Whats worse than a...

two year old. Very simple, a three year old.
Yesterday someone took my sweet, easy going little two year old and replaced him with someone I couldn't and wouldn't recognize. On a normal day we take the twins to the bus stop and head home where he eats his breakfast. I turn on the cartoons and he enjoys his usually Barney and Curious George. I can take this time to get in a shower, clean up the kitchen and even take a nap if needed. He is good and plays toys or comes and asks me for a cuddle.
However this day he ate very little than headed into his room and was playing with "toys". I sat at the computer to check up on some emails and do a little banking. After that I sat on the couch and was getting ready to read up on this coming week of pregnancy when Daniel comes up from downstairs. He shows me his hands and tells me he's cooking. There on his shinny little fingers were some bits of egg shells. I head down to find that he has his small cup overflowing of raw eggs. I get the cloth and start to clean up the 8 or 9 eggs broken on the coffee table and dumped into the cup. He asks me where the baby birds are and we had a little talk reminding him not to go into the fridge. (I am sure that this went in one ear and out the other, he is two.) I tell him that Mommy needs to cook the eggs before he eats them and he simply states that they were yummy. So, raw eggs for breakfast is what he wanted I guess.
We head back up stairs and I start heading into my room to take a shower when I see three cleaning bottles on the floor. I head into his room where I find the remainder of the cleaning bucket emptied and clue in that it wasn't Michael's toys he was playing with. It was the toilet brush. Calmly I call my wonderful husband and kindly remind him that if he takes out the cleaning bucket, he's to put it away. (Oh, I'm not just making this sound nice...I was calm.) Now that both of little Daniel's parents are grossed out, I lock him in the bedroom with me while I take a very quick shower. I come out and he has lotion all over himself, his PJ's, my bed, my pillow. He tells me with the look of full pride on his sweet face, look Mum...legs all better. I'm not sure what was wrong in the first place but the fact the he fixed them made his day. How could I shout at that? We dressed and the two of us headed out the door. I figured we were both safer in the car than left to survive in the house.

After coming home his day continued. He hid the remote to the TV. He threw his food all over the place at supper. He drew on the walls again. He helped me with his clothes. (aka: Took out every piece of clothing from his dresser drawers.)

At this point Dad came home, Mom was saved.