Happy birthday, little pixie.

You're two years old, now, and starting to develop  skills that will keep your rear end a little sore up until you're a teen.  That little selective hearing skill you have is incredibly annoying.  I really hate yelling at you. 

But you're such a good little helper so much of the time--you pick up blocks when it's time to go to bed, you take trash into the kitchen to be thrown away, and you take your empty chocolate milk cups in and put them in the sink when you're done.  You pick up your clothes and put them away in your drawers (though I wish you wouldn't do that with the dirty ones).  You put your baby dolls to bed in their cradle, instead of leaving them all over the floor for me to step on in the middle of the night when I go in to cover you back up--now all we have to do is figure out something for you to be able to do the same with your stuffed animals.

And you're so funny.  You're still so delighted by the world, and you're so surprised when something doesn't work the way you thought it would.  And you laugh at yourself.  I've seen you do deliberately silly things just so you can laugh at yourself. 

I promise you that I will do my best to help you grow up into an adult that can still laugh at herself. 

You're two years old, and there's so much out there to learn.  So much you've already learned.  Such a big girl, and it's happened so fast.