Earthmovers and Sandcastles

Gabe is shrieking and howling in his room right now. He told me to “GO ‘WAY!” when I tried to talk to him, so he’s up there alone, raging at the world in which he has to suffer the indignities of being two years old.

His current source of anger: he wasn’t allowed to bash his “canjo” (which my grandmother’s neighbor made out of a coffee can; it’s really ingenious) against the ground.

Tried his usual “cool-down” period on the steps next to me while I worked in the kitchen, but he was having none of it - just shouting and roaring and raining down toddler hysteria on me. I finally moved him upstairs, where he can just let it all out.

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Okay, he called me upstairs in a quieter voice, so I went up and picked him up in my arms. He pointed to portraits in the hallway, asking me who the baby was, as though nothing had happened. The storm has passed, and my baby is back.

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