I've been looking forward to age four since practically the day my twins were born. After I discovered how hard this "twin thing" really was, I quizzed every parent of twins I found to see what the magical age was when life would get easier. The answer was almost always a solid "four". I'd double check with them, "Surely you really mean three?" But they never budged.
So here we are, standing on the edge of four, and I have to admit, they were right. In just the last few months the shift towards sanity has begun. I can reason with them. Tantrums may not be completely gone, but almost. They calmly get dressed in the morning before hop, hop, hopping down the stairs to our bedroom. They knock on the door and wait for us to tell them to come in.
Their personalities, which I have no doubt were there from day one, actually before day one, are now beaming through. They are eternally opposite. She is loony, mischievous, determined. He is solid, true-blue, concerned. As they run into the room being chased by aliens he stops to tell me that they are "just pretend" so I won't be afraid.
I will miss three. There have been so many new accomplishments. It was the year he decided it was not okay for Mommy to pick his Halloween costume; the year he built great monuments around the house and declared them untouchable; the year I realized there was plenty of stuff going on in that big head.
And it was the year she professed her love for a slug; the year she decided to read big kid books, page by page, even though she can't read yet; the year she elevated making funny voices to an art form.
So goodbye three. I will miss you. You have been a challenge and a joy.