So Henry has turned two. I mean, he turned two, what, six months ago? But in the past few weeks he has become a full fledged, tantrum throwing, toothpaste tube squirting, hitting, biting, resisting any form of sleep two year old.
Flashback three days ago, entire tub of fish food flakes - teeny, tiny, smelly, REALLY smelly fish food flakes all over Ellie and Quinn's room, pillows, beds, train table, floor and rug. I guess I should just be glad they weren't all poured in the tank with a very bloat-y dead fish floating on top. This fish is new to the Brown household - Ellie has been begging for a pet for months, and in some guilt ridden moment of softness, I succumbed to buying a fish. And a tank, sparkly gravel, a small castle and several fake plants. His name hasn't really been established - floundering (!) between Baby Dolphin, Annika, and several others I can't remember. It's kind of Ellie's fish. I hope it lives a while. I don't think I could add fish death to my plate right now. The guy at the store said they are pretty indestructible. I told him I had four kids four and under, and wasn't so sure. So far, so good.
Anyway. We've had toothpaste squirting incidents, pancake tossing (entire box of 48 frozen pancakes on the living room floor), Desitin cream mishaps, you name it. Henry is officially in his squeezing and dumping stage. I was in E&Q's room last week, and I hear "cchhh, cchhhh, ccchhh." I said, "Henry!", and out from under the bed flies Quinn's inhaler halfway across the room, after being squirted (not into his mouth) about 8 times. He gets into childproof locks. He climbs to the counter in search of treats and lets himself out of the house. Ah!
When I have yelled at him (yes, I've yelled at him - not proud, just an admission), he pats me, and says, "It's ohhh-kay..." in the funniest soothing way that it makes me laugh every time. Or when he came down, covered in Extreme Clean Aquafresh, he said, "MMMMmmmm. Mommy. Really good. Really minty. Yum. Smell."
|Exhibit A - part of the sugar that was dumped.|
Henry's spoon found next to the bag.
He's finally talking in multi word sentences. On a 10 minute out of the way trip satisfy both my needs for coffee, and to keep Max asleep, we went to a drive thru Starbucks, and he said, "No Starbucks. Mommy already have coffee home." I love hearing his words. His stories, his songs. He tells the same knock knock joke about 56 times. Knock Knock. Who's there? Dunkin. Dunkin Who? Dunkin milk and cookies sure tastes good."
I do, however, wish he threw a few less tantrums. And maybe a few fewer pancakes.
Max had a rough few weeks there, looking adorable as ever, but not as adorable in the evenings, from about 6-10 when he would scream bloody murder. Quinn used to do that, too, so I kind of knew what to expect, but sweet jesus, when you've been up since 4am, taken care of three other kids who are threatening to report you to child services for giving them the wrong color spoon, 3-4 hours of SCREAMING is about what it takes to throw one over the edge. The good news is that he has turned a corner. I think. He has started to settle himself down a bit better at night. And he likes to rock. We don't still have our rocking chair, though, so I sit in bed and sway back and forth. With a glass of wine. At least he's smiley now, and though I'm pretty sure he may take longer to hold his giant melon up, I know he will turn out just fine. Even if he is a crier.
|Miro? Or just Quinn.|
|Medusa, by Ellie|