The 2 Year Old

Two year olds are irresistible. Unfortunately, they make you want to have another little 2 year old. See, I used to have a 2 year old. Now that 2 year old is 5 and a half and we have another 2 year old. This cute sweetness is just another part of God's elaborate and complicated plan to fill the earth. Of course, unless you can adopt a child at 2 years old, you can't just get a two year old. No, they come out tiny, helpless, and needy. But when faced with the abundant joy a two year old brings you, it's easy to fast forward your memory past those first early days. Allow me to provide some peronal examples.

Will runs everywhere he goes. And it is a cute bouncy toddler jog. If I say, "Will, let's go put the laundry in the dryer," he jumps up and runs in there, ricocheting between door frames and walls. Getting to any destination is pure delight for him. He runs and jumps here and there all day long. His hair floats in the breeze he is creating and he giggles the whole way.

Will is appreciative of my cooking. Most meals, I serve his food to him and he starts to dig in immediately, unable to control his desire to eat. Almost every time, after that first bite, he doesn't even look up out of his plate but we hear "Mm. Good." It's does wonders for a mother's ego to have the 2 year old endorse her efforts. And this one is so subtle that it must be heartfelt.

Will loves to hug and knows how to. When the 2 year old hugs you, you know he's doing it. There is no doubt. Carter was the same way. Those small, strong arms wrapped around my neck - which by the way allows whiffs of berry shampooed hair to waft into your olfactory radar thereby creating a double whammy intoxicant. Whatever he's done to aggravate me, I can't remember it when he hugs my neck and smells so sweet.

Even when he's angry, it's so cute I have to bite my lips not to smile. Will knows what he wants and has no trouble telling me all about it. When he is thwarted in his attempts, he frowns, his nose flares out then sucked back in with heavy, defiant breathing, and then the clincher: he wraps his arms around himself. An adult just crosses their arms in front of them, but a 2 year old basically gives himself a hug.

I'll give one final example: 2 year olds can talk. And when they do, it's amazing! Babies go through two years of communicating with crying, gestures, facial expressions, grunts, and a word or two here and there. Then suddenly they experience the "language explosion." Carter did not talk until he was 2 and a half, but when he did, it was in full sentences and non-stop. Will began speaking sooner than that and it has been a fun journey. These 2 year olds pick up every little thing they hear from you, the tv, or a song. My goal for this month is to get Will singing "Jingle Bells." That right there is enough to break down this hardened mother into wanting another 2 year old. Will knows how to use his voice to show he's joking and how to use it to show he's angery. When he's doesn't want to do exaclty what he's told, he'll yell in a husky voice "Ott, uhn talking 'bout?!" But, sometimes his manners show up, all by themselves. "Tank ooo mama! Tank ooo. Tank ooo." He insists "Ohm Papa's boy." Until I start hugging Carter and then suddenly, "nooo! Nooo! Mama's boy! Ohm Mama's boy!" He calls himself "daddy." Points to Nathan and says "Mama" and laughs. Then when I finally asked "who am I?" He smiled and said "uhmmmm. Teapot!" A teapot? How does he even know what a teapot is? But what is the most fun is when Will tells knock knock jokes. They are always the same, but they make me laugh every time. "Knock. Knock, mama." "Who's there?" "TV (or anything he sees or hears)" "TV who?" "TV nobody." He can barely get that last part out for laughing at his own hilarity.

Most people refer to 2 as "the Terrible Twos" and there are a lot of behaviors to justify that. Two year olds have lots of opinions, and they believe them to not be just opinions but facts. Will will ask me what a word is and I'll say "be." He will look at me in a very serious manner and corrects me "BY." I say no Will, this word is BE. He will then slowly enunciate "BY" for his poor, uneducated, slow mother. No matter how much I insist that it's BE, he corrects me because he's 2 and I'm not, and he knows. They refuse to wear appropriate footwear to correspond with the season or weather. And a 2 year old never, ever understands common sense when it comes in between them and their goals.

But, none of that matters. God knows that when you have a two year old, you will forget that first year of sporatic sleep, lots of paraphernalia for even the smallest trip, and trying to figure out if the baby is crying because he's hungry, wet, angry, or trying to drive you crazy. You won't remember the second year of saving their lives a hundred times a day; pulling their fingers away from light sockets, finger sweeping the coins out of their mouths, and frantic calls to the doctor after they have fallen down the stairs or off the bed. All of that is forgotten because two year olds can feed themselves, help dress themselves, sit in the bathtub unassisted, tell you what's wrong and what's wonderful. But best of all is when he can say, in that sweet voice, "I wuv ooo, mama."

