The children are all three now. The oldest ones turn four in January. The youngest turned three the end of November. You know all that talk about Terrible Twos? LIES! Bullshit and lies I tell you! Three is the age of Satan. Seriously, on your child’s third birthday, check his/her scalp. Where there was once clean, pink, baby powder scented skin you will find the mark of the Antichrist. From that day forward everything you hear from your child’s lips will be a whiiiiiiine, a SCREAM, a shrill screech, or some combination of the three. Nary a civilly spoken word will grace your ears for a span of at least 365 days, but likely longer. And my favorite three year old method of communication? The fake cry! Oh yes, that cacophonous, dry eyed, bawling brought on by even the slightest, well anything really. Take for example, a day in the life of Room 101 in CHCC:
“I miss my mommeeeeee”

“I have a booboo on my fingerrr”

“The light in the fish tank is ooooooff”

“I don’t like Cheerios”

“He looked at me! Stop looking at meeeee”

“The light in the fish tank is ooooooon”

“I don’t wanna clean up”

“I want my daddyyyyyyyy”

“Soylent green is peeeeeeople”

I think you get my point.
It makes for a trying day… ok, who am I kidding… 3 out of five days of the week I have a migraine by noon. NAEYC needs a new policy. It should be called “No Crying in Daycare.” Tom Hanks can be the spokesman.