Terribly Two

What do you like to do on your birthday?

On my birthday, I like to spend time with my family, and go out to eat for a nice dinner that I don't have to cook while Cael and Graham fight about who is allowed to chose red as their favorite color and Adler sneakily unloads a box of elbow macaroni onto the kitchen floor.  What's even better is that I don't have to clean up that birthday meal as the dog licks bits of food from dishes used three days ago and Adler sneakily unloads a box of elbow macaroni into the floor vents.

Adler seems to have alternative birthday preferences, though.  Yesterday was my little man's second birthday, and although we celebrated last Saturday, I've been taking notes so that I can build him his perfect birthday next year.  So far, this is what I've been able to determine.

Adler's ideal birthday breakfast is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, minus the bread.  No need to omit it, however.  He is happy to scoop the contents out with his palm and then dry his hands in his freshly washed hair.  Clean hair makes for clean hands, you know.



After breakfast, there's nothing like a good poop.  At two, he is just becoming aware that he is executing this stinky deed but not yet able to control it.  So while yesterday he may have leaned stiffly against a bookshelf for five minutes before a green breeze wafted through to my bedroom, next year I will allot five minutes for him to sit comfortably on his potty chair.

Or maybe fifteen for me to shampoo the carpet.



When it comes to gifts, Adler is very astute.  He will consider what you spent and how much thought you invested before throwing your expensive gift on the floor and running to claim ownership of the two dollar afterthought item you included to fill your gift bag.  Or better still, the bag or bow itself.

Next year we will simply avoid big ticket items.  This year I overlooked the fact that large gifts made from plastic or wood are terrifying, nightmarish creations that will undoubtedly kill us in our sleep.  It was very kind of Adler to remind us of this reality.



My sweet boy was quite indifferent to his birthday cake this year.  Even I didn't know how I planned to decorate it until the frosting was smoothed and ready to be covered in fondant.  Because Adler is not able to verbalize his preferences, I considered what he loves and tried to develop a plan, but I didn't have enough fondant to depict the acts of dumping out baskets of clean laundry or removing frozen items from the freezer and leaving them around the house to be found, spoiled, two or three days later.

He would have to settle for a Goodnight Moon cake instead.  I was very grateful for Graham, who pointed out later that I never actually put the moon on the cake.

Maybe next year Adler will be able to berate me regarding tell me himself how he would like his cake decorated.



Judging by his birthday this year, Adler really enjoys being two.  He is adept at screaming in a restaurant loudly enough to ruin the experience for those dining around us, but not so much as to alert the authorities.  He is manipulative enough to gently caress my face and lean in for what I expect to be a kiss but instead smack me across the cheek with an audible thwack.

So next year when he turns three, I will kiss him when he's sleeping, and open a bottle of Jack Daniels when he sneakily unloads a box of elbow macaroni in the shoe closet.

Happy Birthday, Adler.