Category Archives: terrible twos



The last thing I remember was running through an airport with a group of friends trying to catch a flight to Paris.  We were late.  There was thunder and lightning and a shit ton of rain.  The airport was HUGE and one of my friends kept stopping to take pictures of herself to upload to Facebook, which was seriously annoying because we were going to miss our flight.  Then she sprawled out on the dirty airport floor and asked me to snap a couple shots of her because she neeeeeded a new profile pic, like, right that second.  She wouldn’t let it go and get up off the floor.  UGH!  Fine.

That’s when I heard the clicking sound.  It was happening every few seconds.  Click-click.  Pause.  Click-click.  I thought it was the shutter sound from the camera but then I slowly opened my eyes and registered the whole Paris-airport thing had been a dream.  But the clicking was still there.  I thought it was coming from outside my bedroom window.  Then I heard it again, followed by the unmistakable sound of my son’s quick yet heavy footsteps. Oh no.  I realized the clicking had been him fiddling with his doorknob, trying to open the door.  I looked at the alarm clock and it was 5:15 am.  It was still dark out.  And he was headed for his sister’s room to wake her up.  I shot up out of bed to stop him because I couldn’t fathom starting my day at 5:15 am.

I got to him in time and led him back into his own room.  I cut off all his protests about wanting to get up and go downstairs and put him back in bed,  saying that it was still dark out and everyone was sleeping and he had to go back to sleep for a little while.  I turned on his music box, put his blanket over him and left the room.  And (thank God) he stayed put and went back to sleep.

At 7:30 on the dot, he was back up and in my room. I knew there was no way he could be talked back into his bed so I dragged myself out of mine and followed him down the hall.  He woke his sister up and bounded down the stairs.  I went down, got them some juice and made myself a cup of coffee, listening to him run back and forth through the downstairs and wondering how he could possibly have the energy to go from sleeping to hyper that fast.  I gave them their juice and had a few sips of coffee.  My daughter was requesting a cheese stick, which I told her was not what she was having for breakfast and please, please, stop talking until Mommy has had her coffee.  But she kept going on about the cheese stick, so I just ignored it.  Then I looked over into the tv room at my son and he was curled up on the couch with his juice, eyes half shut, falling asleep.

Well that must be nice.  Hmph.




My kids’ vocabulary improves, like every single day.  They speak in sentences, which I find amazing.  I mean, how is it that these little people were able to learn a language in such a short time?  Six months ago, they barely spoke at all.  And now?  Eliza adds as many words into her sentences to make them as long as possible.  And she sings!  She makes up songs with the names of everyone she knows.  It’s usually to the tune of  ‘Twinkle, Twinkle’ but sometimes, not.

Two nights ago, I got them corn on the cob to go with their dinner.  It’s their favorite and their eyes (Especially Eliza’s eyes) positively lit up when they saw it on their plates.

(This is where it gets a little gross, just so you know)

The next morning, Eliza told me she ‘poopted’ and as I was changing her diaper, I was all like, “Gross!  There’s corn in your poop!”

She looked all confused, so I showed her.  Then I taught her to say, “I poopted and there’s corn in my poop.”  She practiced over and over and then we called everyone she knows so she could say it over the phone.  I could not stop laughing.  It just sounded so funny when she said it.  We called her Nana and her Babci and her uncle and her Daddy and she said it to all of them.  They were like, “Um, Ohh, okay.”

Can you see where the title of this post comes in?  My sense of humor hasn’t really matured from fifth grade.  And actually, it is more the sense of humor of a fifth grade boy.

So later, the husband and I dragged the kids to Lowe’s because our air conditioning busted and we were trying to find fuses for the compressor, which, according to my husband, someone stole right out of the box since last year.  So we’re in line, waiting to pay and Eliza was talking to the old man in line behind us.  I hear her talking about how her brother is a “bad, bad boy!”  And “that’s Mommy” and ‘Daddy went to the car.”  And next?

Next she says, “I poopted and there was corn in my poop!”  Halfway though that sentence (which I heard in slow motion), the little voice inside my head was going, “Nooooooo…”  as if it were trying to prevent a stack of expensive china from crashing to the floor.

The man looked horrified.

Luckily, she went from that to the next non-sequitur without missing a beat, though the man was in the process of backing away from her by then.

Mom voice


I’ve been doing a lot of yelling lately.  It’s so constant that I’m afraid my kids are going to start hating me.  My throat actually hurts from it.  I could list all the things my kids do to make me yell but anyone with kids probably knows all the things a two year old (or two) can get into.  Let’s just say that my two year old twins seem to have a death wish.  Or a wish that their mother go completely insane.  I don’t know which.

Before I had kids, I used to picture myself as the mother of twins (yeah, I really did).  The twins in my fantasy were toddlers, only slightly older than my kids are now.  We would be on outside on the lawn, dancing around and laughing and we’d all sort of fall into a big heap, still laughing.  And neighbors would walk by or look out their windows and think what a fun mom I was.  You know why that would never happen?  There are a few reasons, actually.

Number one, unless my house was surrounded by an electric fence and/or a moat, Jack would have darted far, far away before any such lawn dancing started.  I would pick up Eliza and go chasing after him, screaming, Stop Right Now!  Do you want to go back in the house?  Get back here! and he’d keep running like he didn’t hear me.  I would eventually catch up and grab his arm and he’d fall and cry.  I’d be out of breath and sweating from sprinting after a toddler while carrying another toddler (because if I left her there, she would be gone when I got back).  Then I’d try to get them both to walk back and they’d fall lifeless to the ground in protest.  I’d drag them a few feet and yell some more to get (the f*ck) up or we will go back in the house!!!

At that point, my mood would have deteriorated and I would more or less drag them back to the lawn and insist they play like normal children, while I sit on the ground and try to ignore them.  Kids are like cats when it comes to being ignored.  They want nothing to do with you when you want a hug or a snuggle, but the second you feel like if you’re touched just one more time you’re going to FREAK, they decide you’re a jungle gym and while they’re climbing you, hey, wouldn’t it be fun to tangle their sticky fingers in your hair?  Then Eliza would probably start one of her repetetive requests (I’na cheese stick, Mommy.  I’na cheese stick.  I’na cheese stick, Mommy.  Cheese stick.  In the kitchen.  I’na cheese stick.  Cheese Stick!) and Jack would run away again.  Sigh.

So the mom voice.  It’s loud.  It’s obnoxious.  The kids hate it.  I hate it.  I don’t know how else to say things though because they don’t listen.  They do things like put the end of a plug in their mouth or try to play frog on the stairs or rip the blinds right off the windows.

I truly miss the days when I could put them in a jumperoo and leave the room for a minute.  I can’t leave the room at all now, because it takes them all of 15 seconds to get into trouble.  It feels a lot like the inmates are taking over the asylum.

Don’t get me wrong, some days with them are great, lots of fun even.  Today is just not one of those days. :/