My three year old is an angel.

Please don't tell my friends, they'll grab their torches and pitchforks and run me right out of Muffinville.  I just know it.

At two, Chase had me ripping my eyes and scratching my hair.  Or something like that.  He screeched.  He snatched.  He flung.  He howled.  He spat.  He writhed . . . I didn't have a kid, I had a rabid hyena.  And then something happened.  I can't place my finger on it, exactly.  He . . . he turned three.  And he started speaking.  And learning.  And growing at a freakishly rapid pace.

And almost instantly, he started sharing.  And taking turns.  And helping, oh the helping!  And the ABILITY to help!

"Me do it!!!" with gusto as he helpfully throws away trash or gathers laundry or puts away the toys.
" 'I' do it, son."
"No!! 'ME' do it . . . . "

There's just no way to teach pronouns without trauma and confusion to a helpful preschooler.

And so he became this meticulously neat, charming little creature who can . . dare I say . . . OFTEN, even . . . be . . . REASONED with.  ::swoon::

(Okay, so we're still dealing with the spitting . . . )

Such phrases do I adore:
"Not this time, maybe next time."
"Do you want {blank} or {blank}?"
"Let him have his turn, then you can have your turn."
"This is what we're doing:" as I tick them off on my fingers.
(He's a tad obsessive about this, actually.  Should I worry?)
"{blank}is for {blank} not for {blanketyblankblankblank}"
"Tell me about {blank}!!!!" (hilarity often ensues)

So of all the deep and profound things I could be writing about, I'll inundate the world with yet ANOTHER mommalogue and shower of Chasepics.

He proudly dressed himself this morning, by the way.  "Me do it!!!!"  And he did quite well, don't you think?

Note that the potty chair in the corner is apparently purely decorative.  He's not THAT reasonable.

I'm quite nervous that this entire post will put a, well . . Jinx . . on such a fabulous phase.  I decree it shall not.

And for now, I'll quietly slip the warranty papers in the shredder.  

That was a close one.


  1. That's it... I am no longer your friend. Unless, of course, you can somehow have Chase send a memo to Monkey Boy to get his act together. Then, maybe I'll forgive you. Maybe. ::squinty eyes::

  2. I love Chase. And pu-lease, you could never be kicked out of Muffinville. Chase's twin also puts his shirts on backwards almost every time.