Sigh. I'm now officially the proud-ish parent of a bona fide two year old. We've fully and robustly entered the "terrific twos" (as Phil and I promised to call them back in our idealistic days... oh how I long for those days...).
Have you ever taken a two year old to the grocery store? In the cart, out of the cart. Wanting to push the cart, wanting to ride in the cart, wanting to crawl under the cart. Putting things in the cart. Screaming, "APPLESAUCE!" every time he saw a jar of anything. And the final straw... when I asked him to put the ball back in the corral (parents, you know exactly the dirty, dirty marketing tactic I'm talking about) he smiled sweetly and said, "No, Mommy."
Followed by lots of wailing, screaming and tears (his, not mine) as I wrestled his little fanny back into the cart and finished my shopping to the chorus of Hems and Haws from the uppity single (and no doubt childless) folk in the produce department.
Capped off by lots of wailing, screaming and tears (mine, not his) once we got in the car.
It was TERRIFIC.