Coffeehead

I feel I should first say every time I look at my friend's son who just turned three, all I can think is I can't wait until Lindsay is 3! Am I going to spend the next 14 months doing this? I can't remember when the horrible of the uncommunicative tantrum slinks out the door as it crept in. Every time she has a tantrum and I have an inkling what it's about, whether it's because the socks aren't yellow, or none of THESE shoes, or wanting food we're currently out of, I tried to put words to that for her. As a result, she's experienced a recent boost in language, but it hasn't managed to reduce the number of tantrums.

This morning, I was sitting on a stool in the kitchen and Alec handed me a cup of coffee. Since I was at Lindsay level, it was perfectly reasonable that she thought this was cool and wanted to sit on my lap, more so after Alec opened the refrigerator door into her forehead as she ran at the refrigerator while he tried to meet her request for "More milky right now, peas." I managed to place the coffee on the counter and not spill the entire cup on her head, but a few drips dropped into her hair.

"Ooh, sorry, Lindsay." I said.

She sprung off my lap and dashed for her daddy's safe arms. "Lindsay is coffeehead!"