Rollie's Greatest Hits

Rollie turns three next weekend.

It's kind of surreal to think that the chubby little baby who used to scratch the hell out of his head and babble non-stop and try to climb out of his crib has turned into a lanky little boy who scratches the hell out of his head and talks non-stop and climbs out of bed four times a night.

Lately I've been hearing the phrase 'Terrible Threes' being tossed around, and I'm starting to get a little nervous.  Terrible Threes?  I thought it was the Twos that were supposed to be terrible.  Here I was thinking I was finally emerging from the dark, foreboding woods of awful behavior, of sister-biting and senseless disobedience and hunger strikes, and now you're telling me that was the calm before the storm?  What's next, arson?  Am I gonna be visiting him in juvie on his fourth birthday?  Singing Happy Birthday to him through a mesh window?  Ay-yay-yay....

In all honesty, Rollie's Two's really weren't that bad.  Although after rereading some of my previous entries, I know there were definitely some days I'd rather not repeat.  Like the time he had me convinced it was Opposite Day because everything I asked him to do was met with him doing the total opposite (splashing in puddles, sitting on Elsa, peeing on the floor).  Or the time I screamed at him so loudly, I started crying at my own loss of self-control (and my throat stung for the rest of the day).  Or the time he was being super-whiny and I just thought he was being naughty and sat down beside him to tell him so and he threw-up watermelon all over my shirt.  Some days are best remembered as learning experiences, moments not to be repeated.  Like, ever.  Especially the watermelon throw-up moment.  But on the whole, Rollie has been a pretty good kid.  So far.

And while I'm sure this entry is going to play out like one of those Hundredth Episode, Let's Look Back On How Much Fun We've Had sitcom specials, I can't help but reflect on some of Rollie's more endearing moments as a two-year-old.

Like just the other day when we were walking around the Town Center and we passed a large German Shepherd-looking dog.  Rollie said, "I want to take off all my clothes and ride that dog."
"Why would you have to take off all your clothes to ride him?" I asked.
"So I could feel his fur."

Or when we were taking a walk and he tripped over his own feet and went sprawling across the sidewalk.  After I picked him up and dusted him off he said, "Thank you, Momma.  If you fell I would pick you up, too."

Or when Baby Elsa bonked her head on the coffee table and started crying, and before I could make it over to her and comfort her, Rollie was bringing her his beloved elephant blankie and saying, "Don't cry, Baby Els.  It's just a little bump."

Or the time when he asked me if I could cross...um...streams with him in the bathroom.
Or the time when he decided to start wiping his runny nose on Elsa's head.
Or the time when I found him waddling around his bedroom with both legs shoved through one pant-leg because he was determined to put his jeans on all by himself.
Or the time he noticed the Elsa didn't have a penis (She has a bottom, he concluded).

Or the time he was supposedly taking a nap and I walked in his bedroom to discover him missing both pants and diaper, sitting on the floor arranging his plastic animal figurines in a meticulous row, like a miniature parade was marching across his carpet.

Sigh.  It's all gone by in a flash.  And it's been so much fun.  Happy Birthday, kid.  I love you.