Sniffle, sniffle. My babies are 2! They are no longer babies, a fact that will take me awhile to adjust to, both mentally and verbally. I have been dragging my feet about calling them ``toddlers,'' but as they were digging into their slices of birthday cake last week, gleefully smearing icing in their own (and one another's) hair, I realized I'll just have to give up the baby talk.

``Baby'' implies a tiny, helpless infant, unable to do much more than cry, eat and sleep. While there's still plenty of crying that goes on in our house (I try not to do it in front of the kids), our little ones are more than capable of doing most things for themselves. In fact, they often get very indignant if you try to do something for them that they want to do all by themselves.

We are entering a time of newfound independence, filled with strong wills and flaring tempers as little minds and bodies adjust to new skills. Not a day goes by without my hearing half a dozen new words or seeing one of the kids easily do something they couldn't figure out just a day or two earlier.

In short, I'm in trouble. It's only a matter of time before my newly-minted toddlers realize that they have me seriously outnumbered (and definitely outsmarted). It's also only a matter of weeks before they see that they are mighty enough, especially when working together, to start giving back some of the thumpings that big brother Connor's been dealing out since day one.

I already spend a large part of my day playing referee, a job that gets more complicated by the minute. The kids are learning fast about punishment and how best to avoid it. Fight over a toy? Darn, Mom takes it. Bite your brother? Quick, run away before Mom can turn around and decide who to blame it on.

During the hours when Connor is away at preschool, the typical laws of the jungle apply in the playroom. Survival of the fittest, fastest and smartest ensures that the girls end up on the winning end of most battles. As is typical with kids this age, the girls are a bit ahead of the boys in language and motor skills, and they definitely use this to their advantage every chance they get. When a boy takes a toy from one of them, the more-verbal girls are able to cry and point out the offender by name, guaranteeing swift justice from Mom. When a girl pulls a drive-by biting on a boy, he's stuck wailing and wordless, leaving me to guess who started the whole thing.

The girls also seem blessed with an uncanny ability to tell when a movie is about to end. This gives them ample time to cluster around my legs, arms raised, whining pitifully, ``I pick! I pick!'' Meanwhile, the boys are enjoying the last few seconds of Bob the Builder, blissfully unaware that they're missing the chance to compete for movie-choosing privileges.

I have to keep a mental checklist of whose turn it is to pick, because if I let one girl go when it's not her turn, the other two dissolve into puddles of grief on the floor, kicking and crying melodramatically at the unfairness of it all. Sophie is the best one at this maneuver, having long ago perfected the ``victim cry'' to capitalize on her tiny size (little but mighty at 17 pounds).

To even the score, the boys are bigger and rougher than the girls, and spend endless hours tormenting their sisters with too-physical play. Logan's favorite game is one I call ``Push and Giggle'' where he gets one of his sisters cornered and squashes her between the couch and wall, tittering like a madman while she screams in frustration. Alex has lately become a smiling biter, acting as if he's being cheerful and friendly, then casually putting his teeth on a vulnerable arm and chomping away. He has reduced Connor to tears on several occasions and thinks it's great fun to see his huge brother running and cowering behind Daddy for protection.

And then there's Kyle. He's still our most laid-back child and loves nothing more than plugging his thumb into his mouth and dancing happily when the first strains of the Thomas the Tank Engine theme song stream from the television. You won't see him fighting over toys or getting in a shoving match with his sisters, but get out of his way at mealtime; he'll run you over if you get in his path to the table!

Because of the recent increase in verbal skills, Keith and I find ourselves reduced to spelling out half of our dinner table conversations to prevent repeats from our kids. ``Boy is that s-t-u-p-i-d!'' (``Stupid'' is a bad word in our house, so Connor takes great delight in pointing out when we slip and say it in front of him.) To prevent feeding frenzies, we'll say things like, ``Did they eat enough dinner to deserve some i-c-e c-r-e-a-m?'' or ``G-r-a-n-d-p-a is on his way with some c-a-n-d-y.'' Heaven help us when our kids learn to spell -- we'll have to take up sign language in order to keep our secrets safe!

We try to focus on the positive -- the fun of watching our kids tackle new things, the joy on their faces when they figure something out, or the wonder in their eyes when they notice squirrels or snowflakes outside the window. I have the best job in the world and I try to find quiet moments in each crazy day just to stop everything and watch my miraculous little bab --er, TODDLERS. Sigh -- I really will quit saying that one of these days.

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