The Wisdom of Three Year Olds

What a week we had. My daughter and I headed to a conference in Atlanta with 2500 other people. We got up early and stayed up late, eating fast garbage and drinking too much coffee. One of my grandbabies came with her parents (who were there to help with logistics of the conference). Annabelle, 3, is a virtual tiny jungle gym, wrapped up in a little body. She never stops moving, or talking, ever. Unless she is asleep. Since Yaya is a wimp and a virtual big comfy chair, Annabelle prefers hanging, climbing, pulling or hurtling herself onto Yaya with glee. By day three, my ribs and biceps were sore but very happy. That girl is a handful, but so sensitive to the pains of others. She asked me about my Grandpas and I told her I had two but that they died a long time ago. I thought she might cry as she comforted me. We enjoyed the conference immensely, though there were protesters and crazy people on Twitter threatening to blow up some of the lecturers. How dare 2500 Christians convene in the same vicinity? It was pretty exciting. Suffice it to say, after church on Sunday, I was joyfully and sinfully looking forward to a nice, long nap. Then one of my other sons called, asking us to keep Maddie, also 3, for the afternoon. I figured I would do double duty and we'd snuggle up and take a siesta together, something I always loved doing when my kids were little. I failed to remember that Maddie also never stops moving or talking. When it was time, she ran to the crib in the nursery, but I said, "Naw, you can nap in my room!" Our bed is half a story high, so I padded the edges with pillows, tucked her and myself in and told her to stop. Talking. Stop. About the time my poor brain finally found the snooze button, I heard a tiny voice: "Yaya, I have to potty." I grumbled all the way there and back, then reassembled the pillows and blankets. She was so sweet, saying, "I'm sorry. Thank you Yaya." Things got quiet. I heard little snoring noises coming from her. As I lost consciousness, I suddenly smelled peanut butter breath and heard tiny words coming out of a face that was pressed to my nose. "Yaya, are you awake?!" This scenario worked itself over and over for, like, eternity. I finally gave up and stumbled into the living room with Maddie asking where the paint brushes were.  Later, much later, I crashed into bed and slept an awesome four hours before I had to get up to prepare for a closing. 

The world's falling apart. People are freaking out and wearing pink things on their head because they think the devil's in the White House and he's going to take away their magic powers. Somehow this seems like a smart way to show how legitimate, tolerant and wise they are. Riots, pandemonium and death threats. People acting like their Mama never told them no. While that's happening, I'm spending my weekend with precocious three year olds that have more sense than all of them combined. To quote an old saying, "What's this world coming to?"