The boy turned four in December. Pumpkin Man. His squash remains magnificent, but man, four is tough. It wasn't quite so tough with the girl, but he was two then and she was her. Now, he's bruises and belligerence. Affection and anger. It's an in between moment, four years old. Right between baby and little boy.
Expectations mount and a lot of crap that used to be cute isn't so much anymore. Learn stuff, pick stuff up and put it away, don't shit your pants, don't chase the cat, please try to use your fork but not on the cat. The demands are multitude. And he's got the added pressure of Polly Perfect Pants as an older sister.
Our school system uses a traffic light/Yakuza paradigm as a discipline tool. Everyone starts on green, yellow is a warning, red you lose a knuckle on your index finger. The Peanut--in the school system for three years now--has yet to receive so much as a yellow light. Every teacher loves her and her classmates admire her. She's horrifying. From the point of view of a little brother, terrifying and absolute in her good dobeeness.
He's been on red light once so far. In pre-school. Some sort of trumped up cereal stomping charge. A charge we didn't find out about until a week later when the guilt got to him and he spilled it. His teacher neglected to mention it. We talked. She won't do that again.
He questions everything. A quality I hope he keeps forever just not right now. He talks in streams of four year old consciousness. Streams miles long.The car is often his pulpit. Daddy always listens. Daddy sometimes dreamily contemplates unbuckling his own seatbelt and making for the nearest telephone pole, but he listens.
He's a very good boy, the Pman. Empathetic, loving, hilarious. He's good at puzzles and he loves nature. He's planning on being a nature documentarian when he grows up ("I'm gonna take pictures of animals and make movies of animals. Will you come see all my movies Daddy?" "'Course I will, buddy."). He loves hard, he plays hard. He is hard. He has an agenda that must be filled immediately. He's often got an answer for everything. He's me so much and so much more than me. He's got it hard, the Pman. Second child. Windy child. Four year old. I wouldn't go back there.