Today I went out to the mall and lunch with a friend of mine from church. My wife and I have a 2 year old boy Eli, and my friend and his wife have a 2 year old girl.  We spent most of our time in the play area of the mall carrying on a conversation frequently broken up by interventions in one or both of our children falling, pushing (often each other), hitting (mostly my boy), and clogging up the slide line by refusing to get off.  Lunch was an experience like trying to control the effects of two small, simultaneous tornados.

My son Eli was overextended by the time we were driving home and the last 20 minutes of our drive was filled with a constant, argumentative, whining “My rhino!” from the back seats as Eli clutched his new rhino stuffed animal.  The innocent Bella (my friends daughter) would wait for Eli to settle down some and then softly speak the words that would set Eli into another defensive toddler fit.  “My rhino,” she’d prod from the other side of the backseat, and off we were again.  After one three minute stretch with no crying or whining the peace was broken by a soft “my rhino” from the gentle Bella and my friend and I couldn’t stop laughing at the “my rhino” symphony that re-erupted behind us.

Lately Bethany and I have been talking about plans for growing our family (more on this later), so this little experience was a funny to me since I had commented on how having a brother or sister for Eli to play with could possible make things play days like today easier.  Silly Micah…

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