Patience and the lack thereof.

My boy turned two today.

Metaphorically, that is.

He turned the actual two about two months ago. But today TWO arrived.

It started about 1AM this morning: wouldn't go back to sleep. Comes in our bed. Tosses and turns and doesn't let us sleep. Doesn't let me sleep. Finally falls asleep. I'm still awake and go out to the couch where I still can't sleep. When I finally fall asleep, I waken to the sound of he and his sister padding down the hallway.

"She's in here," my daughter says, the lucky winner.

I cringe and sink into the blanket I've hastily thrown over myself. My eyes have sandpaper lids. My mouth tastes like smoke.

They pile in on me and with me. Sweet and cuddly, I forgive all momentarily.

Moments later I am in waitress mode: movies, breakfast, blankies, etc. By 10 AM, Finn has been in time-out, a tool I'm gathering is losing effectiveness rapidly, three times already for various offenses: hitting his sister, hitting me, and the other one I can't recall but I'm pretty sure it was your typical toddler fare. Non-punished offenses, though thoroughly irritating nonetheless included throwing a tantrum while being dressed, throwing food while eating and throwing me for a loop.

Sweet, sweet Finn, where are you?

I am in a heap with the lofty goal of a shower while everyone else is at the market. I know there were at least two moments of voice raising and then, on his way out, he tried to run into the street and received a certified stern talking to by his father, who was scared out of his mind and pissed off to boot.

So, 11:02? Where do we go from here? I am heading to the shower to calm my nerves and wash my hair. I am hoping to emerge a new woman with bottomless patience and good humor. Or at least clean hair.