There once was a little girl . . .

. . . who had a little curl

right in the middle of her forehead;

and when she was good, she was very very good,

and when she was bad, she was horrid.

If it wasn't for Zoë's hair, it would have been equally appropriate to begin this post with "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." Two--not just the age but the condition, the mindset, the temperament in all its doubleness--has settled in our house.

It's delightful. I've never had as much fun as I do with this short little person who has so much to say (much of it hilarious), has sweetness just oozing out of her, retains her baby-fat cheeks while wanting to do everything by herself, constantly shocks us with her amazing memory, sings little songs to herself (existing and invented), gives freely of hugs and kisses, wants to marry Mommy and Daddy when "I be women," and on and on.

It's also very trying. I've never been as frustrated and sad as when she's throwing a fantastic fit for seemingly no reason--a blood-curdling-screaming, snot-pouring, foaming-at-the-mouth, hour-long fit that neither time nor time-out can quell. I can't wrap my head around why she wakes up at 4am, seemingly possessed, shrieking, untouchable, scrambling out of bed to turn on the living room light and grab paper and pen with an "I need to write!" ("Maybe she's a prophet," says Josh). I don't know how to handle her bossiness that, if challenged, results in explosions that I can't out-stubborn. And how to face all of this with a new baby?

I've read and contemplated, cried and sought advice. I both bribe her (with a sticker chart) and stuff a rag in the door of her room to keep her in time out.

And then yesterday she gives me the gift of a perfect day. No fits, no fights, just darling and loving and excited. Overjoyed to put our fists in the air with Daddy at the end of the day and yell at the top of our lungs "monster family unite!" (a motto that's developed from numerous games of Mommy Monster, Daddy Monster, and Big Girl Monster who take turns "getting each other" while the others hide under the covers).

And I remember that her behavior is not about me and that we--she and I and her daddy--love each other more than makes rational sense, in a way that is blind to matters of control and propriety. I also remember to enjoy her two-ness, to not brand it "terrible," to not ache for her to outgrow this state.

Even so, three does sound nice.