Around here, we affectionately refer to Emily as "Em" or "Emmy". I'm starting to think that Miss Mischief might be a more appropriate nickname. Of course you probably are thinking, "Well duh, she's two! Its supposed to be terrible". But its not terrible, not really. Nora was terrible. At the age of two, Nora would throw tantrums that belonged in the Guinness Book of World Records. She would vomit and break furniture and kick me because I turned the Teletubbies off. It is a miracle that she is not an only child. Emily is totally chill in comparison.
Emily's tantrums, if you even want to call them that, are pretty lame. Yes she'll yell, sometimes even kick, and throw herself dramatically to the floor. Then I say something like, "Does Emmy need a hug?" and its over. She clings to me, sucks her thumb, problem forgotten. Its not Emily's tantrums that have made her an interesting two-year old. Its the silly, mischievous, and naughty things she does, and the obvious delight she takes in getting caught.
Case in point. In the last forty-eight hours, Emily has done all of the following: danced on the kitchen table, taken a scoop and used it to empty the dog's water bowl onto the floor, tried on all of Nora's clean clothes located her bottom dresser drawers, emptied all of the bath toys into the tub and sat amongst them while trying to turn the water on, smeared pizza on top of her head, turned the X-Box on and off while I was looking so I would turn red and yell, and stripped naked and boogied in front of the box fan. My reaction to all of these events is pretty predictable. "Emmmiiiilllleeeee what are you doing??? NO! NO! Honey, no!!!" Her response is always the same. Her eyes sparkle, like she has never been more alive than at that moment, and then she grins. A big, cheesy, you-know-what eating grin. Oh boy! Mom caught me again! Awesome. Oooohhh, and she's so mad! That's even better.
Making me crazy, albeit amused, seems to be the driving force in her life. Good God, what am I going to do when this girl is thirteen?