This is what I’ve dubbed the age of 3 - 3vil, pronounced three-vil but with plenty of emphasis on the evil. It almost hurts to call my sweet daughter that but of course she’s sleeping right now. When she wakes up it’s a toss of the dice. Will she be in a good mood, all hugs and kisses and ready to be my little partner in crime (aka my partner in running errands, cleaning and of course play) or will she wake up the other way - the way that I thought we could avoid. Angry and full of grump at her too nice mama who is probably a little too patient.

I’m not the door mat mom, she definitely doesn’t walk all over me, she isn’t spoiled but somehow, some way she has this serious conflict going on right now. She wants to wake up and be forty years old and be in charge of me (presumably then about 70yrs old and in need of much help from her) she’s going to have to wait… oh… about 37yrs before we can even discuss this since I plan on being a very capable 70yr old.

I’ve written a lot about this difficult and challenging age - which is just a nice way of saying evil or my new favorite, 3vil. I’m not one to yell but lately I get to this point where after a few nicely asked requests go unheeded I have to whip out the classic, “I’m going to count to three…” notice it’s three that I’m going to count to before I myself start turning into a bratty grown-up style three year old. That’s what I had to remind my husband of tonight. Let’s not yell. We yell and maybe the first few times she listens but then what? Then she gets numb to our yelling and she’s yelling back and no one is listening. I know, I had parents that rarely spoke because yelling had become the norm.

So this was his first shout, I didn’t blame him one bit I was equally frustrated at the dinner table. Watching this kid do everything but sit and eat her dinner, listening to her excuses, stories and nutball ideas about how she intended to play with the food, lay across her chair and do everything but sit and frikkin’ eat dinner. He finally gave a big yell, “Sit down and eat NOW!” she lost it. She heard the biggest meanest daddy voice (bigger then any angry mama voice she’d heard yet) her little ears had ever heard. He swept her up and took her to her room to cool down.

The grown ups ate in quick, quiet aggravation and when our food was gobbled down Daddy tended to the emotional mess that was his three year old daughter. They talked, they worked it out, he fed her dinner. Later I brought up the (so far effective) trick of letting her know you’re done asking nicely and your going to count to three. So we’re on the same page, we know we’ve got our work cut out for us. Everything is a challenge, there’s no more listening on the first go round, unless perhaps it’s listening to a request like, “Honey come and eat your donuts.” on that rare occasion all would be harmonious I’m sure.

The reality is that most of the time it’s parental headaches like, “Honey don’t squish the cat.” “OK, stop destroying our garden.” “No, you may not draw on me or on the walls.” things kids know they shouldn’t be doing but suddenly, suddenly there’s this awakening. Where at age 2 she knew how to be good, knew how to avoid trouble - now at age 3 there’s this devil on one of my daughters shoulders saying, “Well we shouldn’t do those things but… so?” So what’s Mommy or Daddy going to do about it? Just be tested, tested, tested. And that’s not nice. I never liked testing in High School and I certainly don’t appreciate it now. Not when the tests are so frustrating and being administered by tiny, adorable little stinkers.

I suspect that evolution (or at least that’s what I’ll call it) created these cute little packages for three year olds to come in so that our species would survive. If three year olds weren’t cute, if they’re tiny arms didn’t feel so good when they give you a big hug and if they’re pudgy little cheeks weren’t so kissable none of us would have lasted this long. The scary thing I had a mom tell me recently was that these difficult stages (that’s right stages - plural) are going to pop up again and again. She seemed to think it was odd numbers so I’m holding on to the hope that the age of 4 will bring a dawn of blissful peace in our home and I’m not thinking as far ahead as age 5 because that’s just a little too scary right now.