Two

I've been calling Eleanor "my moptop," as she peers out from the overgrown thicket of her blond bangs, but her behavior is rather more Ramones than Fab Four these days. We are in the thick of Terrrrrrible Twos, with "NO!" her favorite word, "I WON'T!" her favorite quip and "AAAAAAAHHHHH" her favorite song. Today I had a sweet sweet cup of the delicious irritant that cuts my patience off at the root. There was lots of yelling: "Stop ringing the doorbell and come inside!" "Pick up that chalk! "Stop Crying!" "What Do You WANT!?"

Maybe you are reading this and clucking, "Oh that's hard. Try counting to ten before you yell. Or you could just go in another room to blow off some steam and come back when are calm." If that's what you're thinking, I hate you.

Or maybe you are thinking, "Oh that's hard. Can I come over and take your little imp away for the afternoon?" In that case, I love you. Not that I could actually let you do this, but I still love you.