The Lamest Serial Killer Ever?

I cannot TELL you how excited I was this morning. I made a purchase earlier this week that required assembly, a multi-tiered drying rack. You'd think that a laundry fairy such as myself would have something like this already. Nope; I dry my delicates draped all over flat surfaces in the laundry room and end up annoyed at having to move them all over the place to open and close the stupid washer and dryer to keep doing the endless loads of continuous laundry. I put the assembly-required box in the laundry room, hoping hubby would notice it and magically it would be put together for me: "voila." Alas, it was not. I decided to take it upon myself.

Look! I'm so proud. I didn't even need any tools! It may fall down and kill us all--but, whee! I even did laundry just to put on it. Look how many delicate things I had saved up for this bad boy. I tried to get a picture of Collin's extreme excitement at Mommy's "tower tunnel," but he was too mad at me for telling him not to touch it. Believe me though, he was as excited by the thing as I was, which begs the question: Is my boy already lame? Laundry is exciting to him.

Still, of further concern is the following. I have noticed of late, that he is horrible. I know, it's the "terrible two's," right? Well, he's not obstinate or ornery; he's just whiny. It's as if he cannot speak without crying. It makes me want to give him something to cry about in that old fashioned way. Not really, of course. But, I miss my old sweet kid that laughed ALL the time. Now, I only get glimmers of him. So, I find myself giving in to weird things that I know will make him laugh, despite their oddness.

Like, letting him watch the the video I took of him scaring the fur off the cat. (Watch it if you haven't seen it!) Giving it some thought, don't serial killers usually have a childhood backgrounds enjoying the cruel and unusual torture of animals? And, since it cracks me the up to no end to watch him crack up at his own cracking up (wow, does that make a circle or what?), how sick does that make me? Since I don't have any bodies in my basement, I'm going to call it a wash because anything to get a two year old to laugh, barring anyone else's bodily harm, is fair game. Oh, and no bodies in my basement is not just because I don't have a basement.

I think letting him do weird stuff like that must be paying off somehow. This morning, while waiting for garbage manny, he summarily beat the snot out of a flower bush (which, he of course got in trouble for), but managed to scrounge one, solitary flower, the size of an unphotographable pinhead out of the wreckage to hand to me, saying: "Bootiful flower. For mama. Love you." I'm pretty sure he'll grow up just fine. No bodies in his basement either.