Fucking fours

They warned my about the 'terrible twos' but nobody said a peep about the 'fucking fours' (as a mama friend recently called them). Ah well, friends, I am here to let you know, the fucking fours are no walk in the park. Perhaps a chase in the park is a more accurate description, a chase involving a seemingly deaf four-year-old and a frantic parent, yelling at the oblivious child to stop.

Four years old.

The pros:

Amazing self confidence: D- thinks he's great. "I'm great," he says. Eavesdropping on a recent play-date with a friend from daycare, I couldn't help but notice that the boys' conversations revolved around one-upmanship, who was the fastest runner, the strongest, had the most toys, the most cars, the most super hero skills.

Complete sociability: D- talks to anyone and everyone. He shows off his artwork on the bus. He proudly tells tellers, shop assistants and strangers in the street his name and age. He then pauses, waiting for whatever praise or applause may follow. In a restaurant last night, when D- had tired of his table mates' company, he walked over to the bar, plonked himself on a bar stool and started to chat up the only other patron, a large black man with dreads. They were close friends by the end of the evening. I wouldn't be surprised if they exchanged numbers (luckily, D- does not know his phone number yet).

A mind that is fast, fast, fast: D- does double digit math in his head. He remembers what we did two summers ago, he does puzzles that stump me.

A body that goes zoom!: Running, jumping, hopping, rolling, skating, sliding, climbing. Faster, higher, longer, harder. He jumps off the diving board of the pool (albeit with a foam-stuffed bathing suit), he climbs rocks and bookshelves (wait, wait, that's in the cons).

The cons:

Attitude!: When a boy thinks he is the best and can do no wrong, it is sometimes a challenge to contradict him, and when you do, oooh, get ready for some attitude. Typical conversation: "D-, put on your boots, it's raining outside." "No, it's not!" "What do you mean? It's raining outside. Look out the window." "Nooo." "D- put on your boots." "It's not raining, mommy." "D-, I am counting to three, put on your boots." We get outside, it is raining, but only mildly. "See mommy, you were wrong, it's not raining." "D-, we are not going to have this conversation."

Hear no mummy, see no mummy: Being the self confident little man that he is, D- thinks he is ready to make all decisions himself, this leads to running across the street, in the dark, while his mother screams from the sidewalk. This means putting on his shoes, going outside and climbing the fence to the backyard, without telling anyone! Running across the street! Going outside alone! I used to be able to control these behaviours with a sharp "D-!" but not anymore, now he just keeps on running.

And my heart keeps on leaping up into my throat.

I hope fives are a little less CRAZY.