So, this has been a weeked of breakthroughs and milestones, not just because it's been Father's Day and son (son!)'s birthday. Witness the warming of the state of affairs I've been referring to as toddler detente.

It's been gradual, but Daughter now seems to genuinely enjoy doing things with that strange creature we showed up with just over a year ago. Like helping bake him a birthday cake.



My Juvenescent Spouse instituted a bribery scheme that appears to have paid off. Daughter gets a gold star for every day she's nice to her di-di, and with seven gold stars comes a trip to the Dollar Store, which is Zion. The behavior has become less of a chore and more of a pleasure for her. She actually gets a kick out of making him laugh, now.

He seems to like it, too.



No, he didn't eat the whole tower of cake, but I think he wanted to.

So, over this weekend, the young barbarian gained a few words (he asks for his ball and his beloved cars now). I was woken the morning after his birthday with a punch in the eye, and this morning with the dulcet tones of very old paper tearing as he disassembled a booklet published in 1922 about that radical new theory by that Jewish Swiss fellow named Einstein (we don't know how he found it), so there's still some Untamed Beast prowling around son (son!)'s soul. But today, we also had a breakthrough wherein the young gentleman, instead of huddling under the nearest table and hiding, agreed to sit on our accomodation to defecate. He pooped. In the potty.

The trick seemed to be leaving the room - he actually called me over to grab me by the shoulder, turn me around and push me toward the door. The man (man!) likes his privacy.

I realize that by Chinese standards, we're probably behind on both the potty training and language acquisition, but not terribly so.



The family couldn't be prouder.

So now, the boy is two years old. Soon, we won't be able to call him a baby at all.

As well as being delightfully kind to her sibling this weekend, Daughter was also excited about giving him gifts. One of those books there was one we got him (That's Not My Robot!, the futuristic sequel to the thrillingly tactile That's Not My Dinosaur!, which was a big hit around our house for, well, years now), but the other was one of Daughter's that she asked to wrap up and give him. Just because.