more on two

He is an enchanting child. And it has been a magical two and half years.

Despite recent descriptions of the preschool edition of what seems like a confused adolescent, there is not a day – maybe minutes, but not a day – that passes when Andy and I do not note how lucky we are to travel the twos with Tucker.  There are minutes that are hard, and occasionally we complain, but mostly we delight in following the path he takes growing into himself.  Much of the time he leads the way, creating and executing activities -- lining up rocks, for example, or building towers with found objects (today it was make-up and bar soap from the bathroom cabinet).  His style feels slow, but his message is clear: we have all the time in the world.  And I wonder whether we do.  I hope so.
Tucker is primarily in the business of being awesome (for brevity, approximately 823 awesome anecdotes have been omitted from the blog this month alone).  He is also in the business of trying to share and trying not to whine and asking lots of questions and using the toilet and saying thank you and cleaning up his own messes.  And we’re in the business of rejoicing in his happy smile, the one he seems to calibrate especially for us, the one that makes up for whatever he lacks in other emotional mechanisms. 
At two and a half he’s still built a little like a side of beef, heavy as a sack of Quikrete, Grandpa says.  I can hear his footsteps two rooms away and know by the rhythm they keep whether he’s glad or distressed, whether he has a fever or is hungry.  I tilt my head and snag his gaze, listen to him speak, try to meet his request without being distracted by sparkling brown eyes, by brows that practically float up to his hairline.  I stroke his head and kiss his cheek and think about all the ways he'll forever work his magic on me, but mainly I just revel in the great joy of calling him my son.
JEB