The Following essay was written by Sheryl of Paper Napkin:

My son Will will be two next month. Much of the time he is a sweet, giggly cherub. But I must admit, I can see the twos looming over us. Lately he's been in training for the world renown toddler triathlon "The Whinin' Man". It's 45 minutes of screaming your lungs out followed by 10 minutes of banging your head against the dishwasher and finishing with 20 minutes of throwing your toys at anyone who comes near you. It's a grueling course, but we think he's ready.

In all fairness, I have to take some responsibility. Will is my third child, and by the time you have child number three you're a little more relaxed, or beaten down, as the case may be. When Emily and Haley were Will's age if they asked for m&ms for breakfast, I would simply say "I'm sorry, you can't have m&ms for breakfast. Maybe you can have a few later after lunch, how about some oatmeal?" And that would be that. No amount of surliness would make me give in. Now breakfast goes like this:

Me: I'm sorry you can't have m&ms for breakfast. How about some oatmeal?
Will: No!
Me: Toast?
Will: No!
Me: String cheese?
Will: No!
Me: Gingered lamb shanks with with sweet potato souffle and a touch of creme fraiche?
Will: No!

This goes on until I exhaust the inventory in my kitchen and there is nothing left to offer except cornstarch. Then Will spends some time training for the triathlon. Finally I say "How about if I put m&ms in your oatmeal, sweety?" More training ensues. (He's really dedicated.) "Okay slugger, how about a nice big bowl of m&ms? Would you like some Pepsi with that?"

I'm exaggerating of course, because Will doesn't really speak English yet. He speaks Honk. When he says yes, or no, or I want the other one you idiot, he makes this honking sound. It's a softer version of Tony Randall's "Felix" on The Odd Couple having an allergy attack. Kind of like a pigeon with adenoid trouble. Anyway, he spends a good deal of time honking at me.

And boy is he persnickety. It's like living with Joan Crawford. If we're playing ball I can only roll the ball to him. I am not under any circumstances to bounce the ball even slightly or it will sound as if our house has been descended upon by Canadian geese. And heaven help me if I do not understand immediately what he is honking about. Woe unto me if I put the sandwich on his plate instead of his napkin, hesitate for a nano second to pick him up, or fail to give him the right stuffed animal at naptime. How could I be so stupid?! Why is it so hard to get good help these days!? There is an entire written manual for how I am to behave when he is sitting on my lap. I am not to bounce him on my knee, put my arm on his back, or sing. If I do anything except my best impersonation of the Lincoln Memorial I'm doomed.

Lately he has been giving raspberries to show his displeasure. When I violate protocol in any way he lets loose with "ppsbppsssbbst!". That's only because he hasn't learned how to flip me the bird. I think that's part of next year's competition.