Terrible twos take five.
Jack’s birthday coincided with the Christmas decor going up. We were careful to avoid placing any glass ornaments on the lower half of the tree. We were not so careful to avoid setting an enormous present, begging Jack to climb on it, under the tree.
Naturally, he climbed it, grabbed the first glass ball he could reach and chucked it onto the hardwood. To his delight, it shattered into a thousand pieces. So he did it again. And then he started tearing open the present upon which he had stood moments before.
Not five minutes later he found a few more interesting looking “balls” (pinecones) forming a centerpiece on our table and did what any little boy would have done: threw them one-by-one as far as his little guns could throw them.
It was adorable. What is it about the youngest child that transforms a mother into a see-no-evil, hear-no-evil creature? I laugh just about everything off when it comes to him because I know he will outgrow this phase with all it’s obnoxiousness.
I know one day I’ll sit in a rocker in my spotless home wondering how the chaos of raising children had managed to slip through my fingers. I’ll miss it, no doubt. The kids, not the mess, obviously.
Childhood is so fleeting. So I’ll gladly sweep up shattered ornaments and rewrap giant presents for a few more years of this face.
