Never Go Against a Sicilian when Death is on The Line.

Or rather, never go against a toddler when his hairstyle is on the line. The Boss has become, well, bossy. He is well in the throngs of almost two year old-dom and has no idea what to do with himself. He vascillates between being the sweetest, most loving angel in all of Christendom and a little devil.

I love him in either incarnation. I love him ten ways til Sunday.

The battle of wills has begun and I am woefully unprepared. I think his hair should be out of his eyes. He thinks it should be down. I brush it back and he says “Nooooo Mommy. Pau! Rock Band!’ {which means: excuse me Mother, but I’d really rather wear my hair in the style of the Beatles. The  early years. Specifically that of Sir Paul whom you know I adore as I insist on playing both the guitar and bass left handed just as he does.} Now really, how can I argue with that logic as I also adore Sir Paul to the moon and back? And yet, I unconciously push his curls back all throughout the day and as quickly as he can he smooths it back down with an emphatic rock band. Sometimes he says it under his breath as he fixes his hair. Those are my favorites rock bands ever.

He says it with a British dialect. Rock Band. It slays me.

And suddenly I realize he is a boy. A boy. The babyness is slowly being shed and he is coming into his own.  A BOY.

My Boy.

9 thoughts on “Never Go Against a Sicilian when Death is on The Line.

  1. Love it (o: I have a daughter going through her very independant stages too … praying she grows out of it, because if not … I am in trouble when the tween years hit.

  2. Your The Boss is completely awesome and adorable. I especially love the first picture with the finger. I get that one from my guy, only he puts it up by his mouth and emphatically says “No, no no!”. Hy.sterical.

  3. Pingback: Tweets that mention Never Go Against a Sicilian when Death is on The Line. | Dial M For Minky {moo} --

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