Pull up a chair, and take a friggin’ breath

There was the kid, on the cusp of two and three quarters, acting up. “Apparently it’s not the terrible twos,” stage-whispered my husband dramatically, from the wings of the boy’s wild air-slaps and projectile-tosses and whiny-growls. “It’s the terrible threes.” What are we in for? “Stop,” I said to the wee savage. “Do you need…