Or, when he sticks his head right down in the toilet bowl and yells "BYE BYE POO POO" as he waves so long to his latest accomplishment. That's good, too.

It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas!

The Christmas tree is on the front porch. It's basically covering half the front door, still wrapped in the tree lot mesh. I am mostly just happy we have one. Carter left for school begging that no one decorates the tree without him. Of course no one is going to decorate the tree without him. Last year he unpacked all the ornaments, hung them on the tree, and I loved it. Sure, all the ornaments were below the equator and on one side of the tree, and largely hanging from about 5 branches. That's fine with me!

I admit that I have long grown out of the "just out of college/got it from the curb" variety of decorating. But when it comes to Christmas trees, I am more sentimental. I like colored lights because of the beautiful warm glow it creates. And because all white lights are used year-round now on every restaurant patio in the country. So, they don't seem so special. I don't want a tree that is just beautiful to look at, but full of ornaments that my kids have made, friends have given me, and others that have been passed down from my mom. While visiting a friend one Christmas, her mother explained that she had ditched all of her old, cheap ornaments and decorations and bought all new ones in the same color scheme. It was a lovely tree - for a hotel lobby. I suppose what I'm struggling to say is: I find the beauty of the Christmas tree to come from everything it represents.

A King. " A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse, ..."(Isa. 11:1)
A Savior. "And purchased my pardon on Calvary's tree." (My Jesus, I love thee)
A Light. "A light shines in the darkness" (John 1:5). History records that Martin Luther decorated a small tree with candles to illustrate how light shines through darkness (though it sounds like a serious safety risk). I love taking the kids driving around to look at all the lights; I love that we string lights all through our houses and yards in the darkest part of the year.
Tradition. Christmas trees have been traced all the way back to 7th century and all over the world.
Family. They can be a real family tree. Ornaments that are passed down, ones with children's baby hand prints, exotic ones from places you visited, tell the story of your family.
I can't label this last reason. Suffice it to say, I love the warm, fuzzy feelings having a colorfully lit tree gives a home. I can still remember sitting in the dark living room as a child and gazing at the tree and knowing it would only be there for a few weeks.

There are all kinds of Christmas trees and as I wrote last year, Nathan has been very creative in achieving the perfect form. My favorite is a real, Douglas Fir. One year, Nathan got a Scotch pine. I think it's because he liked the smell and is a Presbyterian Scotch-Irish himself. I was not a big fan of the Scotch pine. The aroma was over-powering and the needles pricked my hands when ever I tried to put ornaments on it. I finally gave up and Nathan decorated it with gloves on. And then all the needles shed to the floor on a daily basis I have seen plenty of fake trees that are nice, but assembling them is really more than I'm up to any more. Real trees require no directions, no fluffing of the branches, no disassembling. When Christmas is over, the Douglas fir is pulled back out the front door and left for the City's yard waste truck to collect it and make it into lovely free mulch. No storage space needed either. Real trees are just too convenient for me to consider a fake one.

By tonight, I hope our tree will be up, inside the house, and Carter can begin decorating.

Growing up, my mother hated putting up the Christmas tree and grew so tired of it being up, that it never lingered after December 25th. My dad loves to tell the story that he went to bed early on Christmas eve, woke up late on Christmas day, and MISSED the Christmas tree. It makes me laugh every time.

Where to begin?

I am having a hard time writing a blog these days. I just don't know where to start. I like for my stories to have a beginning, and middle, and a resolution. I find that just as I sit down to write something, more exciting things transpire and the paragraphs I've labored on have become obsolete. Plus, there's the pressure to be funny. Or poignant. Or at least self-deprecating. So, I've decided to just write stream of consciousness this time. It's what any good writing teacher would tell you to do. Just put something down to get the ideas flowing. So, here goes nothing:

First, Carter has learned to snap. I think one of his dear friends, Elizabeth, taught him how. It's bad enough that he has to practice snapping incessantly, but he also snaps like a lounge singer. There's a shrug of the shoulder and tip of the head. He only needs to learn how to wink, and he'll be ready to roll.

Will is going through a stage that his Mimi referred to as "the velcro stage." Every day he siphons more and more of my energy and sanity away by constantly needing to "hold you, mama." Oh, it sounds so sweet. It is sweet. But then I feel my eyes glazing over, my focus turning into the recesses of my brain, and catatonia setting in. One night, while simply trying to load the car to return to our house from Mimi's and Doc's house, Will followed me around crying and whining "No Mama. Hooooold you. Huuuug you, Mama. Hug you. Hold you." Mimi tried to explain to him that I was merely putting things in the car and then coming to get him. He clearly doesn't trust us any more.

