Two Tough

I was feeling rather guilty about missing my Monday run. The weather was warm. Weeelll...warm-ER. And my two little ones were constantly bickering. Over toys. Over food. Over personal spaces.

That's it! We're going outside for a walk!

So I piled the two of them into our double stroller and off we went to the library, two miles away. It was chillier than I had expected, but at least the sun was out. My girls aren't as light as they used to be, but at least it was all down hill.

By the time we were at the library, Elle, who has not been feeling well, took a turn for the worse, and just wanted to curl up in the stroller. And Cee reminded me just why we stay home so much and wanted least to be strapped in some stupid stroller.

And then I realized we had two miles yet to walk back home. All uphill. And it was past lunch time and moving into dangerous territory...Nap time.

Hoping to help the situation, we stopped at Taco Bell on the walk home. Just one more bad decision in a line of many bad decisions. Elle didn't feel good and didn't want to eat anything. I shouldn't have been eating anything. And Cee...she just seemed bound and determined to scream about everything. We left the restaurant in a red-faced hurry with one hand clamped over Cee's open mouth and the other clenching a Pepsi that I planned to medicate my embarrassment with once we were home. (Tsk, tsk. Using soda as a coping mechanism? Yes. Live and let live.)

As we walked the last 0.7 miles home, I pondered the paradox that is a two-year old. (That is, I worked very hard to remember that she is only two years old and therefore, not purposefully trying to drive me insane, and should therefore be allowed to live.)

The two-year old. Gleefully happy one second and miserably frustrated the next. Delightful and demonic. They want to use the potty, but still aren't sure if it's to go to the bathroom or to play sailboats. Some days it's constant cuddling, others it's increasing independence. Two naps is too much; one isn't nearly enough. One minute I want to squeeze her, the next, I want to "squeeze" her.

It's bipolar meets foreign language meets stuck in between a crib and a hard place.

It's just so darn hard being two. Though for whom depends on the da--moment.

And then I remembered.

There's still age three.

Guh.