Putting My Foot Down

I have made an executive decision: My kids are not getting any older than they are currently.

I've obtained promises from both children.

Elliot turned 2-years-old yesterday.

I've grown all nostalgic, looking through photos. Besides Elliot's hair -- which looks the same as it did a year ago since his father secretly shaved his head recently -- he's grown up too much.

I can't bear to post baby photos of my baby next to his 2-year-old photos, it hurts my heart too much.

We did all the things we do on birthdays: Woke up to a room filled with balloons, ate donuts, partied the morning away at some mall play place, returned home for much-needed naps, and had cousins over for dinner, cake and presents.

Elliot seemed to enjoy the day.

Jane even more so, since she kept telling Elliot what he wanted (he's too good-natured to contradict her ... that and he has a limited vocabulary).

(He was dressed on the day of his birthday, he just got dinner all over himself, Picasso style.)

This Little Man is still my love. He loves to snuggle and loves to be held, which I likely indulge too much.

He is such a helper. I know if he comes into the kitchen and sees me with my apron on, he puts his apron on and grabs a chair to help. He puts the clean dishes away, vacuums, picks up his dirty clothes and always clears his dishes.

He loves his Goggy (monkey blanket), his Cars, his "Anie" (Jane) and his "Da-dddy!" But mostly, he loves his Mommy.

I could just kiss his (and Jane's) face(s) all day long. And I commonly do (it's a mother prerogative).