No.

If I had a dollar for every time I heard that I would be able to buy a house. And that's just today.

3 year olds are not much fun sometimes.

Whoever said the terrible 2s were the worry had obviously sent the child to live with a relative by the time they were 3 because holy crap 3 is so much worse than 2.

For one they know more words.

And they have managed to work out how to scream louder, in a more controlled manner.

And they know how to push your buttons so much better than they did just a short year earlier.

This is my third 3 year old. I must say the girls weren't near as bad when they were young.

And there's another joy. As girls get older, the drama sinks in.

I have two girls aged 4 and 5. The drama and attitude I get from these darlings equals that of a 13 and 14 year old.

I kid. You. Not.

They aren't always possessed though. Just sometimes. Sometimes more often than not, sometimes just a bit. But possessed they can be. On a fairly regular basis.

And then there are those things that just leave you speechless.

I had a sore toe the other day. Sore as in run in search of the clippers because I had obviously knocked it on a wall or something and the side of my toe was quite inelegantly threatening to fall off. And yes, that was dramatic. I had a little bit that needed clipping. That was it.

And so off I ran (well, I didn't run, I don't run, I walked, with purpose) to get the clippers, with Miss 5 following like a shadow. She does that. Follows me so closely that I can't move. And when I go to move and elbow her in the head she blames ME for that. Yep. Go figure.

So I got the clippers. And sat down on the floor.

Miss 5 asked "What happened?"

I replied "I think I must have knocked it on something."

Response from Miss 5, looking at me, dead in the eye, with deep concern in her manner and voice. "I think it's cos you're so old."

Thanks for that. No. Really.

I have mentioned on occasion that mispronunciation gives me a little bit of a smile at times. Yes, I correct most times, some I don't.

Master 3 has a new thing. He holds his finger up in the air, raises his eyebrows and states with as much enthusiasm as a 3 year old can muster "I got a dear!!!!!"

Now it took me a while to work this out, and I did so by listening to those words that followed this random statement.

"No, little man. I have an idea."

"Yeah! I got a dear!!!!"

Just too cute. Too. Cute.

Miss 4. Must be right. Always. Have I told you about the windows? Yes? No? I have no idea. So if I have, I apologise, you're gonna hear it again. If I haven't, well, here's a little story for you.

Miss 4 must be right. About everything. She detests being wrong. About anything. And I'm talking anything. Just like the "On be heighties" she sticks to her guns too.

Windows. Play School. We all pick one. When it comes on the screams are "WINDOW TIME!! WINDOW TIME!!!" and we all make a point of picking a window. I always choose the arch window because I love it. I never pick the diamond window, and am usually incredibly annoyed if it IS the diamond window, because it is not a real window. Just like the new Wiggles are not Wiggles. IMHO. There was never a diamond window when I was growing up. Oh no, just the three. Arch. Circle. Square.

They were the good ole days.

So the windows come on, I pick arch, Master 3 picks a different one each time, and Miss 5 also does.

Miss 4. She started saying every window. That way she would never be wrong. I mentioned that this was not technically "picking the right one" but rather ensuring that she was not wrong by picking them all. She did not like that. No. Not much at all.

So then she decided to pick just one. And when she was wrong, and if she had, for example, said "Circle" and it was the square window, she would then say "I said square really quietly to myself so I got it right." Um. No. No you didn't. You got it wrong. Deal with it.

We are now, many many many MANY months later at the point where she will pick a window and will not be completely devastated if she does not pick the "winning" one.

Good. Lord. Nobody tells you about this stuff.

Miss 5 came home from school the other day and said "Look at my throat."

So I did. She asked me to, I did.

"It looks fine baby."

"One of the kids at school said it looked red."

Um. What?

"So one of the kids said it looked red and you thought that, at, how old is she?"

"6 and three quarters."

"So at 6 and three quarters she has sufficient medical knowledge to examine your throat and determine that it is needing attention, is that what I am to understand?"

Blank look. Then a giggle. Complete with hand over mouth and head tilt.

"I'm going to the toilet."

Cool. Thanks for that.

This book is getting bigger. Which book? The book of things they never told you. Or me. Or any parent for that matter.

And don't get me started on the things I find coming out of my own mouth…. good lord…..

"Mum."

"Yes little man."

"Can I eat this?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it is not food."

"Oh. What is it?"

"It's a Christmas decoration."

"Oh. Can I eat it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not food."

"Oh. What is it?"

"It's a Christmas decoration."

"Oh. Can I eat it?"

Welcome. To. My. World.