Two.

Ohmygosh the tantrums.

Right in the morning. When I've just barely exited my morning hypnagogia (Dictionary.com word of the day holler!), and what I'm dreaming of is coffee, making breakfast with my sweet son, and maybe even being able to sit down and read or write for a few quiet minutes. But that has been a far-fetched reality lately it seems, as all of the following have a 50-50 chance of throwing Aeli into a serious fit:
 -Saying no
 -Changing his diaper
 -Running out of eggs/bananas/graham crackers

So this morning, it's "NO DIAPER! NO CHANGE DIPE! WHYYYYY???!! NO NO NOOOOOOO!!!!!!" and rolling over and kicking on the changing table. And me losing my motherly warmth and issuing time-out through clenched teeth. I still had to get the diaper on though, so wrestling ensued.

He does apologize, and usually comes back around. I don't know if it's molars or just the developmental difficulty of being two ("I recognize I am an individual. So why can't I have everything I want?"), but I will not allow it to permeate the year.

That said, I'm exhausted by it and sometimes feel like I just.can't.deal.with.it.any.more.

Thank god Nicole and Erin are around to step in. This is what Nicole said to me when I thanked her and apologized for leaving her with him screaming on the floor as I went to go shower:
-"It's cool, we'll just hang out here and have a tantrum."

Zen.

Fifteen minutes later he is playing in front of me with a tiger mask:
"Aeli so scary?!"
(Takes off mask)
"Aeli no scary anymore."
(Puts on mask)
"Aeli so scary!"
(Takes of mask)
"Ow 'bout now? Aeli no scary more!"

I absolutely love, and am mystified by, this creature.

Avant-Garde Early Years?

Sometimes, during all the Daufilmey shenanigans we host here around the compound, I wonder if Aeli will roll his eyes, or worse, complain to his therapist, about all the strange hubbub. But I hope that he'll consider the unique context of his early years special, like this kid does. His parents run an unusual art gallery out of  their garage in suburban Illinois.

I hope we can keep this trend of non-normalcy going as Aeli grows. It would certainly be beneficial to us all.

"Aeli made that!"

When watching this video, Aeli grabs at the screen and says, "Aeli made that. Aeli have that more? More gingerbread? Have it?"

Also, we haven't taken down our (living, potted) tree yet. I'm not very motivated to. Why not keep a large plant in your living room? Especially if it's decorated with a lot of homemade or nostalgic knick-knacks? And things that are shiny!

I may have to give in to the passage of time, in order to make room for Mardi Gras. The season is upon us, and plans are in the works for some giantish creations. So maybe we'll move to tree out to assemble our elephantesque Jenga game.

We'll see.

Gingerbread

A Mayan Temple, 2012

We're pretty health-conscious. Hence the sculpture of processed sugar.

Every year, Grandpa Mike gets carried away with elaborate gingerbread sculptures (read: 3 foot tall Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Space Needle, The Polar Express, Gaudi's Casa Battlo...). The oohs and ahhs of the neighbors are nice, but my sister and I have outgrown our base love of anything brightly colored and made out of sugar, so the eating the thing has lost its appeal. Not to mention that sometimes the hours our dad spends Dremmel-tooling slabs of gingerbread- while the rest of us chat or watch It's A Wonderful Life- cause us to roll eyes. So this year, we urged him to scale-down, and make something Aeli could easily decorate. (One year we did a pirate ship. You heard stuff like this from Dad: "And you gotta watch out here, 'cause the Crow's Nest is only supported by this beam down here and this frostinged toothpick.") So, in honor of the world not ending (or: a new cycle beginning) the Mayan Temple it was.

Aeli loved it.