Two

At two, you are busy.
You are basket-pushing, block tossing, busy.
You are running - circles in the kitchen, darting through department stores, sprinting to our neighbor's house and back, and there again.
You are drawing and dancing and going - going - going
until at last we tuck you in.
Tight -
because we know,
even the night can not hold you.

At two, you are a charmer.
You are smiles in the morning.
Waves from the window and
hugs, a-plenty.
You are giggling, flirting, talking -always.
Saying more with the flicker of your eyelashes
than most adults say all day.

At two you are a
Spaghetti-faced
pudding-fisted
bedheaded
Mess.

And at two, you are mischief.
You are crackers on the couch
and clothes behind the dresser
Broken ornaments on the tree
and laundry on the floor.

At two, you are my excuse
for homework pastdue
for dinner's not made or dishes not cleaned
for being late...anywhere.

At two
you are my greatest distraction
and my favorite pasttime.
My source of frustrated tears and belly laughs.
You are my trouble, and my triumph.

And I love you.

Happy birthday, Boss.