Well another year, another visit to the fat man.

And this year you didn’t cry, but you certainly didn’t have any fun. In fact, you sat on his lap and didn’t move a muscle. You wouldn’t look at Santa, wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t move. We handed you jingle bells and you held them as if you were a mannequin.

And we’ve talked about Santa. In fact, you’ve even told us Santa “comes down the chimney to come and say hi to you.” Just as long as he doesn’t touch you…

You can open your bedroom door all by yourself.

And I know that the full ramifications of this are not yet realized. Right now, it just means that as soon as we get you out of bed in the morning and after nap, you beeline it to the door, say “pittoe pile” and leave. No more cuddles and reading books. No more rifling through the drawers for the right outfit. Nope. We’re two and we don’t have time for that kind of crap. We’ve got some playing to do.

However, this does mean that we plan to keep you in your crib until you’re about five… or 15.  Nothing personal, but I can’t sleep with one eye open.

It was during Thanksgiving dinner that I saw you do this for the first time. You have this little Piglet stuffed animal (you call him Pigylet) and you were bouncing him around pretending that he was playing in the pillow pile with you, playing with your blocks, etc. But on this occasion, you actually talked to Pigylet like he was something real. It was utterly fascinating; you would look at him, give him a kiss and say “Good night, Pigylet” and put him in a box. Wait a few seconds. Open up the box and say “Pigylet!”

We had seen you put little toys into blocks and pretend to drive around in cars and boats, but this was the first time you had talked with an object. Then the other morning, you and I were playing hide-and-seek in the pillow pile. You’d duck under the pillows and say “I’m hiding!” and I’d pretend to look for you in the cupboards, closets and around the house. Then a few minutes later, you were sitting in a toy box and I saw you with Pigylet and a little toy duck. Pigylet would duck between two objects and your little duck would say “Pigylet, where are you?” and then “There you are, Pigylet!”

Simply because I haven’t figured out how to stop time, it seems you just keep growing up. I suppose the reality will hit one day when you’re off to preschool and I’m still running around the house saying “Is he in here? Asher, where are you?”

I can’t say that potty training is in full force yet, but we did head to the store to pick a couple up for you. We secretly hoped that magically we’d bring a potty home and you’d drop your pants and use it. And, magically, we got to the store and you saw the one you wanted. You pulled your pants down right in the store and sat on it.

No doubt about it, this was the potty for you:

The Pillow Pile. The World’s Greatest Thing Since Sliced Bread.

You love the pillow pile. Pittoes, as you call them. You can run and jump and crash into them. You can hide underneath them. You can put toys in them and try to find them. In your world, there is nothing better than the pillow pile.

You shit in your tub for the first time.

It was on Daddy’s watch, thankfully. He said you were like a magician: as you took a crap, you distracted him by coloring with markers on the wall. When he turned back, he saw it floating there… then had to sit and listen to you point and say “icky” from outside the tub as he cleaned it up.

There isn’t a photo quite like this one to illustrate you.

It looks fairly ordinary, except for the fact that this was taken at the bookstore during storytime, obviously right before Halloween. Storytime is usually uneventful and fun for you; you can color with crayons, listen to the story and enjoy yourself. However, for this event there was a group picture. And you had to stand next to the other kids. And, as you often do, you refused to make eye contact with the main camera. We can even see Alyssa’s arm gently holding you against the other children… and she said you just sat there frozen, not looking at anyone, waiting for this moment to end.

Ah, little boy. They won’t bite… well, okay, some will.

This year’s Halloween costume was decided on mainly because of the hat. At first, you wanted a top hat, but we couldn’t find one that didn’t sit on your shoulders when we put it on your head. We found this clown costume that had a top hat of sorts, and after purchasing a second alternative hat and a horn, we were sold.

We actually got a lot of mileage out of this costume. We took you to the Pumpkin Patch where we were able to select from a wide selection of previously frozen and rotten pumpkins! It was officially decided then that you don’t like crowds. At all. This was your overall take on the Pumpkin Festival:

You clung to Mommy and Daddy like a little monkey the entire time. You weren’t thrilled with your wagon and it was going to be a cold day before you walked on your own.

You did wear hat #2 to the Pumpkin Festival, as seen here before we headed into the crowds:

You actually had a great time on Halloween night. We practiced a lot that week saying “trick or treat,” so when it was time to perform, you did a great job. By the end, you were so pleased to have gotten lollipops, you wouldn’t shut up at each neighbor’s door, were grabbing fistfuls of candy and almost walked on in and made yourself comfortable at the last house.  It’s amazing, isn’t it? People just give away candy!

You are quite a shy little guy, although you are slowly coming out of your shell. But, because you don’t go to daycare, we decided to sign you up for a bunch of classes over the winter to get you around some more children. The first class was Creative Movements… which turned out to be you surrounded by a sea of pink tutus. Unfortunately, the instructor also teaches the Pre-Ballet class and didn’t teach “Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” as we had expected; instead she had some strange Nutcracker Suite curriculum she created. Not to worry, our displeasure has been duly noted with the Rec Center.

You didn’t really care, of course. This was your first class full of children and interaction. Your first weeks were difficult and Alyssa would find you sitting in front of the mirror sucking your thumb. You didn’t really want to do much with the other kids, and you would refuse to hold hands and march in a circle.

By the end of the six weeks, you were a completely changed little boy. No awards were given, but Alyssa and I agreed you were The Most Improved Student. At your last class, you listened to every instruction and held hands to march around the circle – to the sounds of big cheers from all the moms!

Here you are, listening and playing the drums with your piece of felt:

Waiting patiently to get your scarf:

With the other students, pretending to paint the door with your scarf:

So proud of you, little one. Take a bow.

It has become a running theme: we start off at class a little shaky, but then end up being the best little boy. We also had a weekend swimming class with Mommy and Daddy. There aren’t any photos of that because Mommy was in a bathing suit and cameras are not allowed under those circumstances. When we first started swimming, you like the splashing part, but wasn’t so keen on the floating part. However, at the last class, you sat on the edge of the pool with the instructor. Put your hands over the top of your head. Let her grab your hands and dove into the pool with her and swam to Mommy. It must have been the applause, because that entire class was clapping and  cheering you on — and you had the biggest grin on your face!

The Olivet household has a new member. Meet Enzo:

Aaaah… look at him… isn’t he sweet? Yeah… one time, Mommy found him dragging a two-pound roast – which had been marinating in a bag on the counter – across the floor of the kitchen. He also likes to take the kitchen sponge, only to abandon it in random places around the house. Oh, and he won’t stay out of Mommy’s plants or off the counter. Other than that, he’s just a joy!

Needless to say, Enzo’s name is most commonly followed by “no.”

You like Enzo, for the most part. I guess it’s more like you tolerate Enzo. You’ve tried to pick him up, arms squeezed around his waist, his tail pointed directly into the air, head dangling at your feet. I suppose that means he tolerates you, too. It seems lately, though, you’ve appointed yourself The Enzo Cop.

At the very sight of Enzo, no matter what he’s doing, you start the sentence “Enzo not…” Sometimes you even have to pause to think about which rule you will enforce. “Enzo not on the counter.” Good. “Enzo not on the ground.” Confusing. “Enzo not on the blanket.” We need to learn to share. “Enzo not over there.” You’ll need to be more specific.

Most of the time, you’re spot-on. I can simply grab the squirt bottle and aim it the direction you’re facing and the problem is solved.

Now, the only lesson left is that his butthole is not his bellybutton.