How it feels to be three

I actually wrote this piece last year, on a Facebook post. It was one of the reasons I decided to start a blog. There is so much to say when you have a preschooler in your life, Facebook cannot possibly contain all the material that a child provides.

If you could remember back to when you were three, you might remember how terrible it would be to not be able to find a Cootie body to match your beautiful red sweater. You might remember raging against the impracticability of Milton Bradley’s color choices of either pink or orange when clearly a simple red would be a much more popular choice. You might remember being so angry with the unfairness of Cootie and life that you were tempted to throw the offensive pink body at your beloved Noni, particularly because she is taking a picture of you at that moment. You might remember instead, being so vexed that you scattered Cootie body parts in utter frustration. You certainly would recall how your Mama made you clean them all up; every last Cootie head and foot and antennae. You would surely have turned your anger on your mother at this point and might have even cried out, “I’ll never eat Noonies again! Never! Ever!” , when asked about having your favorite dinner of buttered noodles. But, if you know anything about being three, you would also know that as quickly as the winds of fury descend upon a household with a three-year old, they also depart, leaving in its wake a sweet, smart little girl and a grateful, exhausted family.