This is Four

 

When you turn four, you need a princess party. You really do. You need to dress up like Ariel and get your face painted. You need to play princess games with your friends. And dance.

 

 

At one point during the party, you must pout. Because it's your party. You can pout if you want to. And heaven forbid we can actually get a nice picture together.

 

But you quickly regroup. Because the absolutely most important thing is that you have a pink cake. A VERY pink cake.

 

What's a party without eating a pink cupcake?

 

Now a few days before your princess party was your real birthday. And you absolutely had to get your nails done.

 

You are a girly-girl. Except when you're not, and you're pushing your big brother around and playing Bakugan and wielding a light saber with all the boys up the street.

Three was a fun year. For you, anyway. You went to school. You did really well for the first month or so. But then you cried every day because you "missed Daddy." Then, after the winter break, you missed the first month back because you were sick. You scared us with unexplained fevers that jumped to about 105.

Then you got better. You went back to school. And you didn't cry at all. You met a friend, Genevieve. The teacher, who'd said that you were having a tough time making friends because, frankly, most of the kids were more immature, was happy to see you come out of your shell.

You participated in circle time. You iniated play. You did talk about Sawyer a LOT, and the other kids weren't so interested. But by the end, the teacher described you as having leadership qualities if you ever actually wanted to use them. She had no concerns for you at all academically.

You are on your way.

The thing is you get angry. So angry that you throw screaming fits whenever - and wherever, including naked on the pool deck - you want. Truly a force of nature, I am excited for the day you will harness your passion for good and not evil.

You love your little brother. You are a clown for him. Unless you're grumpy. He cries when you do.

Sometimes I look at you and I can clearly see you at 16. We are beyond in trouble. I just hope you will still speak to me.

Right before your birthday, I said I was sad that you wouldn't be 3 anymore.

"But Mommy," you said. "I have to grow!"

Yes. Yes you do. But could you please, please, PLEASE do your mom a favor and just slow down?

 

(photo by Robin Gray Photography)