Running Wild

Sam turned two last Sunday, on Mother's Day, which means a lot of things around here.

Firstly, I now know how to clean ball point pen off of wood doors, and am getting good at cleaning crayon off walls. I also know that when Sam says, "Rwaock" when he's leaving for daycare with his dad some mornings, it means he wants to "walk" to the car himself. And I know that when he closes the doors to the armoire that houses the television, he wants me to put on music really loudly so we can have a dance party in the living room.

I've danced more in the last six months than I have in the last six years.

The kind of dancing I do with Sam is actually perfect for me. It's silly, goofy, almost ironic. Dancing normally makes me feel like a fool. Dancing with Sam makes me a fool, and that's the point. It works for both of us.

Lately, little super-active Sam and I have been playing out on the sidewalk some afternoons. We walk along the street in front of our neighbors' houses, and sometimes he stops dead in his tracks. For a milli-second. Then he kind of swings his arms and yells, "Ggooe!" And then we run. We do these little 15-meter dashes down the sidewalk, me chasing his little silliness.

It's pretty fun hanging out with two-year-old Sam. Sure, we have our moments—some longer than others—of fits and stubbornness and...still taking up to 90 minutes (though sometimes 20) to go to sleep in the big boy bed at night, but this little person and all his new words and personality traits is really fun to get to know.

Happy belated Mother's Day, everyone.