Carter is loving Kindergarten. We recently attended our firt parent/teacher conference. The anticipation was horrible. I had no idea what to expect. Mrs. M had sent many emails praising Carter's sweet disposition and ability to follow rules. Clearly, she had two kids mixed up. She thought she was speaking to someone else's parents. But no, we arrived and she told us some amazing facts. She revealed that this son who crumbles to the floor in a toddler-like manner at the smallest rebuttal to his will is mature for his age. This child who has trouble following simple instructions like "please put up your shoes" though told no less than 3 times, is held up to his class as someone to emulate. The stunned look on our faces complemented by the side-long glances Nathan and I were giving each other were quickly recognized, and Mrs. M assured us that Carter is a very intellegent boy who is well liked by his peers. And he probably likes to sit at the table with all girls during lunch because he is more mature than the other boys. Uh, yeah, right. That's why.

Yesterday was Cassidy's family Thanksgiving lunch. Carter's class got to go to the cafeteria first. The children paraded in wearing their Native American tunics and head-dresses. Carter was the last child out of class and his face was that of a boy who'd lost his best friend. Though Nathan and I both inquired the reason for his sad countenance, he refused to offer any explanation. We wondered if it had to do with the skit the class would perform after lunch.

Monday, his teacher told Nathan that she had originally cast Carter as the donkey. When he said his part, "hee haw, hee haw" her aid and his special friend Addyson giggled. That's what they were supposed to do. It was a funny part. Carter got upset and so she changed him to the part of the farmer. I wanted get Carter to talk about it on his own and he didn't disappoint. He told me the same story. "When I said nee-haw nee-haw, Carrie and Addyson laughed. Then I sweated tears out of my eyes, but I didn't make any noise. That's when she changed me to Peter." I explained that Mrs. M probably gave him that part because it was funny and Carter's a funny kid. He seemed bewildered. I could tell that Carter doesn't understand the difference between laughing with him and laughing at him. I told him to watch and see if everyone laughs at the next day.

So, after lunch, Mrs M lined the children up and presented "Too Much Noise." The children were so charming. Each one said their part and seemed so pleased that everyone enjoyed their performance. Carter, however, spoke barely above a whisper. He seemed bashful and timid. When it came time for Marcus and Maya to say "hee haw, hee haw" the group laughed in delight. Carter immediately looked right at me and smiled. He got it. Then, it came to the part where Mrs. M read "And Peter was mad." Carter made his mad face, which it distinctive and dramatic. The crowd errupted and Carter quickly lost all expression and his cheeks reddened with embarrassment. I smiled at him and he rallied admirably. I told Mrs. M that it's hard to believe he can be so shy when he's so demonstrative at home. She assured me that neither does he act to timid among his peers and in class.

Will is a genius. I have been assured it's okay to brag about one's child when it's the truth. I'm sure that advice came from another mother who was bragging. Anyway, he is blowing my mind. It started when somehow, he knew most of his alphabet. I thought my mother was exaggerating when she said "I think Will knows at least 10 letters." Grandmothers are generous with praise, so I took it with a grain of salt. The next day, I was in the kitchen cooking supper and Will started gathering letters. After a I heard probably 15 letters, I just stopped and stared at him as he gathered the letters together. Now he knows 24-25 letters. And he also knows the sound that most of them make.

Then Will started saying his numbers. There is one book that he loves to read that counts up to 10. He will bring it to me, grab my hand, and order "Tount, mama. Tount." We usually have to read it 3 times. He knows all of this numbers between 0 and 10 but whether he knows them in order I can't say. He seems to know parts of them in order. 1, 2, 3. 7, 8, 9. But maybe not putting the whole thing together.

Finally, the other day at lunch, he said "wall words, peeese." Carter has a stack of sight words that we go over nightly. Each week he brings one or two new words home to add. A lot of times, we go over these words at the supper table. So, when Will wanted to go over them at lunch, I shrugged and gave in. I figured I would say each word and he could repeat it. My mouth gaped as Will proceded to tell me most of the words on the cards. If he wasn't sure, he would say "uhm, otts dat?" I would say "this word is 'here'." And he would respond "right, here." I was floored, to say the least. I called Nathan to tell him and he basically informed me that it was old news. He already knew Will was a genius. I have therefore, upped Will's tv time as a precautionary measure. Carter has already been noted as excelling in math; if I don't start now, they will be out-witting me by the time Will is in 4 year Pre-school.

And even though my boys are quickly out-pacing their dear old mom in IQ and physical strength, I love them more each day. Being their mother is by far the most challenging and rewarding job I've ever had. At least once a day, someone sweeps up Will in their arms and he beams his angelic smile and demands "aybody! aybody!" The rest of the family rushes in and we have a big ole hug. And everyone savors it.