Month 25: The Year of the Truck

Trucks and trains and tricycles, oh my! Guess it’s no secret what 2-year-old boys like, huh? 95% of Miles’ birthday gifts featured wheels of some sort. First, an entire new fleet of trucks arrived, including a dump truck as big as a dishwasher. Then, a whole new set of Thomas trains steamed into our living room.

If you’re lucky enough not to be intimately familiar with Thomas & Friends, you might not know that all these vehicles have names, as well as faces. Thank goodness they’re printed on the bottom, because otherwise I’d have no clue when Miles asks, “Where’s Percy?” Um, is he the green one?

Even the books he got were in keeping with the theme: there’s “Little Blue Truck” and “Smash! Crash!” about two mischievous trucks who like to -- yep, you guessed it. We’ve read that one 6 times already. Coincidentally or not, the birthday cake I made was a yellow dump truck hauling a load of malted milk balls. It was a big hit with the 2-year-old set. It came out pretty darn good, if I do say so myself. Especially considering the 94-degree weather this weekend. Heat and humidity do bad things to buttercream, people.

I used to think that parents who were strict about sugar and sleep routines were uptight. Back off and let the kids have some fun, thought my naïve, childless former self. At least on their birthdays! Now I know better. It only takes one junk food-fueled meltdown by an overtired toddler to teach you that you don’t mess with bedtimes and blood sugar. Maybe if I’d waited to mention the cake until AFTER dinner…?

As joyous as it was to watch Miles delight in his birthday loot, I swear he morphed into a Terrible Two overnight. Not that he’s always been a picnic, mind you. He’s just trotted out some extra-obnoxious behavior the past couple days. For instance, my old standby maneuver for when he won’t come when I call him backfired big time. We’re walking the dog, Miles takes off, I call after him, he ignores me. So I say, “OK, then. I’m going home. See ya later!” But instead of chasing after me, this time he says, “OK, bye!” and takes off in the opposite direction. So there I am, running after HIM with a dog and a bag of poop in 94-degree weather. Good times.

Then there was the hissy fit over the T-shirt. Even his birthday clothing featured cars and trucks, except for the requisite pile of New England sports paraphernalia from my in-laws. However, Miles was reluctant to stage a fashion show so we could take pictures of him in the “Big Papi” shirt. He only had eyes for the dune buggy shirt. So he screamed and cried and threw himself on the floor and could only be consoled by another reading of “Smash! Crash!”

His bad moods pass quickly, at least, and before long we were again playing happily with the convoy of construction vehicles that has invaded our home. At one point he paused in his vroom-vrooming, looked up, and said hopefully, “Cake time?” And, being the sucker mom that I am, I said, “Sure, sweetie. Let’s have some more birthday cake.” At least it was a break from the trucks.

PRESS O’ THE WEEK: Check out my SATC post in The Baltimore Sun.