Oliver at Two Years, Two Months

My middle child.

My tender-hearted, silly, people-person.

Oliver amazes me daily. He is, arguably, the most thoughtful two-year-old that ever was. I know, I know, that sounds like a bit of a mommy exaggeration. Maybe it is. But I am constantly blindsided by Oliver’s concept of family, brotherhood, friendship, and fairness.

Not once, but twice today, he was more thoughtful than me. Oliver and I were shopping for kids shoes in a department store while Emil slept in the carrier and Milo was at school. An employee offered Oliver a balloon, which he took graciously while whisper-yelling “Thank you!” Not missing a beat, Oliver turned to me with a concerned look on his face. “One for Mi-lo?” Oh, yeah. Good idea.

Later, when at home (Milo still at school), we sprawled on the kitchen floor, me nursing Emil while Oliver experimented with drawing on the glass back door with his brand new dry erase markers. I handed him each color as he proceeded to cover the glass with green, blue, red, orange, pink, and black lines. When I handed him the purple, he said, “No! Dis Mi-lo’s fave-it!” (purple is indeed Milo’s favorite color). He then capped the marker and put it back. Later, when Milo was home from school, Oliver finally allowed the cherished purple marker from its spot in the box. He brought it to Milo, handed it to him, and simply said, “Hew, Mi-lo. Dis yoow fave-it!” and walked off. No biggie.

Sharing comes easily to Oliver. And even if he is really, really, really enjoying something and someone else wants it, he will play with it and then share it incredibly soon (like, a minute later). It is almost as if it pains him to think that someone might be sad. Really, he hates when people are sad.

With Emil, Oliver has become the most tender big brother. He is immediately concerned for the baby if he is not attached to me. Suddenly, he is constantly talking to, kissing, hugging, and wanting to hold the baby. His baby. His tenderness is heartbreaking. Oh, I love him so.

Oliver’s attachment to Andrew is clear. He is, for the most part, a papa’s boy. He cries and cries when Andrew leaves at unexpected times (sometimes in the evening for a dinner or work event). He asks all day, “Where Papa? Papa at erk (work)?” He laments, “Miss Papa. Want Papa” at random times. He hugs Andrew like he never wants to let him out of his sight.

He is tender. And thoughtful. And Hilarious* with a capital H.

His favorite foods (in order) are cookies, oranges, lemons, guacamole and chips, salami, and meatballs. And oh, lordy, ketchup. Ugh. Give a kid ketchup one time and suddenly it’s all he wants. Crikey.

13 months, walking towards guacamole on a chip…

… guess not much has changed here.

He insists on sleeping with the following items: two small wooden balls, two red rubber caps, a tiny plastic axe, a wooden teething toy shaped like a guitar, and a set of baby toy keys.

He places them in a line beside his face, all except the two wooden balls, which he palms in each little hand. Then he’s set for bed. After 15,238,953,611 drinks of water.

He can finally jump off the ground with both feet at once, and does so often, while yelling, “Hop! Hop! Hop! Hop!” which somehow induces a fit of hiccups. Hiccup. Hop. Hiccup. Hop.

At the playground, he prefers the swings to the slide (“Too scaaaa-wee!”). Or he will just sit beside me on the bench asking for bites of pumpkin bread, because that is about the only thing I eat for breakfast these days. And because he likes to just sit sometimes. Which is hard for me to think is normal for a two-year-old boy after the example his big brother has set.

Barely one

I tell you these things not because they are terribly interesting or earth-shattering, but because I need to remember them. Because I keep forgetting to take videos of his preciousness. Because this time goes too, too fast, and I am struggling to remember much of anything these days I feel so hustled and bustled.

Around this time last year

Because Oliver is the cliche of the middle child. Sometimes overlooked, rushed around, made to either fit into the plans of an older, more opinionated brother, or a younger… well, LOUDER screaming baby brother.

And he is just Oliver. Perfect in every way. We love you, buddy. All of us.

*This is Oliver as “Glasses Man,” a character he and Milo made up. When Oliver has the glasses on, he is glasses man. But NOT when he is just holding the glasses. Therefore, if you call Oliver “Glasses Man” when you see him approaching you holding a pair of glasses, you will receive the following reproach: “No! Not yet!” until he places the glasses upon his face, “NOW gyass-ess man.” And, I’ll have you know, “Glasses Man” shoots glasses out of his hands. So watch out.