The Spawn, comfortably at 2 and a half, is a nightmare. He screams and claws you when he doesn’t get what he wants, he bites, he kicks, he’s spoiled and knows that if he screams in a grocery store we’ll get him what he wants, he puts all of Dad’s hair gel in his hair, takes our phones (Sometimes out of our pockets!) and deliberately smushes food on the floor. He comes up with devious plans to get what he wants, such as screaming until we come running and then running to jump on the electronics we’ve abandoned, or using chairs to stand on in order to reach high things. He’s also very fond of the “No,” game, where he yells “No!” and we go “Yes,” and then he says “No!” “Yes!” “No!” “Yes!”
No is his new favorite word.
However, he’s also really, really cute. It’s possibly the only reason we haven’t drop-kicked him out a window or something, because he is annoying. He’s cute in that, for one, he’s starting to talk in full sentences, so he’ll say “I need water,” in his cute little lisp-y baby voice, or he’ll “read” books out loud by pointing at all of the things in the pictures and saying what they are, or he’ll sing along to his favorite songs. Once, we were watching Frozen, and Griffin had wandered off, and then the Let It Go song came on, and immediately we hear a little scampering, and he bursts through these little folding doors belting “LET IT GO! LET IT GO!” with his hands flung up in the air, jumping up and down and dancing.
He is absolutely convinced that he is a teenager, because there’s an 8 year age gap between him and our other younger brother, so he’ll do things like put Xan’s headphones on and slam on the computer keys, pretending to play Minecraft, or demanding to wear Chloe’s lipstick. We usually just give him chapstick, but he still thinks it’s so cool. I’ve told you before about how he puts hair gel in his hair, and he puts on our shoes, clumping around in them and giggling. He also insists on being very independent, such as pulling his own suitcase, and he copies Dad. When Dad’s talking, Griffin will repeat the last words of his sentences, and he makes phone calls whenever Dad does, with a calculator held to his ear.
He also likes to bake with me, which is Very Not Helpful but really cute and fun. He insists on pouring all of my carefully measured ingredients into the mixing bowl, although lately he’s gotten unnervingly creative, such as carefully ladling tablespoons of flour into the bowl when I’m occupied with something else, or dumping salt into it. Every time I start pulling out ingredients, he squeaks with excitement, pulls his chair over to the counter, and demands, imperiously, “Spoon!” He means the measuring spoons, so I usually let him fiddle with them while I get ingredients out.
He rules the house and he knows it. Gotta love those two year olds, right?