The Power of 3

Three words can say so much. They can convey an attitude or opinion quite clearly and succinctly. When I think about it, I realize most of my conversations on a daily basis are made up of sentences with just three words.

Make your bed.
Go get dressed.
Go to sleep.
Get up NOW!
I said no.
Are you kidding?
Just one bite.
No means no.
I said so.
Yes I did.
No you didn’t.
What the f*?
You did what?
No friggin’ way!
You look great!
Empty the dishwasher.
Clean your room.
Tie your shoes.
Do the laundry.
Wear a hat.
Put that down!
Do not touch!
Just walk away.
That’s just gross!
Need some money?
Don’t do that!
Say “thank you”.
Clean it up.
It gets better.
Need a hug?
Brush your teeth.
I’m not kidding.
Listen to me!
Turn it off.
One more minute.
I’ll start counting.
You’ve had enough.
It doesn’t matter.
Do your homework.
That’s not funny.
Do it NOW!
Just say no.
Juice or milk?
Drink some water.
Take a shower.
Don’t forget underwear.
Did you flush?
Try again please.
Wash your hands.
Pepperoni or cheese?
Eat your vegetables.
Just be nice.

The other night … or should I say the other morning … I heard my favorite three words: I love you.

Z was ill, and sometime between 1am and 5am I was attempting to sleep on his twin bed (which means he was smack in the middle and I was clutching the edge hoping not to roll onto the bedside table and knock the lamp over… again), while he tossed and turned and coughed and sniffled. At one point he came semi-awake, realized I wasn’t his stuffed elephant, smiled right at me and said “I love you”, then he fell back to sleep while clutching my ear (Z has a thing for ears). I’m not sure I’ve ever been happier than at that moment.

It was 19 years ago this month (oh.my.gosh….. 19 years!!!!!) when I found out I was pregnant for the first time. Since then I’ve had many, many, many sleepless nights. Three pregnancies that kept me awake at night as the huge growing baby in my belly would wait until 1am to do their daily calisthenics. Three babies that nursed “on demand”, which meant every 2 to 3 hours each night for over a year, with each baby. Nights spent singing lullabies while on the edge of a bed, on the floor, or sitting in a rocking chair, while comforting a sick or scared child, or one that just couldn’t fall asleep if I was more than ten feet away. Countless nights spent in the bathroom on the edge of the tub while Trout, Jane or Z got sick for the hundredth time (always at night…. always). Nights spent staring at the phone, waiting to grab it when it rang, knowing Jane probably wouldn’t last through the sleepover, or when she got older waiting for her arrival home from a late night babysitting job. Frantic nights spent watching the clock and fearing the worst as Trout’s must-be-home-absolutely-no-later-than time approached. Nights spent listening to the hushed laughter of teen girls “sleeping” in the basement. And other nights spent wondering how much food I’d have to clean up from the basement carpet after the up-all-night Xbox extravaganza.

Yet it only took three words in the middle of the night to make all these crazy, sleepless nights worth it. Sometimes three words are all you really need.