Last night while I was cleaning the kitchen and Chloe was drawing on the chalkboard with her daddy, I heard her say to him, “Daddy, you’re driving me crazy!”
Wow! Out of the mouths of babes.
In slow motion my husband turned around and looked at me with a confused expression. I returned that same confused expression as we silently wondered to one another, “Did you teach her that?”
Nope, it had to be from daycare. I laughed when I asked Chloe’s daycare provider about it, and she said that she’s pretty sure that she’s said it to her son “because truth be told, he does drive me crazy sometimes. Sorry!”
I totally got a kick out of her keepin’ it real!
There are two things in this life that I am now convinced:
1.) When it comes to all the reasons in the world for laughter, I believe that life with a two year old far surpasses them all.
2.) Two year old’s are exhausting, man. I mean, I’ve got the cutest, little pocket-sized two year old with a seriously adorable personality who still somehow manages to kick my butt at least once a day, give or take a day. That energy, I tell you, it’s something, all right!
This past weekend carried it’s usual fair of toddler entertainment, and there were a few moments that still had my husband and I laughing into Monday morning.
I must confess that I am fighting one brutal chest cold with a bark like a walrus (which is awesome and super-duper attractive) so my energy level is definitely waning. However, I find this cold to be an excellent excuse for letting my child’s imagination run wild on the home front as well as the following sucker-consumption which ensued.
You’ve been forewarned.
First things first, my daughter Chloe (aka Little Bean, Beaner-boos, Baby Girl, Baby Goose, Stinker-doos, etc.) turned two on October 22nd, so I’m a little behind here. Surprise, surprise.
I tried taking her 2-year old photos myself a week ago, and I tried everything from pulling out the giant stuffed gorilla that she drags all over the house to bribery by means of dum-dum pops, which turned her disdain for photos and declarations of “No pictures, Mommy!” into a skippity-do-dah, giggly sugar rush stroll through our yard that seriously rivals a fly on Red Bull.
I’m not saying I’m proud of myself for the suckers (to be honest it goes against my very dedicated unprocessed food approach for Little Bean), buuuuuuuuuuut a girl’s gots to do what a girl’s gots to do, and suckers did the trick, folks. All that to say, if you see the vast majority of Chloe’s 2-year photos of her with a sucker in hand, don’t judge me (photoshoot to follow in a separate post). As we’ve established, it wasn’t my finest hour.
Ahem, I digress.
So back to the beginning…to the good stuff…to the laughter. If I were to journal the weekend, it would look something like this…
4:45 a.m. Saturday morning: Chloe wakes up. Claims to be ready for the day. In denial, I assure her that she wants more sleep. Denied. Through the fog, I hear her saying something about being “hungry.” I make pancakes (whipped the egg whites separately…all fancy and stuff) only for her to not touch them. Fail. Then, she giggled, asked me to hold her, and I melted. All was well with the world.
7:00 a.m. Saturday morning: Husband finally rolls out of bed. Scolds me for “letting” Chloe wake up. Some silliness about how I should have put her back to bed. You would have thought that I had set my alarm for 4:45 a.m., and then prompted her to wake up. By the way, what’s an alarm clock anyway? I’ve forgotten.
11:10 a.m. Saturday: Chloe falls asleep in her high chair right smack in the middle of lunch. Poor little peanut and daylight savings just cannot come to terms.
The rest of the day was a bit of a circus between encouraging Chloe not to shred cotton balls all over the floor to laughing so hard at all of the cute, new expressions she’s throwing out. Her daddy’s favorite is when she says, “Stay here, daddy. I’ll be right back,” and then takes off running down the hall to retrieve some toy that she’s thrilled to show him.
My favorite is when she gets all serious, holds up her index finger and says, “Just one more, Mommy.” Clearly, she’s imitating me trying to bring story time, sucker time, Curious George time, etc. to a close. Just one more book, just one more sucker, just one more Youtube video of that irresponsible monkey!
