make it stop

Last Saturday, during which Verizon decided three days without internet would be good for me, Oliver turned 4. Four. Years. Old. It couldn't be possible. And tomorrow Eleanor turns 2. It's not surprising I have been waxing nostalgic about their births. The good, the bad, and the war zone. I get even more nostalgic knowing I'll never do it again. Not sorry, as I think out family is perfect as it is (could use a bit more cowbell clumber though) just nostalgic, and maybe a little bit weepy.

So far, four has been a lot like three, with quite a bit more back talk. We seem to have gone from zero to every other word in a matter of hours. Oliver seems to be saying "NO!!" constantly, and the rudeness has kicked up a notch or twelve. He's also showing us glimmers of the switch being flipped, something I keep hearing usually happens between four and five. He's just teasing me, I know, but it's better than the lip and attitude he's showing more frequently.

As for Eleanor, she hit the terrible twos a couple of months ago so I'm not expecting much to change. And she's looked two for quite a while. The only mystery is how far above the 95th percentile is her weight and how far down on the chart did her height go. At least she won't need any shots at the doctor this time.

All this is not to say we are not seeing milestones. Just today Oliver finally rode a tricycle all.by.himself. CD captured it with his camera at pick-up time.