We Go To The Mattresses



Each boy was sitting at opposite ends of the dining room table eating waffles for breakfast before school. 
I checked on them numerous times during the daily hustle that is hurry-eat-get-dressed-and-out-the-door-ahhhh!
In between dressing, blow drying, etc. I paused to peep in and see how the waffle eating had progressed when I overheard Eli going mafia on Jackson.
From across the table, waffle in hand, the tiny don quietly stated, “You, hit me.”
Jackson, waffle in mouth a table away, immediately responded, “No, I didn’t!”
“You, hit me.”
“No. I did not.”
“You.  Hit.  Me. Jackson.”
He sounded like an evil baby making sure his victim was getting the picture. As if to say: You hit me and that is how it’s going down.
Each word in a deep voice, each pronounced slowly and with purpose.
I was standing, hidden behind Eli with my mouth agape. My adorable baby turned mob boss was outlining the threats crystal clear – setting up his target. Jackson just sat there shaking his head and stuffing his face with more waffle.
It was about to go down.
I eventually came around the corner and looked at both boys. Jackson’s face was in a state of exaggerated disbelief, humor and waffle.
“What’s going on here?’ I demanded.
And in the sweetest, most adorable, tiny baby voice Eli squeaked, “Jackson hit me, mama!”
“He did?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Right dere,” he squeaked while pointing to the top of his head.
I glanced to the other end of the table where Jackson had remained the entire time. 
The look on Jackson’s face was a mix of “this baby is crazy” with “I better start watching my back” and a little syrup. 
This gives a whole new meaning to the Terrible Twos.

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