Why I love my 2 year old

Thursday, May 15, 2008. A dreary, horrible, rainy day. The boys woke up too early, so they want to nap. It's too early to leave for the sitter's, but too late for them to take a "complete nap". Definition: Complete Nap - a nap that ends with no crying or screaming. Just opening your eyes and waiting for someone to come fetch you. They don't happen often, but they are great. Moving on. We don't get to leave the house when husband leaves, so this means me loading up all three kids in the car. Doesn't seem like a big deal on paper. It is. Just trust me. We get to the sitter's and I really don't feel like getting big man out in the rain, so I leave him in the car while I run the twins inside. He gets mad at being left in the car and punches the first button he can reach...lock. Keys in the ignition? Yep. Gas light been on for two days? Yep. Can he figure out how to press unlock? Nope. One hour and 45 minutes later the following events have taken place: *MUCH prodding to "push the button, push the button, push this one, here, push the button...PUSH THE EFFIN BUTTON" with furious finger jabbing at the window. *more rain. more, more, more, more rain. *Big man found a pen in the diaper bag and drew on some paper, then did some impressive art on his leg, then finally dropped the pen. *drained a bottle of water onto the floor. *found the coupons in aforementioned diaper bag and tested aerodynamics of each. (side note: we're poor. we clip LOTS of coupons. this was fun for a while.) *pushed the lock button so many more times I was hoping a code would be broken and it would unlock by default. *figured out why he wasn't rolling the window down (new favorite game) - I apparently got sick of the game the day before and locked everyone else from being able to play with the window buttons. *outside the car we have called a locksmith, called the police, cancelled the locksmith, police arrived and said we need to call a locksmith, re-called locksmith. Finally. Yes. He got so mad he pushed the lock button the right way and we got in. Furious clapping and yelling of "Yay!!!!!" I swore to myself and husband I would never leave him in the car with the keys in it again. And I meant it. Until yesterday. Tuesday, May 19, 2008. I have learned my lesson. Big man's car seat is in the back with the twins (turns out it fits, but I was right about him being able to smack the babies freely), so he can't reach any lock buttons. We're having a good day...we have about an hour before we need to leave to pick up the babies...let's run to the park down the block. Here, just for fun (good day), wanna ride with mama in the front seat? Oh, so fun! I'll buckle you in like a big boy! Yay! Shut the door, run to the other side, click. Son of a bitch! Yep, he did it again. This time he meant it. He got out of the seat, climbed over to the driver's side and proceeded to put the keys in the ignition and attempt to start the car. ("my baby is SO smart!" I'm kicking myself for this now) He gets the radio on. Does a little dance for me. Turns on the windshield wipers. Shows off his horn-honking abilities. Ah. Finally, he gets into pushing some buttons and I get a window cracked enough to sneak my hand in. Spare key is going into a "hide-a-key" and strapped to the bottom of the car.