My youngest son is a sweet, sensitive, yet rambunctious three years old. He loves to sing and make noises as he plays with his toys. Sometimes, he will get rowdy while singing and begin to growl out the lyrics. Other times, he will race through the house with zooming jet planes. My husband and I are constantly picking up the same ten toys around the living room. My husband and I can also be found kneeling on the floor beside our youngest child listening to his latest adventure. Sometimes, we comment on the exciting things he tells us. Sometimes, we ask him questions.
One sunny and wintry afternoon, I asked Son #2. "How old are you?"
Son #2 stopped mid run through the kitchen and replied. "I four." He proudly held up four fingers to confirm his answer.
"Hmm." I said and bent over to count the tiny fingers. "One. Two. Three. Four. You're right. That's four fingers but you're not four. You're three." I knelt down and held up three fingers as an example.
Son #2 eyed my fingers and then counted. "One. Two. Free. You wight, Mama! You free."
"No no no. I'm not three. You're three." I laughed as I helped him form his hand into three upright fingers.
Son #2 looked at his three fingers and giggled. "I not free. I four!" With that exclamation, he promptly changed his hand to four upright fingers.
I chuckled in amusement. "Nuh uh!" I said in a playful voice. "You're three!" Again, I held up three fingers.
"No Mama! I four!" Son #2 squealed with delight.
We went on like this for quite a while. Finally, I was able to convince my youngest son that he was three years old. Also after a bit of practice, Son #2 successfully held up three fingers when announcing his age. I was so proud of my little boy. Quickly, I jumped up and said. "Go tell Daddy how old you are!"
Son #2 ran to his dad's office as fast as his little legs would go. From outside the office, I heard the following conversation.
"So, how old are you little son?" My husband asked kindly.
"I four!" Son #2 shouted out with a small touch of defiance.