Please don't tell me this. . .

The three kids that attended yesterday's art class were just bonkers. The two boys (L who is closing in on age 3 and J who will be 4 in June) more so than the lone girl (three this month). Off-the-wall. J's mom sighed as she watched her son flop off a chair and set off in a mad dash towards some mischief.

"They say that the teen years are like the terrible twos with even more horomones," she whispered as if saying it too loud would bring doom to us all.

"Crap," I said.

The closer we get to three years old, the more adult Logan thinks he is. The latest proof of this - everytime I issue a warning (something like "You can stop hitting the wall with your hammer or you can go to your room.) he replies with "No I won't." Which is typically met with the reply "Go to your room NOW." And then some tears on his part. And some tore out hair on my end.

Today he argued with me about his status - he's not a child, he insists. He is a big boy and therefore he is a grown-up. We had a long talk about all the things he'd need to be doing if he was an adult now. He's given up that argument.

This is terribly hard. I thought he was good at pushing my buttons before, but this is worse. The insolence is just horrid to deal with. Its frustrating and its beyond aggravating. It makes it hard to control your own temper when it comes down on you in a long litany of fresh back talk. To not fall into this hopeless debate. I mean really, how can you win a debate with a 34 month old?!

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