Jeffrey just turned 2 a couple of weeks ago. I don't know yet if that's good or bad, aside from the fact that he is potty training and we are almost done supporting the Kimberly Clark Company. The older he gets, the more mischievous. And it's not like he's really trying to be mischievous. He just does things that would mortify any bystander who would surely label me as a failure in motherhood and wonder why I don't jump at everything he does.
For example, he likes apples. If he is a typical finicky 2-year-old on a typical 2-year-old diet, at least I have this much going for me, that he will ask for and eat an apple. Although by now, he is well skilled at helping himself to what he wants and he gets the apple himself. Sometimes, he will decide he wants this particular snack when we are outside. So he will follow one of his brothers inside and return with his healthy snack, only because his efforts at getting it sliced were fruitless and he needs assistance. Fruitless efforts in slicing his fruit. Haha. See that? I just made a joke. He will come to me with his apple, and halfway through it is the apple slicer, kind of crooked. Apparently his 26 lb. frame can't yet muster enough strength to get the slicer lined up and get the apple into pieces. But you have to give him credit for trying. I suppose it's in our favor that the slicer is more or less on the duller side than sharp or he would have probably sliced a finger or two by now.
If toddlers display more of their independence at or around age 2, then he has yet to claim this rite of passage. I love him dearly, really I do, but it's hard for me to realize his independence and wanting to keep up with his brothers when so much of the time he is practically stuck to me like a Band-Aid. Lately, I have had to start locking the bathroom door just to get two minutes to pee alone. But now, he has even figured out how to take that away from me, too. He goes and gets the scissors, strategically pokes one of the ends through the tiny hole on the doorknob, and Voila! The door is unlocked and he freely enters, laughing at his accomplishment. These scissors are also dull, although I shouldn't be surprised if he ever tries to give himself a haircut with them, as he'd probably get them to cut every fistfull of hair he can hold.
He lets Koda out a lot, unbeknownst to me. No secret who Koda's best friend is these days. If our yard was fenced, I probably wouldn't care and in fact, would welcome these excursions given to Koda on Jeffrey's behalf, but it isn't and Koda likes to go exploring. We already lost our first dog, Mousse, to this unfortunate characteristic of curious dogs in a hit-and-run accident and it is not something I want to experience ever again. So Koda gets an escort, at least until we put the money up for an invisible fencing system. But Jeffrey, he will just open the door and send Koda off for a jaunt. I will ask where Koda is and nobody will know, and I eventually ask Jeffrey, "Did you let Koda out? Is Koda outside?" "Doda ousside," Jeffrey will tell me. By now he knows I am displeased when he does this, but he is always honest when I ask. I will go to the door, call for Koda, and Jeffrey will echo my words and actions. "Doda! Um!" And he'll smack his knees and try to whistle.
He likes to play jokes on me. One of his favorites, which happens to be one of my most frustrating, is to unplug the vacuum cord when I'm vacuuming. Then he'll run away laughing. After about the third or fourth time, I slap his hand to show I am not at all amused. He will hold his hand, mortified at what I've done and as soon as my back is turned, will go pull the cord again. Apparently seeing me get angry is worth the brief sting on his hand.
Terrible Twos. Terrific Threes. Or is it Terrific Twos and Terrible Threes. How about Terribly Terrific Toddlerhood?
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