If there's one thing I can't stand about toddlers (and, while we're at it, older babies -- I'm looking at YOU Molly), it's the whining. So much whining! But I've discovered a new way to deal with Mr. Whiny McWhinerson in my house. Lately, whenever he starts up the full force whine, you know, the one that starts liquefying your brain within seconds, I simply turn around, give him A Look and say, "NO. MORE. WHINING." And then I go back to whatever I'm doing and the two-year-old is sort of stopped in his tracks, looking at me curiously, wondering who this strange new creature is. As if to say, "HEY, where is the coddling?"

He IS starting to catch on. He's beginning to realize that my firm no-nonsense voice did not ACTUALLY relieve him of his whining skills. But I'm still enjoying the confused (and, I admit it, slightly wounded) expression. Maybe he's also beginning to realize that he's getting to be a Big Boy who knows the words for "help" and "please" and "cookie" and maybe if he used THOSE once in a while he might get better results.

Jack turned two on Sunday, and that was poor planning, wasn't it? Turning two on Mother's Day? Which is why we had his party on Saturday. Like I am going to SHARE Mother's Day.

I can't believe I have a two-year-old, you guys. I mean, when we were discussing this whole baby thing, my daydreams never got past, oh, nine months. Walking? Talking? And (heaven help me) potty training? Yeah, never thought about it.

But now I have a TWO-YEAR-OLD who is proving all the scary two-year-old rumors true, and he's officially kicked me out of New Mom territory. His second birthday also means I no longer get to use "two under two" as an excuse for... everything. Like the state of the house, the fact that we don't go anywhere, the eyebrows that have needed waxing for over a YEAR, etc. My go-to excuse is no longer valid and I find that incredibly perplexing. What will I say now?

Something happened to Magoo on his third birthday. As he collapsed into an exhausted coma on my lap after a fun-filled day at Disneyland and slept sweetly through the singing and the candles and the cake, some crazy switch of three-ish mischief flipped on in his head. He woke up a new man and he hasn't been the same since.

When Grace was just about three, she started talking about monsters and a general fear of the dark at bedtime. Being a clever nerd, I decided that I could override the irrational fears of a toddler. I set to work.

One night after stories and lullabies, she offered, "But there are no monsters in here."

"Monsters," I said. "You like monsters! Who are the monsters you know?"