Two

Kathleen is two. Do you know how I know she's two? It's not because she had a birthday yesterday. Oh, no. She's acting two, that's how I know. The fuss factor has increase exponentially. She's two, so now it's one-year old fussiness squared (hand to head in a swooning faint).

She's definitely asserting herself. Let me list some examples:

When we get into my car, she wants a couple of minutes in the front seat to push all the buttons and pull all the levers. Don't deprive her of this or she will scream. In public. And all people within ear shot of that scream (I assure you, it's quite some distance) will naturally assume that you are abusing your child.

When she wants a doughnut, she wants it now, not later, and she wants the big one. She will tell you the moment she sees the container "I want big" (obviously my daughter).

Do not deprive her of the opportunity to put herself into time out. If you do, even if you're on your way out the door in a desperate but futile attempt to leave early enough to allow yourself abundant time to drop her off at daycare and still get to work on time so you don't need to work through lunch again, she will skip time out altogether and throw a tantrum. And then you'll be later than ever because it's nearly impossible to strap a child in the throes of a tantrum into a car seat.

When she says "Mimi's butt" (where she picked this up, I don't know, because we never say butt), give her a diaper because Minnie Mouse needs to be changed. Do it now, or she will become upset and put herself into time out. You will then feel guilty because not only are you setting potty training back another week by not acknowledging that she recognizes the concept of a wet diaper, but she wasn't doing anything to warrant a time out in the first place.

Hide the chalk if you don't want to go outside right now, because if she sees the chalk she will insist on using it immediately. It doesn't matter if it's Saturday morning, 30 degrees, and you're still in your PJs with a half finished cup of coffee in your hand and breakfast still heating on the stove.

That's our daughter: a perfect, little character. Do you know what? I love it.