Born To Run

I think two year olds are like a good romantic comedy -- you laugh a little, cry a little, and there's a whole lot of drama... all in the space of ninety minutes. We go through many rounds of extremes each and every day, which is SUPER fun. I honestly, honestly do appreciate how hard Molly works at trying to figure her world out but I do NOT understand why wiping her nose is met with histrionic wails and dives into the corner. I also appreciate how helpful she would like to be but would like to ram my head into a wall when I've explained for the ninety-eleventh time how I don't need horseradish or relish to make spaghetti sauce so could she please stay out of the refrigerator and no, I don't need baking soda either so please close the pantry door while you're at it. I also do realize that I'm beginning to sound like a broken record; luckily for anyone who is still reading this, she only has another six months of being two. My mom likes to call being two "magical" and while I'm not ready to do that (unless we're talking about it feeling like we're in a magical land where I don't always know the rules), I still will not cave and call them the terrible twos. I honestly love so much of this time... and just wonder where my instruction book is so that I can learn how to wipe a runny nose without having to dig thirty pounds of dead weight out of the corner.

Truly, though, the sense of humor on this girl is killer -- she is so funny. She also continues to live life with gusto (another term my mom coined for her and is really accurate) and I love her spunk and her dive-into-it attitude. She is at that age where she is spilling over with ideas, connections, memories and she always wants to know where people are and what they are doing. We never lack for conversation (and I can't get away with an uh-huhs or absent-minded hmmms and oh yeahs... it's all or nothing with her. I've learned to not to go the route of the nothing, too, or else she finds some other way to get my attention) or songs or hot diggity dance moves (during our breakfast, she usually sings "I'm shaking my boo-ty, I'm shaking my boo-ty"). Even during the day when the crazy comes out to play more than usual, the day ends with her telling me that she loves me and really, you can't beat that at any age. I want to bottle up her confidence and her flair for living and give it to her during those doubtful teenage years. I wish she could remember this time in her life and how much she likes herself and doesn't feel like anything needs to slow her down. I'm hoping that sometime, when she's 14 and hating life that she comes back and looks at the pictures of herself with the wild hair, a big grin, and odd sleeping positions and knows what a cool cat she really is -- now and then.

she actually can be really helpful sometimes... and likes to peel garlic, which I hate to do. 

and then there are the not-so-helpful times like when she has found a highlighter in her room and drawn hash marks on any exposed skin after she has gone to bed... and we, of course, have to be up and out early in the morning. 

it took me approximately six months to get Molly to try on her tutu from Nana... and if she hadn't spilled some dinner on it, it might have taken me six months to get it off her. She has added ballerina to her occupations (and loves her ballerina book from Christmas where it shows how to different dances. She does not follow any of the directions accurately but she sure thinks she does). 

finally, finally... the crafter in her is coming out. 

her most important job? Big sister, of course.