She's THREE.

I don't know what people were talking about when they came up with the term "terrible twos"; seems to me threes are much more terrible.

Recently, Leah -- my sweet, loving, obedient, kind, funny, creative daughter-- has morphed into a three-year-old... and it hasn't been pretty. Those are the days when she cries over the little things or for no apparent reason (a sign of what's to come in the teenage years?); when she refuses to follow instructions (or commands); when she can't help but play a little too roughly with Hunter; when she pouts and throws a tantrum if she doesn't get her way. Ahhh, THREE.

And so I must remind myself that "She's THREE." She's at that age where she's becoming more independent, but she still wants Mommy (or Daddy). With new experiences, come new feelings, some of which are a bit difficult to label (for her).

On those days, when the hubs asks how my day was, I simply utter the phrase, "She's three," and he knows EXACTLY what kind of day I had.

In spite of those three-year-old moments (which she's having right now, by the way), I love her to pieces. And after she settles down, and returns to her sweet self, we can continue with our day or our activity. There's grace.

So that got me thinking: how wonderful that God loves me in spite of my 30-something moments. When I'm ugly. When I pout because things don't go my way. When I am deliberately disobedient. That makes me wonder: Does He look at me and say with a shake of his head, "She's 3__"?