Or…perhaps, even better was a moment last week when Chloe ran her hand over the new layer of hair that has finally begun to cover her bare head and exclaimed, “Mommy, I’ve got hair!” I just smiled and said, “Yes, you do, baby girl. Yes, you do!”
Still coughing like a walrus. Awesome. Still chasing my giggling toddler in circles around our island in our kitchen just to hear her laugh.
4:45 a.m. Sunday morning: Chloe wakes up. Ironically, again claims to be ready for the day. Something about daylight savings being a joke. My voice is almost gone, but she’s making up talking for both of us. I’ve been taking a lot of videos with my iphone these days just so I can hear that little voice throughout my day when I’m away at work.
I’ve also discovered that Chloe has fully embraced the phrase, “No, thank you.” Who doesn’t like good manners, right? Of course, it’s usually used in this context…
Me: Chloe, would you like to get dressed?
Chloe: No, thank you, Mommy.
Me: Chloe, please let mommy know when you need to use the potty.
Chloe: No, thank you, Mommy.
Me: Chloe, it’s naptime, honey.
Chloe: No, thank you, Mommy.
I have never heard any single phrase used as many times as I heard “No, thank you,” used this past weekend by my baby girl. She was testing the waters with it, liked the way it rolled off her tongue and quickly it became her response to everything. I’ve got to admit, though, somehow her rejection of naptime is kind of cute when she responds with a sweet, “No, thank you.”
3:00 p.m. Sunday afternoon: Chloe recites the whole alphabet song at snack time from her high chair. It’s the first time I’ve heard her sing the whole song. Woot! Woot! Little Bean knows the entire alphabet song!
3:30 p.m. While cooking in the kitchen, out of the corner of my eye, I see Chloe, blue chalk in hand, coloring the white trim in the dining room, all while keeping her eye on me the whole time, just waiting for me to notice. When I ask her what she’s doing quickly followed by asking her to STOP what she’s doing, she bolts around the corner. Blue chalk still in hand, she peeks out from around the corner and then proceeds to color the wall with her chalk.
I run over towards her to retrieve the chalk, but since the words “stop” and “no” have lost any sort of effect, she takes off running, drops the evidence (chalk) into one of my tall boots and takes off into the kitchen giggling. It’s now clear that she thinks this is a game, but there’s a lesson to be learned here. The problem is that I can’t stop laughing.
Soooo, I hide behind the corner in order to gather my composure, struggling to wipe the smile off my face and put on THE MOM FACE. You guys know the face. Of course, in reality, it was a failed attempt to sternly address the coloring on the walls business, so I let it slide (refer to waning energy level above).
Little Bean = Roughly a million
Mommy = 0
4:00 p.m. Chloe says that she wants to play with our dogs Peaches and Oliver. I say, “Go for it!” While trying to whip together dinner, I hear a squish-squish pitter patter around me. Thinking to myself, “I don’t even want to know what that means,” I look up to see a set of little wet foot prints encircling my kitchen island, which leads me to a pair of soaking wet socks on a soaking wet Little Bean…which in turn leads me to the massive puddle of water and mushy dog food swimming on the mud room floor. Sooooo, that’s what she meant by playing with Peaches and Oliver. She literally took a bath in their dog dish. Does that make me a bad parent?
Toddlers, I tell you. They will make your heart melt like no other, and, then, THEY WILL BREAK YOU. It’s amazing really.
What more can I say? It’s an exhausting job some days, but, holy smokes, it is so worth it!
Since she was 19 months old, Chloe would say, “Bless you,” whenever I sneezed (I sneeze a lot…darn allergies). Even while holding her to my chest in the darkness of yet another middle of the night waking, when I would sneeze, that little face that should’ve been asleep would look up to my face and quietly say, “Bless you.” Even still this week, as I’m putting her to bed and I’m coughing until my chest aches, with each cough, she says, “Bless you, mommy.”
No, no, bless you, sweet girl.
I. just. love. her.
And, I just love this business of turning two!
Happy Friday, gang!