Last month Rowan turned two!
He got to celebrate with a few of his little buddies over milk and cookies, and....a balloon ball pit!
I learned my lesson from year 1 and made small cupcakes with non-colored frosting, much less messy than the last cake.
I can't believe our (biggest) little guy is 2 years old. Although it sort of feels like that second year vanished in a flash, it really was filled with a LOT of things. Hence, part of the reason I stopped blogging...no time...though not the only reason.
I almost feel like Rowan has been two for a while. He had his share of horrendous tantrums leading up to the big 0-2, (from about 19 months on, things got pretty rough) and seriously, it was like a switch the moment he hit the birthday mark he became his old self again....except that he can communicate so much better now!
Don't get me wrong, we still have times where we want to bang our heads against the wall.
Here's a post I wrote, but never published a few months ago:
Did I mention our move? We packed our bags and relocated to a little place called Tantrum City. It's not the nicest area and we're not planning on being permanent residents, but we're here now so we're doing our best to deal with it.
Rowan's fits actually began quite a while ago. Somewhere between months 16 and 17. We joked that he was so advanced, he was entering his Terrible Twos early. But all jokes aside, it's actually heartbreaking to watch our little cub go through this stage.
He wants so badly to be able to dictate his own life. He's trying hard to tell us this with his vastly improved communicative skills and us dimwits just aren't getting it through our thick skulls.
I think he must be thinking he got stuck with the most idiotic parents on the planet.
"Seriously guys, how many times do I have to tell you?! I want an "ijsje" {popsicle}! Are you stupid? I'm pointing right at the damn thing!"
I really feel bad for him. How would the rest of us feel if we told somebody "no" and they went right ahead and forced you to do it anyway. Not good, right? But on the other hand, this little guy {and us too!} needs his sleep and letting him stay up late to avoid the Hell-fire wouldn't really be doing anybody any good.
We're trying to pick our battles. If Rowan doesn't want to change out of his jammies shirt, then I just send him to school that way. I figure, what's the harm in that? Someday, he'll care about putting on a clean shirt, right? That's an easy one though. Last night was a tougher one. He did NOT want to go to bed. From the time we asked him to say "goodnight" he began a leg kicking, arm flailing, head butting, door banging, top-of-the-lungs screaming rampage that lasted for an hour. He got out of bed and opened his door about thirty times and was redirected back to bed thirty times, each time in adamant protest. Actually, the screaming fits, I can handle, {other than wondering what our neighbors are thinking}. It was the times when he would calm down and sweetly ask for something that I didn't understand and couldn't give him. THAT was hard. Hard to watch his frustration. Hard to reward his kindness, then punish his violence.
Then there's the ones in the middle of the night. Are they nightmares? Night terrors? Two-yr molars? Or does he just want to be up and he's not going to let up until he gets his way?
Hope this phase is a short one.
Here's a post I wrote, but never published a few months ago:
Did I mention our move? We packed our bags and relocated to a little place called Tantrum City. It's not the nicest area and we're not planning on being permanent residents, but we're here now so we're doing our best to deal with it.
Rowan's fits actually began quite a while ago. Somewhere between months 16 and 17. We joked that he was so advanced, he was entering his Terrible Twos early. But all jokes aside, it's actually heartbreaking to watch our little cub go through this stage.
He wants so badly to be able to dictate his own life. He's trying hard to tell us this with his vastly improved communicative skills and us dimwits just aren't getting it through our thick skulls.
I think he must be thinking he got stuck with the most idiotic parents on the planet.
"Seriously guys, how many times do I have to tell you?! I want an "ijsje" {popsicle}! Are you stupid? I'm pointing right at the damn thing!"
I really feel bad for him. How would the rest of us feel if we told somebody "no" and they went right ahead and forced you to do it anyway. Not good, right? But on the other hand, this little guy {and us too!} needs his sleep and letting him stay up late to avoid the Hell-fire wouldn't really be doing anybody any good.
We're trying to pick our battles. If Rowan doesn't want to change out of his jammies shirt, then I just send him to school that way. I figure, what's the harm in that? Someday, he'll care about putting on a clean shirt, right? That's an easy one though. Last night was a tougher one. He did NOT want to go to bed. From the time we asked him to say "goodnight" he began a leg kicking, arm flailing, head butting, door banging, top-of-the-lungs screaming rampage that lasted for an hour. He got out of bed and opened his door about thirty times and was redirected back to bed thirty times, each time in adamant protest. Actually, the screaming fits, I can handle, {other than wondering what our neighbors are thinking}. It was the times when he would calm down and sweetly ask for something that I didn't understand and couldn't give him. THAT was hard. Hard to watch his frustration. Hard to reward his kindness, then punish his violence.
Then there's the ones in the middle of the night. Are they nightmares? Night terrors? Two-yr molars? Or does he just want to be up and he's not going to let up until he gets his way?
Hope this phase is a short one.
