On being three

"Being three means buckles that refuse to unhook when you're desperate for the bathroom, towering people who continually rub the top of your head, and five annoying words that are repeated every five minutes: "You'll just have to wait."

It means that every time you really start having a great time, someone walks in and lectures, "Look at this mess! What in the world are you doing? I just washed those clothes, young man!"

It means that every time you proudly dress yourself and walk out into the kitchen for your grand, morning debut, the whole family snickers. Mom looks at your feet and says, "Your shoes are on the wrong feet, dear." You look down and study your feet and proclaim, "But, Mom, these are the only feet I've got."

Being three means that when you go to church, your parents make you sit on a hard bench that is so wide your legs stick straight out from your hips. You can't see a thing except the bench in front of you. You hear voices up front but haven't the foggiest idea what's being said. Every time you pop up to see that's going on, your parents shove you back down. Every time you make weird noises your parents scowl at you and blow air through their teeth like a snake saying, "Shhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

When you're three, eating can be a real pain. your wrist tends to lock, your spoon tends to tip in the wrong direction just when you get it to your mouth, and your glass of milk is forever getting in the way of your swinging elbow.

No one takes you seriously when you're three.
When you say, "On, I won't eat it- I hate that," your parents say, "Fine with me, young lady. But just remember-- no beets, no apple pie." When you say, "No, I don't want to go to bed," they throw you onto the pillows and promise that if you come out again, you'll be one sorry turkey or that they'll paddle your canoe down the Suwanee River.

When you say, "I don't want to take a bath," they pick you up and stick your soapy head under the running faucet. When you say, "I don't have to go to the bathroom. I already went last week," they push you into the bathroom and hold the door shut until you try one more time. It's humiliating.

You can't see what's going on when you're three. But every time you crawl up onto the kitchen counter, your mother yells,"Now, you get down from there before you fall and break your neck!"

Finding play partners is tough, because your mom won't let you leave the yard, cross the street, or talk to strangers. Sometimes even family members are hard to enlist for buddies because everybody is always too busy working.

Being three is no piece of cake. It takes bravery, skill, and cunning to master the ropes of semi-fearless three-hood."

-- Janene W. Baadsgaard- The LDS Mom's Almanac

I loved this. It's got to be tough being three.

As I type this post, my little three year old brought me a lego bouquet of flowers. Awww. I love that little monster. Here is a picture of him helping me weed. I pulled the weeds, and he carried them down and threw them into the field. You give a three year old a pair of gloves, and you can get a lot of mileage out of it. :)