Joss was at the height of his energy and powers this Christmas season. He love love LOVED all the outdoor lights and called them "Crimmas". Each evening he'd beg his papa to take him outside for a bike ride to look at Crimmas.
He yanked all of the garlands and ornaments off both trees, though I suppose that it goes without saying this third time around. He managed to break off a few branches in the front of our living room tree as well. We thought that we'd hung all of the fragile ornaments up high enough, but one of Joss's siblings taught him to throw small blocks at the tree. We lost two of our eggs from Prague and the tail of a glass bird that way :(
The man threw himself into learning all of the new Crimmas tunes. He liked "Fa la la" and "We Wish You a Merry Crimmas" (even the "What the heck is figgy pudding?" verse that the Macs sing -- the Professor is so proud). He loved "Crosty the Snowman" and we had to watch that video many, many times to get his daily dosage of "thumpity thump thump". His all time favorite was "Dashing troo de Snow" and he always insisted on two verses of same. I think that and the cold were the reasons that he stayed absolutely stock still on the sleigh ride (and thank heavens, because if he had been wriggling at that point, I would not have won the match).
I am mortified to say that I took him in to see the doctor two weeks before Christmas. He had been pitching things at people's heads, screaming at naptime and bedtime, and was leaving a path of busted objects and tears in his wake. I took him in hoping that we'd find he had a blazing sore throat or blistering ear infections. "Look," I told the pediatrician "I realize it's December and I realize that he's a two-year-old boy hopped up on sugar. But you're my last resort. Either he is in pain and needs antibiotics to clear something up, or we're headed for a week of sedation and duct tape." Dr. A checked him over thoroughly, but aside from a red throat, pronounced him hale and hearty. He did sympathize and offered that if hewas still acting this way mid-January, that he'd refer him to the psychologists across the hall.
I'm trying to imagine what a therapist might ask of Joss, and moreover, what he could possibly answer . . .
Tonight we returned home to find him clutching a candy cane in his sticky paw, the stool still pushed up against the pantry door. He held his prize aloft and said "I findaaadacandeeee!"