As of today, W. is officially two and a half years old. He celebrated in the grand toddler tradition of being completely adorable and hilarious for 3/4 of the day and fraying his parents’ last good nerves for the other quarter.

As a family, we celebrated by going to the excellent vegetarian back-of-a-store restaurant Follow Your Heart for breakfast (I had an eggless, dairyless omelette that was shockingly wonderful; the men had buckwheat pancakes with blueberries and faux sausage). Also, we bought cake there (the chocolate and vanilla cake, which is approximately 50% pudding, is insanely good – keep it in mind if you need to feed the vegan and/or food-allergic and/or lactose-intolerant) for later. No presents or anything, mind you; you don’t want to go all crazy on a fake holiday (right, just have as much sugary food as possible).

Anyway, we came back to the hotel in which we currently dwell, and an innocent victim (I mean, a nice lady) said hello to W. in the lobby. I don’t know that she was expecting a new best friend, but she got one. “Oh hi! I’m gonna take the ewavator upstairs now!” he started out. By the time I got back there to remind him he can’t just pick which adults he wants to go with, he was sharing this tidbit (prepare to go, “Awwwww!”): “I followed my heart an’ had pancakes!”

Perhaps the restaurant would be interested in a spokesboy. Local cable ads or something.

At other points during the day, he informed us he was (a) Zucchini, the Friendly Puppet Bear and (b) a turtle named Steeeeeeeeeve.

Also, he sold me a viola (AKA an inflatable ukulele), hollered at me for playing it wrong, and told me I had to pay for it again. I don’t cotton to dishonest merchants; I had already written him a check for three three three three four four four four, after all. When I refused, he wept copiously and shriekily.

Yep. Definitely two and a half.