"And how old are they? Three and 1? Oh, what fun ages," the lady at the store said to me.

"Mmm-hmmm. Fun ages," I said, just as Beth yanked her hand out of mine, darted behind the check-out counter, and began grabbing empty hangers out of the hanger bin.

Why did her devious little brain suddenly decide it would be a good idea to run into a restricted area and attempt to make a big mess? I don't know. I guess it's because she's 3.

You see, while I politely agreed with the check-out lady, really I'm just not sure if fun is the right word to describe it. Personally, I'm finding being the parent of a 3-year-old rather exhausting.


This picture is from the other day. She told me this was her hat.

Here are a few of the things that Beth did today:

• Opened the bathroom cupboard, got out a bag of cotton balls, and flung them all over the bathroom, the hallway, and her bedroom. She explained that she wanted to "Make a Tigger," just like when she and Nana made a Pooh Bear and stuffed him with fluff at the Build-a-Bear workshop.



• Somehow, despite the fact that the lid was on her sippy cup, managed to shake 10 zillion tiny droplets of water out of the little holes in the spout, dousing the floor, the rug, and Lucy.



• Stuck a wad of green Play-Doh to the front window.



• When she supposed to be going potty, stuffed a bunch of toilet paper into the toilet, swished it around, and then when it was a nice paper-mache consistency, used the toilet brush like a paint brush to spread the wet TP all over the toilet seat and the side of the shower.



• Threw a whole pile of nicely-folded jeans on the floor at the store, giggling wildly as she did so.



• When we were out washing the car, decided it would be great to climb inside the big purple bucket full of soap and water, thus completely drenching herself. Oh, and she tried to wash the dog with the car-wash sponge, too.



• While we were talking to the neighbors, spied an empty bag of Doritos in the top of a trash bag they had sitting near the curb, fished the bag out, and began shoving orange Dorito crumbs in her mouth. As if I'm starving her and she has to scrounge out of the garbage, for goodness sakes.



• While I was changing Lucy's diaper and she was supposed to be changing out of her wet clothes, quietly snuck out of her room, down the hall, through the living room, through the kitchen and into the back yard, where I found her, stark-naked, sitting her little naked rear on a stump, poking the ground with a stick.

That was all within about an eight-hour period. And I'm not a neglectful mother, I promise. These things all seem to occur within periods of just a minute or two, when I am changing Lucy's diaper or putting a load of laundry in the wash or answering the phone, or some other ordinary task that distracts me just enough that I don't have both eyes on her at all times. She's finally in bed, though I don't think she's actually asleep yet, and I'm completely worn out.

Is the whole 3-year-old year going to be like this? Because too much more of this fun just might do me in.