Amos is spiritually, if not yet chronologically, officially two.
This comes with some sweet benefits. Besides becoming somewhat reasonable, he has become an excellent conversationalist, an insatiable reader, and a snuggler like none other.
But he's also taken on a few of those qualities that make people call this age terrible (although I think that's a little strong for him). For example, some days everything is just devastating to him. Finding we're out of chocolate milk makes him splay himself prostrate on the floor, wailing and moaning. Tell him no and he crumples like a piece of paper.
He is also testing the boundaries of listening. So much so that the other morning he had his first time out.
It broke his little heart. And mine.
The crime: eating dirt by the handfuls as though his very survival depends upon his consumption of it. Now, hear me on this, I'm not adverse to a little dirt consumption. I think the old adage about it bolstering their immune systems is 100% true (if so, he should be as hearty as they come). But as much as he eats I worry he'll get the giardia or something. Plus it's rough on the old digestion - the proof is in the diapers.
So after many pleadings for him to stop, and fingersweeps of dirt from his gullet, I gave him a warning that if he ate dirt again he'd have to sit out.
And he did.
He did not like it. That one whole minute may have been the worst of his little life. It made me sad, but Eli and I shared a little chuckle over it too. Eli thinks it was long overdue.