Sophie and Chloe have finally figured out how to work together to make a human wheelbarrow. It took them some time, but Sophie – the strong almost 3-year old that she is – is now able to use her little girl arm muscles to move herself across the floor.

Chloe, for her part, is now coordinated enough (at least when it comes to wheelbarrows) to keep hold of Sophie so she doesn’t fall and hit her face on the floor. They make a good team.

Papa took them to the zoo today. Sophie’s favorite part was the snake display. She really likes snakes. I don’t know why. We already know that she likes to stomp and kill bugs. But she has a thing for snakes – their slithering, perhaps? I don’t quite get it myself.

On a totally different note, I’ve noticed that Sophie’s language skills have advanced a notch over the past week or so. She’s now starting to explain herself by using “because.” And she distinguishes between Play-Doh and regular clay. And she’s employing the word “really,” as in “Did you see any birds at the zoo today, sweetheart?” “No, not really.”

And we’ve settled on a clown for her birthday – a nice, gentle clown, who juggles, does magic, puts on puppet shows and makes balloon animals, including snakes. Just what a 3-year old crowd should love.

This is our little Sophie, who has become an expert at using facial expressions to show her dismay at any perceived slight, which usually involves one of her parents saying “no” to her.

In other cases, it involves Chloe’s doing something to displease Sophie, such as taunting her by stealing one of her toys, or sticking her tongue out at her – typical sibling stuff.

In yet other cases, it involves Sophie getting a little boo-boo.

Sophie takes the drama to a whole new level, however. Because before she makes a face like the one in the photo, she’ll give one of us a sidelong glance to gauge if we’re going to react to her in what she deems an appropriate manner.

For example, if she stubs her toe, she’ll look at her Papa before she starts shedding the crocodile tears. If he says, “Ma pauvre Sophie, viens voir ton Papa” (“My poor Sophie, come to your Daddy”), she’ll immediately start in with the fake crying and tragic facial contortions. That crap doesn’t pass muster with me, of course. Which is why we have two daddy’s girls on our hands.

I’m happy to give her all the hugs and kisses she wants, in sickness and in health. But cut me a break Sophie – save the drama for the real stuff – remember that little story about crying wolf?