So Aric’s in a new stage. It’s a stage that I knew was coming, that I thought I was prepared for. Boy was I wrong. Really wrong. He’s in the “tornado with legs” stage.

Picture a tornado with legs, or the Tazmanian Devil. That’s him. We put him in his booster chair for dinner, put his food in front of him, and it’s gone. Almost instantly. Most of it makes it into his stomach, but some gets to the floor (meaning: the dog). But it doesn’t take long. Sometimes, Nicci and I don’t have time to eat all of our own dinner.

Then, the fun begins. After he gets cleaned up from dinner, we lift him from his booster chair and we can almost see his legs start moving while he’s still in the air. We put him down, and he’s off. Picture it like this: we live in a rambler, so if you’ve been in a rambler, you’ve probably seen how the room next to the kitchen has a door leading to the kitchen and another door leading to the hallway. The hallway leads to the living room, which leads to the kitchen, making a circle. And Aric runs this circle. Over and over and over and over again. Non-stop. Sometimes he grabs his firetruck to push in front of him. Sometimes he grabs toy cars or toy dumptrucks to push in front of him. Sometimes he grabs his broom. Doesn’t matter. He just runs.

And I can’t keep up. Now, I’m not in the greatest of shape – certainly not like I was during my days as a star below-average track and field runner – but I like to think I have the stamina to hold my own. No. No, I do not. Especially not when a hyper 2-year-old is involved. I even try things to slow him down, like telling him to get me a book to read together. He faithfully gets a book, sits in my lap, then gets up after I read one page and goes to get another one. Soon I have a pile of 10 books next to me, each of which I’ve only read one page of. Finally, I give up and let the tornado loose again.

My favorite part is the end of the night. Lately, no matter how long he’s been running or how he’s feeling, the running doesn’t stop. We grab him to try to wrestle him into his jammies, which is quite a chore. Then we put him into bed. As soon as his head hits his pillow, the movement stops. He grabs his stuffed dog and his lovie, puts his thumb in his mouth, and barely stays awake long enough for a bedtime story. It’s instantaneous. The tornado disappears as quickly as it strikes.

I’d like to think that this is a phase, but I was a little boy once, so I know better. I think we’ve hit a place that we’ll never leave until he becomes a lazy teenager. As he grows, it’ll take more food to keep him satisfied and more effort to wrangle him up for bedtime, but the tornado will never stop. Then we’ll really test how in-shape I’m feeling.