For the Love of Two-Year-Olds

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My father asked me how old my son was today. It was not that HE couldn't remember, rather, he was trying to remind me after I had done a bit of complaining about the state of my den floor.

"Two" I answered as the realization of what he was thinking sunk in to my overtired and very frazzled brain.

This is my third two-year-old child. I know all about the "Terrible Twos" and "Terrible Threes" (also known as TERRIFIC Twos by some!)

My baby is now halfway through the second year, and his nickname has the word "Destructo" in it.

Or maybe hurricane is a better description. Tornado? He is the whirlwind of bouncing-off-the-walls energy combined with the amazing ability to empty drawers and cabinets at the speed of light, going from room to room, only stopping to throw all my pillows and cushions on the floor or pull his sister's books off her book shelf or dump a bowl of cereal or a hamper.

He is a climber, a yeller, a jumper , a runner, a feisty little thing full of his favorite word "NO!" He needs his shirt changed and his boo-boos kissed hourly.

He is also one of the MOST ADORABLE PRECIOUS boys I have ever seen. His smile can stop me from opening my mouth and spewing the unthinkable words that just want to pour put of me.

His voice can melt any tension that started churning in the frenzied state of cleaning this mess.

His eyes, well, any Mom knows what the beautiful innocent eyes can do to us. Talk about unconditional love.

Two is a wonderful fantastic age of self discovery and pushing boundaries. The inventor of the refrigerator lock knew this (and I'm on my second one with him alone).

Two is one of the sweetest ages EVER! Really. I like to look for the positive, to know that life just goes by so fast and this precious age is to be appreciated, for all it's worth.

New words are learned and spoken from my little guy daily.

He does the happy dance when he sees his Grandma and Grandpa, he waves to the garbage men with uncontained joy, he piles onto my lap with fifteen books and a few stuffed puppies and cuddles in between my legs and arms, a perfect fit that every Mother has the privilege of knowing.

He can buy that extra hour at bedtime each and every night by saying "MUH-MO" (one more) after each story I read.

He can shout hurray at seeing a cookie, or throw a green bean 18 feet across a room , but one thing he cannot do is sit still.

He prefers to watch his train movies while jumping on the couch or climbing on the bay window. Some people may call this hyperactive or put a label on it.

To me, it's called "Two". And I'll take it.

This is an article I wrote three years ago. Fast forward to a bright and amazing Kindergartener. Still active but not as destructive. Still gorgeous. Still feisty. Still one of the rulers of my heart.

And re-reading this article, I have to say, I really MISS that two-year-old and everything about that age!

At five, they're no longer babies. But they are still as precious.

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