Forget the terrible twos. In my house, three is the age of reckoning. This one is pushing all kinds of envelopes and wrestling with emotions that she can not understand, much less describe for those of us outside her brain.
At three and one quarter, she is funny, and charming, and, well, funky. And I mean that as a high compliment. Her days are stream-of-consciousness musical theater. She is sweet and fiery, and you never know which you might get at any given moment. My VC. She’s one of a kind.