And this is why they call it the terrible twos

The boy hit the floor, crying, the moment he and his mama stepped into Target.

The boy ran away from his mama at the park to chase ducks. Repeatedly.

The boy ran away from his mama at home to run right into the street.

(The mama's legs and back were getting tired.)

He spit out the carefully chosen prescription to help his constant straining cough.

He spit it out again.

And again.

Timeouts wouldn't work.

Timeouts in between tries to get the boy to take medicine didn't work.

(The mama gave up trying and went to soak his medicine-stained shirt.)

The medicine-sticky boy played in the dirty cat litter box. Cat litter stuck to his sticky skin.

(The mama angrily gave the boy a quick shower.)

The boy didn't want to eat a carefully prepared lunch.

(The mama unceremoniously put the boy to bed for a nap.)

The boy napped...

...but not for long.

The boy wanted to play. Without wearing a diaper.

(The mama put the diaper back on.)

The boy took off the diaper again. Then he sat on his mama's lap.

(The mama tearfully washed a stinky brown spot off her pants.)

The boy chased the cat and pulled her tail. Repeatedly.

(The mama spent an hour cooking dinner while trying to cheerfully play with the boy.)

The boy ate a handful of food, then raced cars across the table.

(The mama and dad tried to cheerfully play with the boy doing what he wanted to play.)

The boy didn't want to sleep. He purposely head-butted his mama while she was trying to calm him and rock him to sleep. The he bit her.

(The mama called it a day and unceremoniously put the boy to bed for the night.)

The boy threw his drink across the room.

The boy didn't sleep until 10:30 at night.

And that is why his mama didn't blog yesterday.