard we recently visited. Safety first, I suppose.

He has learned to sing. Can you believe that? The current Top Single at our house is Wheels on the Bus. He insists on following along in a book he has, pointing out the rain which then requires the swish swish swish of the wipers and the crying baby (waa waa waa) whose parents soothe her (shh shh shh – as if that actually worked, suckers).

And he sings along when I tell him You Are My Sunshine, which is still true, even if he screams and kicks and earns himself thirty time-outs in a day. Colin gets all of his Good Boy Points back when he sings “never know DEEEEEAR hm hm hm LOVE YOOOOOU mommeeee, love you. Mommy. AWAAAAAAY.” 

In these lines, he makes my every day new again too. Adventure awaits in the form of a pile of leaves, a ladybug landing on a sleeve, homemade mini pizzas, picking an apple from a tree, reading a new book, singing a new song. But every night, as we say our thanks for the day, my heart sings with undying gratitude for being the mother to such a person, and go to bed looking forward to hearing “MOOOOOMEEEEE! UP! Wheels on the Bus? Bike?” and exploring a new day with this short but whole little person.