Just around the time my middle son turned five and morphed into a loving, funny little human capable of logic and reasoning, my youngest turned three.
I should have seen this coming – the “threenage” years. I should have prepared myself for the onslaught of destruction and nastiness and upheaval that comes with the threes.
Come on, Harrison! Get your head in the game. Ear plugs. Fresh tennies. Rubber gloves, stat! Continue reading