Though the night light that tells her when to get out of bed wasn’t due to change colors for another half hour, Rebecca bounded downstairs before 7 this morning, looking for me, shouting, “Mama! Am I THREE?”

Yes. Today, you are Three.

I’ve made no secret of the fact that this age is presenting some significant challenges.  I know we may be in for a roller coaster of a year.  But I maintain the same answer I always give when people ask me if parenting has gotten “easier.”  Hard is always hard.  But the good parts get better.

The year we’ve just finished has come with changes both explosive and subtle.  Both kids’ command of language is wonderful, but it’s the thoughts that you hear behind the words that completely blow my mind.  They explain things to me and to each other. They remember details I would have never imagined.  They ask questions and find connections. To say they’re little sponges is cliché, but still true.

The year ahead is going to be a big one. In barely a month, they will be off to school, five mornings a week. I can’t begin to sum up the enormity of this transition.  I’m anxious about it, and I’ll certainly cry. But I’m so excited (for me, as well as for them). I think the program we’re sending them to is great, and I can barely begin to imagine the things they’ll learn and the fun they’ll have.  The fact that they’ll be in different classrooms is bittersweet.  I know they’ll do great, and I think it’s the right choice for our kids, but it’s still a sort of sad, wistful transition.

_ _ _ _ _

Daniel, you and I are having a rough go of it right now, I know.  I’m trying to be more patient, trying to stop and listen to the words I use with you and think about the messages I’m sending you.  I’m trying to give you warnings before we make a transition, and trying to give you the direct attention you so badly want.

But you amaze me. Your imagination knows no limit, and you tell elaborate stories of what type of game we’re playing.  Often an interweaving of various TV show plotlines, as well as actual current events in your life (we “drive to the airport” a lot).  You are not known for brevity of speech. If you’re telling someone a story, you give them the whole shebang.  No skimping on the details.  You notice everything, and you must touch it all, see how it works, see what happens if you poke it.  It drives me nuts because it takes you 15 minutes to retrieve a pair of shoes from the other room.  But the fact is that you are unendingly curious.  You haven’t yet started with “why,” but you ask every other question under the sun, and are really taking in the answers.  And if you really want to know, you will not be distracted. Finish the topic to your satisfaction, or there will be hell to pay.

You have gotten a lot more physically daring in the last year, even the last few months.  You want to hang on the monkey bars, you want to jump off of everything.  When you’re in the mood, you love swimming. At the lake in Wisconsin last week, we took the pontoon boat to the middle of the lake, and in your trusty lifejacket, there you were. Swimming in the middle of the lake.  You even went sailing with Grandma, and I had to talk you out of waterskiing by saying you needed to be able to put your head under water first (which still gets a big “no”).  You have shown a sudden interest in lots of different sports, which fascinates your totally un-athletic parents. You’re not always the most coordinated, but you are desperate to give it a try yourself and figure out exactly how it works. Aunt Jamie got you to hit a badminton birdie with a racket a few times, and you could not have had a bigger grin on your face.

My sweet boy, you are so sensitive. Defiant and contrary? Yes.  But when you have a meltdown over this thing or that, the first thing you always say is, “I’m so sad!”  So you always have been, even since you were an infant. When you got worked up, it always sounded more upset and sad than angry.  I feel like you have this little emotional angel and devil on each shoulder, and genuinely don’t know which one to listen to sometimes.  The flip side, thankfully, is that you can be oh so sweet.  Cuddly and snuggly, hilarious and engaging and sociable and charming.  We’re going to have our ups and downs, this year and the rest of them, but I know you’re such a good person at heart, you’ll be just fine in the end.

_ _ _ _ _

Rebecca, you fool people.  You are generally more easygoing than your brother, much less likely to stare me down and say “no” when I ask you to do something.  You are becoming quite girly, and can be a little shy when you meet people.

And yet…

Get closer and anyone knows you are not to be trifled with.  You are often quieter than your brother, but much more calculating.  Last week I watched you trick your brother with one bogus “trade” after another to get the thing you wanted, be it his flashlight, his sunglasses, or some other trinket you wanted to get your hands on.  There was no grabbing, no outward aggression.  Just a sweet, “hey Daniel, do you want to try my lollipop?”  Nevermind the fact that yours was almost completely gone and he had just started his, which you were going to “trade” with him. You knew exactly what you were doing.  Your emotional intelligence, whether used for good or evil, is amazing.  You know when to back off.  You know how to compensate for your brother’s meltdowns, both to spare me the exhaustion and to paint yourself in a positive light. If M or I start to get cross with you, you immediately come in for a hug and a kiss.  And it works better than we’d like to admit.  You are just as intellectually curious and clever as I just described your brother, but your social and emotional prowess is another thing, entirely.

I call you “little mama.”  You are sweet and nurturing.  You pat your brother on the head when he seems like he needs some comfort, even if he swats your hand away.  You take care of your baby dolls.  You adore animals, especially dogs of all shapes and sizes, and give them hugs and kisses several times a day.  You are also a rule follower, and more to the point, a rule enforcer.  I hear you repeating my mom-phrases, and I’m only surprised that you don’t count your brother more often and attempt to put him into time out.  You are bossy as all get out.  You love to be in charge.  You have a clear sense of the way things ought to be, and you do your best to make it so.

Your size and your first impression make people think you’re delicate, but in fact you can actually be pretty physically assertive and frankly can be just as wild as anyone else.  You’re the one who knocks down your brother and sits on him, mostly as a game that has the two of you in hysterics, telling each other “let’s do it again!.” In some ways you are becoming a little more wary and a little less physically daring than you used to be, and you’re not as much of a fan of the water as your brother (unless it’s a nice quiet pool and you can just float to your heart’s content).  But you love to run and run and run and jump and spin and fall and run some more, just as much as you seem to enjoy sitting quietly with a book.

You are, by and large, easy to parent.  You ask to go upstairs for nap.  You listen well, and on the occasion that you don’t, it seldom takes more than one reminder.  You might not be as outgoing as your brother, but you love one-on-one interactions with family and have become less reserved with strangers.  You have your daddy completely wrapped around your finger.  You are so loving, so sweet.  You give spectacular hugs, kisses, and nuzzles.  I strongly suspect you are going to give me a run for my money in the middle school years, but either way I just love to watch the way you work.

_ _ _ _ _

We’ve got a heck of a year ahead.  I’m both bracing myself for it, and really excited for it.  As hard as it is and will be, I still wouldn’t trade this age for any of the previous ones.

Happy Birthday, kiddos.