I most definitely have a two-year old.
A good friend called a bit ago and offered to come over and help me take the kids outside to play. I asked him if he would accompany us to the library, as I am quite desperate for new books for the kids. He agreed and so we went, and I was reminded of why the prospect of doing this by myself is so daunting: even with two adults (that’s a one on one ratio!) we were still a bit of a challenge to the library’s hospitality. Libraries are a bit like worship services and weddings in this way.
Jarrod herded (literally) while I quickly grabbed some books off the shelves, and we were about to get out of there incident free when Mercy had her first ever run-in with the authorities. A stern-faced woman in a police uniform approached Mercy and asked her to stop standing on the little bench that runs beneath the front window. Mercy looked like someone had punched her. Her eyes were as big as I have ever see them, and her face carried this blend of fear and shame that none of MY reprimands have ever warranted. She sat dociley until the woman left the building a few minutes later.
Right before we were about to leave for the library, I had received a flurry of phone calls concerning an urgent situation in our community. Mercy was sitting at her little table with her child scissors and some paper. At one point I looked down at her and saw that her table was covered in little golden curls. Mercy had decided that, in opposition to her father’s strong wishes, it was time for bangs. And of course she did this the week before she is supposed to be a flower girl in our good friends’ wedding.
Oh yes, I have a two-year old.