Which one will it be?

Sometimes I feel like Jeff and I live with two completely different children -- our lovable Biscuit baby and his evil twin brother. Ah, the joys of the terrible twos.

The laidback part of Biscuit is definitely from Jeff. The go-with-the-flow, whatever-happens-happens little boy who isn't ruffled easily.

But Biscuit is also very routine oriented, and he likes things the way he likes them. He got that from me.

The Jeff parts of him and the me parts of him combine nicely to make a great little boy who is personable, organized and just generally nice to be around.

But sometimes, the evil twin appears, and laidback turns into stubborn. And whatever-happens-happens turns into Biscuit flopping down on the floor in a whiny heap. And his routines turn into demands. And liking things the way he likes them turns into "no, no, no!"

We've seen a lot of the evil twin this week. There's no particular reason that I can think of. He's been sleeping fine. He's feeling okay. Jeff and I have spent as much time with him as we usually do. But Biscuit has just had a bad week.

I got Biscuit out of the bathtub this evening, and Jeff got him combed and brushed and dressed. He had grabbed the basketball pajamas. This apparently was not a good thing.

"NOOOOO! NOT BASKETBALL! I DON'T WANT BASKETBALL!!!" Biscuit wailed.

In the most calm voice you've ever heard, Jeff said, "Well, these are the ones I grabbed, so these are the ones you're wearing."

Biscuit started crying and whining harder. "Why are you crying?" Jeff asked him.

"Um, 'cause I didn't get my way," Biscuit said.

"Sometimes it happens that way," Jeff said. And that was the end of that.

When I came out of the bathroom, I thought I'd play good cop. "Hey. You're wearing basketball jammies. Cool!"

"No, Mom. Basketball jammies aren't cool. Baseball is my game," Biscuit said. "Not basketball. Not basketball."

One night earlier this week, I let Biscuit eat his dinner in the living room at his little table. His sippy cup was sitting dangerously close to the edge of the table. So I reached over and slid the cup closer to the center of the table. You would've thought I just chopped his head off.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" he screamed and reached for the cup. Really? I moved the cup about 3 or 4 inches, and it required a yell of that magnitude?

"Biscuit, you do not yell at Mama. Do you hear me?" I said to him. I can't believe I added the "do you hear me" part. My Mama always said that to me, and I never liked hearing it. But as a parent now, I understand why she used it. She needed me to assure her that I was listening. "Your cup was sitting too close to the edge of the table. It needs to be closer to the center," I told Biscuit.

"O-kay," he said. Then he reached over and moved the cup to the left about half an inch to get it exactly where he wanted it. I just stared at him. I wanted to laugh because that's so something I would've done as a kid, but I just stared at him for a few seconds until he said, "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry I yelled." I thanked him, and that was that.

I love that Biscuit is pushing the boundaries a little bit. It means that he wants to be independent and learn to do things himself, but sometimes it feels like he's doing it just to push my buttons! Maybe if I work hard enough, I can get him to stretch his limits in a non-whiny kinda way. Yeah, I know, good luck with that!