You are three years old. I had been told that the terrible twos was a myth, that really it’s three that is the most, um, challenging year. Good to know. Thanks for proving them right. Someday, you may have your very own three-year-old. And then you will know. Until then, I’ll just write that I’m so very thankful you also have the moments when you are lovely and delightfully funny and sweet. For instance, this morning, when I went in to your bedroom to wake you both, you were snuggled up together in the middle of your beds (currently pushed together). Arms entwined and everything. Ridiculous. And then I woke you up and the sweetness ended and your monster-self emerged (Jane), but oh, you have the fluffiest fuzz-ball head of hair when you wake up, so how can I not smile a little bit? Lucy, thankfully you remained as sweet as in sleep (this particular morning, anyway), but only because I pretended to be Harry Potter complete with my abysmal accent.
It snowed recently on a Monday. It was so beautiful. You both ran from room to room, window to window, to make sure it was coming down all around the house. After you woke up from your naps, we got bundled up and went out to make your very first snowman, complete with carrot nose, blue chalk pieces for eyes (what? It’s what happened to be available), stocking cap and scarf. You were both surprised when we finished, you proudly told her (everyone is a her) that her name was Frosty, and she didn’t talk to you or begin to dance around. Ah, well, a lesson in reality.
You love to watch movies (Harry Potter and Star Wars with the occasional Bambi thrown in) and videos (Yo Gabba Gabba, Alice in Wonderland, anything with a fairy in it). A movie is something you watch on the television, a video is something you watch on the computer. Thankfully, you also still love to play, so we can usually wrestle you away from the intoxicating appeal of the screen. You’re big fans of climbing on and jumping on beds and couches, you love to run circles around the inside loop, chasing each other until Daisy makes this impossible (usually by knocking one of you down and you collapse into a river of tears), you like to do huge, take up the whole floor puzzles, you draw and color, use a dry-erase marker much too freely, race through the house turning on (or off) all the lights, and at the end of most days, it looks like your absolute favorite thing to do was to transport all of your books, toys, dolls, stuffed animals from the playroom to any and every other room in the house. Then, inevitably, you desperately need one of those books, toys, dolls before you’re able to fall asleep.
You are anxiously awaiting the arrival of your sister. (But maybe not as anxiously as me.) You are going to be the best big sisters. And I hope you know you will always be two of my very favorite and most loved people. Even as three-year-olds.
Hug and a kiss, hug and a kiss.