|They look nice enough|
I never thought it would happen to me; but my kids have arrived at that age.
They used to call it the "Terrible Twos," but I've read a lot of literature (okay, blogs) arguing that three is worse, and four is even...um, more worse. In any case, my formerly angelic 2.5-year-old twins have crossed the threshold. They've always had the capacity to be fussy, of course; but now, with their enhanced cognitive and language skills, they can do so with much greater focus and intention.
Some days are better than others; and even on their worst days, I forgive them by the time they've been asleep for a couple of hours. I even look forward to seeing them conscious the next day.
But some days are pretty bad, and I must say in all fairness, it's their fault, not mine.
The things they get hysterical about, the demands they make, and positions they refuse to back down from, are absolutely absurd. They want Mom to get them out of the crib, NOT DAD--or vise versa. They want the purple yogurt, NOT THE YELLOW. And they don't want it stirred. Or they do want it stirred. They both want to look at the same picture of lettuce on the grocery store circular. They both want to feed the dog. One wants to take medicine. One wants to be "nekkid guy" and streak through the house, leaving a trail of urine in her wake. One wants to drag a chair across the floor, climb on it, and wash her hands in the fish tank. They both want to see every step of the coffee-making process up close. They want the pink swirly straw, not the purple bendy straw; the big kid cup with birdies, not the sippy cup with Elmo.
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