I am a master interpreter

Scott is babbling non-stop now (I think he gets it from his mama.)

And most of the time, I actually know what the hell he's talking about. Note: I said most. As in, sometimes he still stumps me and then gives me a look like I am a ginormous idiot when I stare at him blankly.

I am very proud of myself, actually. Used to be, when I was around my friends' small kids, they'd say something in their garbled tongue and I'd look at them like they were speaking Mandarin.

And I'd be amazed when their mother would immediately translate, "Oh, she wants you to play tea party with her." Or, "He's offering you some of his crackers."

I wondered how the hell they knew what their kids were saying. Now I know. Its a skill. A skill acquired from long hours of faking it -- nodding like you know what your toddler is talking about -- until you actually figure out what your toddler is talking about.

So for anyone who might have an encounter with my son, here's a guide to what I like to refer to as "Scott-speak."

Toose:
This one is critical. It refers to one of two things - his shoes, or his ever-present, always running, Fisher-Price mechanical drill, hammer and tool set. (He has a tendency to leave these items all over the house and patio, which means a lot of treasure hunting for mommy and daddy.)
The good news is, you've got a 50-50 shot of getting which one he wants right. And if you hand him the wrong one, he'll shove your hand away and say, "NO! and repeat "Toose!"
Immediately go fetch the other.

"Where Daddy go?" 
This is pretty obvious. Problem is, he never understands the answer. No matter what you say (Daddy's at the store, Daddy's at work), he'll still wander from room to room, arms up at his side, repeating it...over and over and over.
Sometimes, Daddy is actually at home, but say, in the bathroom. Doesn't matter. Scott will find him. There is no such thing as privacy when he asks, "Where Daddy go?"

"Daddy Toose." 
This refers to any and all items that belong to Jim that are inherently dangerous, should be out of reach, and that Tank has an incredible knack for finding. The kid is constantly handing me nails, screwdrivers, staplers, foil cutters and drills. When Jim is working in the yard, Scott always wants to be by his side...and he immediately heads straight for the shovel, rake or the very large shearing thing that could easily cut off one of his fingers in about 2.6 seconds. Without fail. Every time.

"Mouse."
This refers to his stuffed Mickey Mouse, which he insists on carrying with him to breakfast every morning, along with his stuffed Elmo and his stuffed "fishie," (which is really a stuffed Nemo -- like from the movie) that he sometimes calls "Elmo." Just you know, to really confuse you.

"Mote Mouse." 
This means "I want to watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" (like NOW. STAT.) so I can laugh and drive you crazy as I listen to that stupid "Hot Dog Dance" song over and over and over again.

"Nack."
At first I thought this was neck. I was wrong. It means snack. Usually of the goldfish or teddy graham variety. And you better find it fast.

"Cheers." 
Scott likes to clink glasses at every meal time and snack time. Typically we must do this at least three or four times during a sitting. And it does not count unless every person participates. Fine if there's 3 of us. At family dinners with 8 or more people, you watch your food grow cold while you knock glasses back and forth.
Scott also thinks its funny to hit the glasses really hard now, and to try to make Daddy's wine slosh on the table.

"Morh"
This means more. That's pretty obvious. But he never tells you more of what. Have fun guessing.

"Pees."
Nope, we aren't talking about the green round vegetable here. Scott prefers to pretend those don't exist. This is please, and he is saying it consistently -- albeit with prompting. Yay!

"Tu-Tu."
 Scott's version of thank you, which I somehow find utterly hilarious and adorable.  He says it with prompting, though he sometimes gets confused and says "Pees" after you give him something. (As a side note, Scott now says "Bless you" whenever I sneeze. I did not teach him this, but I love the person who did, because its the most endearing thing ever.)

"Fu**"
The first time he said this, I was deeply concerned. Then I realized he was pointing proudly at a cute green frog in one of his pop-up books. This word is now used interchangeably to also mean "Fork." Needless to say, we don't bring any stuffed frogs with us when we are out and about and try to make sure there's always multiple utensils handy so Scott never actually has to ask for a fork in public.

A couple other random tidbits of news:

Scott scored his first swimming "ribbon" this month, after mastering the ever-so-complicated (and competitive) skill known as "monkey crawling." In this activity, our hero, shimmies along the wall of the pool, hand over hand, until he reaches the stairs, then climbs his way out.

Doesn't he look proud?

Also: Jim and I got BIG NEWS this week. Scott is going to be a big brother...to a LITTLE SISTER! That's right, Rough-baby-to-be is a girl.Scott hasn't quite yet gotten the concept of a new sibling, but he does know there is a baby in my tummy and he will give his sister a kiss when asked.

My kid is a pint-sized terror

Payback is a bitch.

I am just wondering what I did in my previous life/childhood that was so egregious to deserve what I am now getting in spades.

You can call it what you want - a phase, the terrible two's, typical toddler behavior. I prefer to refer to it much more simply: HELL.

Tank is a non-stop, whiny, emotional, temper-tantrum throwing, shall we say, pain in the rear?

We had glimpses of it earlier this year, and then it was like a switch flipped in daycare.  Now its his basic M.O.

He pushes the other kids in his class, throws Legos at their heads, doesn't listen, routinely whacks his classmates in the ear with trucks, and hits his teachers.

Now its a rare day where he ISN'T put in timeout for some transgression. Usually he's in the doghouse at least twice. And he's acting out at home too - he swats (read: hits) me on the arm every time I make him do something he doesn't like.

He's clingy...grabbing my legs and following me -- literally attached to my body -- from room to room. If he doesn't get what he wants, he whines. And its not a normal whine.

Its one of those high pitched, never ending sounds that only dogs are meant to hear, at a decibel that makes the brain matter start to ooze out your ears.

We've tried time outs. Ignoring him. Being firm. Yelling. You name it. We've bought books with fantastic titles like "No Hitting" and "Sharing Time" and "Don't Kick the Dog." We've talked to his pediatrician, had "conferences" with his daycare teachers.

The general consensus is that we better buckle up, strap in, and buy some earplugs and body pads, because this "phase" could last a while.

To you, it may look like breakfast. But really he's plotting against me. 

I have to admit...I am not just frustrated. I am a little worried. Have we turned Scott into a juvenile delinquent already? If he can cause this much trouble at 22 months, what the hell am I going to do when he's 8? 13? 17?

All of a sudden I am having all these flashbacks to every rotten thing I did as a kid - destroying my parents coffee table with nail polish remover, mouthing off to my mom, backing the family car through the garage door. (That was, yes, one of my finer moments.)

None of these were fatal mistakes, to be sure. But surely somewhere there is a cosmic scorecard and that's why my child has turned into a white-haired, cherubic-faced demon, right? (For those of you who just conjured up an image of "Children of the Corn"...well, you wouldn't be far off.)

I had someone tell me I should be grateful - at least he's not biting. Somehow, that is of small comfort. I mean, can you imagine how that conversation would go on the playground?

Parent #1: You're kid isn't the biter, is he?

Me: NO! He knows better than that. He's the blond one over there who likes hitting other kids in the face with plastic and metal toys when he's upset.

Yeah, I don't see that helping me set up a lot of playdates.

I am sure in 15 years, I'll laugh about this. In 20, I'll embarrass Scott by sharing these stories with his friends and girlfriends, and I'll gleefully exact some measure of revenge in doing so.

But in the meantime, does anyone know if the  Marine Corps offers some sort of boot camp for toddlers?