It really is a nice life, this being a toddler. No matter what I do, no matter what kind of mess I make, there’s always someone there to clean it up.

Let’s call them the servants

They try to pressure me, persuade me to clean my mess up – but I smile, laugh, feign a lack of vocabulary, and slowly back away. What they don’t know is I’ve been silently paying attention to every conversation they’ve had, since I was a tad over six months old. I understand exactly what they are talking about.

When they ask me to clean something up, I simply shake my head. “Me? Do any kind of household work?” I scoff to myself. “Of course not. There’s plenty of time for that later. I’m two.”

My dad thinks playing “blocks away” as he likes to put it, will be as fun as actually playing blocks. Not without a little imagination. That’s why I like to turn it into a high stakes basketball game and pretend I’m Shaquille O’Neil from the free-throw line, with a less than 50% free throw average. One at a time, I either get them in the box, or I don’t. I can milk this game for the rest of the night, given the option.

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Head of the household

Funny thing – dad thinks he’s the head of the household, but mom and I know better. He might not even be the head servant, but I’ll leave that for mom to decide. Just the other day I had dad running to the fridge three times to find me more to eat with dinner. He kept asking for specifics, but the simple demand “MORE FOOOOOD!!!” kept him busy for a while, while I smiled at mom.

Dad laughs and jokes that he is going to hand the phone to me when the next telemarketer calls, asking for the head of the household, but I think he laughs because he knows it’s true. If he didn’t laugh he’d probably cry.

What they don’t understand is that I’m bored

The toys, books, movies, dog, cat and other distractions around here simply aren’t enough. When I dump my blocks on the ground, I want to play with my crayons. When my crayons hit the floor there’s nothing left to do but ask the servants to read books. Sometimes I feel like they don’t really understand me, but that’s not my problem. I simply resort to a handy temper tantrum. Every kid should know how to throw one.

It’s not just dad. Sometimes mommy likes to remind me that she’s in charge. But she’s usually doing this from the other room while she cooks a meal I’m probably not going to eat. My standing here is pretty safe. Overall, the accommodation is good. The meals could come with a few more courses, and you could stop scolding me for talking in my crib after you turn out the light, I’m just having some fun. But I think I’ll stick around awhile.

P.S. For those who believe these notes were written at a higher than toddler level, I’ll have you know that I’ve read all the greats: Suess, Silverstein, and even Good Night Moon literally thousands of times.

P.S.S. These notes will need to come to an end now. “MOMMMMMYYYY, DADDDDDDDDYYYY, I HAVE TO GO PEEEEEEPEEEEE!!!”

Watch them run!