MAH Boy

Joel has discovered the word "mine." This is right on target for a two year old, and especially unsurprising for a second born.

He has had items of great importance--bottles, pointy sharp tacks, pharmaceuticals---ripped out of his hands with no regard to his own desires to drink, electrocute himself, or trip the light fantastic.

I imagine him in bed, late and night, stroking his chin and mumbling, "There will be a reckoning for this. Oh, yes!" 

Thus far, his nefarious revenge plot mostly involves the redneck battle cry of "MAH TRUCK!!" It doesn't matter if it is toy or real, it is MAH TRUCK and one best recognize, bi-otch.

Sometimes he mistakes the "T" in truck for "F." Hilarity ensues.

When he is not claiming the trucks in the world, he is getting fabulous. Owen was never one for dress-up. In fact, any attempts to do so were met with wailing and finger-pointing.

As you can imagine, Halloween is awesome.

Joel, on the other hand, changes his clothing two or more times a day. I watch him, feeling like a duck who hatched a flamingo: "I don't know what to do with you, but aren't you fun to watch?"

Here's typical Joel couture. Part of him "making it work" is to have Lightening McQueen be the classic staple of all outfits.  I can't explain the pose, however.

Another treasured item is the apron, which he always dons when playing at his toy kitchen.

And then, there's this. My sweet boy, emerging from his baby cocoon with gusto, but with quiet moments of grace as well.

He sits at the table for sometimes a half hour at a time, drawing.

He talks to himself as he creates, saying, "Momma, Dadda, Ow-Woo!" He points to the scribble which represents each person, and smiles to himself. Even when in his own world, he is still firmly in ours.