“Let me just go and wash my paws”, my two year old girl said. She got her chubby lil self off the chair and went in search of the sink to wash her ‘paws’.
Two year olds come out with the sweetest things, so I sure am glad I have a two year old.
People call that age the ‘terrible twos’, but with both my kids, I have always found the age of two to be the most precious. It’s that precarious teeter between full consciousness and that soft, plump existence in baby-land. The most innocent thoughts breaking their way into coherence, making their acquaintance with the realities and facts of life.
“Gentle with your baby cousin, L”, I cautioned her the other day, “you might hurt her.”
“Yes,” she said, “If I hurt her she will broke, won’t she.”
And then, in the same breath, “Mama, I really need to wash my beard.”
Chin. She meant chin.
Ocean Bream 