Octopus

"Oh ah-ta-puss."

Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. Then she pulled an I and said "I iddlo," and I nearly ran outside to build her one.

I was talking to a colleague today about the joys of two-year-olds. Their vocabularies haven't caught up to their emotional range, and their dexterity hasn't caught up with their desire for independence. That could be a textbook definition of the terrible twos. Sometimes you just have to say, "Lyla, my love for you transcends this ear-bleeding hissy-fit you're throwing," then haul her up and football-carry her wherever you need to go.

After last night's bedtime kerfuffle, this evening we started reiterating the bedtime routine during dinner. "Then we'll go upstairs and put on pjs, and then brush teeth--"

"No bush teeth."

"And then we'll read books."

"Yeah."

"And then it's nigh-night time."

"No nigh-night."

"But first we need to put on pjs."

"Yeah."

"Lyla, can you say 'I go nigh-night pretty soon'?"

"I nigh-night pity toon."

Upstairs after the aforementioned routine, Lyla demanded that Julie leave a book in the crib. Julie obliged and left the dimmer switch just high enough for Lyla to see. "Nigh-night, Lyla." Shut door. Tiptoe away.

"WAAAAAAAAAH! Light off! Light off!"

Open door. Look in crib at toddler screaming and looking at book. Return room to inky blackness. Exit.

Silence.

If Lyla could talk better, she would've said, "No, I don't want to see the book. I just want to pretend to see it. Cuckoo! Cuckoo!"