I hate three.

I really hate three. Three is like 15, but utterly without simple logic, like not drinking Drain-o. Three is perverse, complicated and volatile. "I want a butter samwhich" says Fra, ""cut, like this" He makes sawing motions. "Okay" says, I, "hang on, while I get..." "No. NONONO! NO!" yells Fra. "I want a samwhich, like this, a SAMWHICH!" As if saying louder and flinging himself to the floor will make it happen faster.

"you a kooky head" says the small Demon from Hell glaring up from it's spot sprawled on the kitchen floor.

I take deep breathes, ignore him and make his butter sandwhich.

"I want cookies" It snarls. "I want pink milk"
"Here is you sandwhich, I say, "what do you say?"
"Thank you mama" says adorable little Fra climbing up in his chair.
"No. NONONONO! I want it cut LIKE THIS." Sawing motions, arm waving and he throws a piece of bread at me.
"Okay, Time out"
I carry him to his room. "You a poopy, kooky head " Says the Demon, baring his teeth.
Three minutes later. "Would you like to eat?"
"OoooooKAY!" He says, happy and climbs up and takes a miniscule bite.
"My tummy is full now. Lets play shop"