2-Year-Old Brain

Tres is very two. Very.
Tres is very two. Very.

Sometimes living with a 2-year-old is like having an angry foreign exchange student in your house — limited language skills combined with many passionate gestures. Other times you want to lick them up like a lollipop because they’re just so sweet.
And sometimes you go from one extreme to the other faster than your brain can really comprehend. It’s like riding the Gravitron at a county fair. You’re pinned into a situation that is covered in filthy germs but also offers a compelling amount of fun. Fortunately, 2-year-olds don’t come with carnie tattoos and a smoker’s cough.


Our particular 2-year-old has been cracking us up the last few weeks. Perhaps you’d like to take a peek into our exchanges?


The other morning, Tres was wearing only underwear but sporting a wedgie. “Honey, you have a problem with your underwear,” I said.

“I know. It a tuggie,” was her matter-of-fact response.

“I’ll help you fix it” I said as I reached over and secured her underwear across both sides of her bottom. I decided to make an attempt at getting the child clothed. “Why don’t you go put your pajamas back on, you must be cold!”

She had a quick reply: “No. Way. Hooo. Say!”

I acted shocked and said, “If you keep talking like that I’ll eat your belly button off!”

She was completely unconcerned by my threat. “That OK. I put it back with sticky tape.”


Then there was her Christmas present, a canister of Double Bubble.


I don’t know why gum is like crack to her, but she’s a preschooler with an addiction — likely an intestinal stoppage thanks to all the pieces of ingested Hubba Bubba.


Shortly after Christmas, Tres pulled out two pieces of her Double Bubble but her Daddy told her she could only have one piece at a time.

“But… I like two piece bubble gum!” She told him, batting her blue eyes furiously.

“I know, but that’s too much for your mouth – only one piece, little girl,” Lizard told her.

She immediately responded with a very, very concerned expression,  pleading eyes, and pouting lips.

“But… if I not eat two pieces…” she paused for dramatic effect, then dropped her voice to a whisper, “… I die…!”

This afternoon we splurged and went to the Olive Garden for lunch. She got macaroni and cheese with a fruit cup full of grapes.


Tres was having a difficult time staying seated and already on thin ice when I watched her start playing with her ramekin of grapes.

“You need to stop playing with that or you’ll make a mess and be in trouble,” I warned her.

She didn’t care and kept doing exactly what she pleased, a trait I’ve found is common among youngsters of this age group.

“Alright, if you won’t listen I need you to give the bowl to me,” I told her while holding out my hand. Her ramekin was filled with about six extra large red grapes.

She looked at me with big eyes, thought about my request, and began stuffing grapes in her mouth like a chipmunk hoarding for the winter. Once she’d gotten all six grapes in her mouth, she obediently handed me the empty ramekin.

When she smiled, all you could see were grapes.

Final story of sassy 2-year-old antics, tonight we were getting ready for bed. I’ve initiated a new policy that if they have dirty clothes strewn around their bedroom we will do our prayer time but the kids can’t tell jokes.


Yes, the jokes are the highlight of the evening. Completely lacking in humor, but a highlight, nonetheless.


When we got to the kid’s room tonight it was mostly clean… except for the clothing Tres scattered around the room, presumably to add ambiance as only a pair of red tights and Dora the Explorer pajamas can!


Lizard and I were trying to decide if we would skip jokes because of the clothing when we noticed Tres in her crib, holding a small rock to her ear.

“Mama, Dada!” she bellowed at the top of her lungs, “We tell joke?!”

“What are you doing?!” I asked her, my ears still ringing from the extraordinary volume of her previous statement.

“I calling Mama Dada on my phone to see if tell joke,” she said. “Ha, ha, ha!” I should mention “phone” is pronounced “foam” in our house these days.


I hope you’ve enjoyed this four-stop-tour of the insanity of our lives with this little girl. We love her, that’s for sure!


What is your favorite age of a child? Why?



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