Oh Imp, we love you. You have the world caught up in your smile and bubbly laugh. You say things like "eewniform" and "froed up" and "comftuby." You squeeze our faces and kiss us. You demand cold baths and then jeans and long-sleeved shirts (in 115 degree heat). You love shoes, and have more clothes than the rest of us combined. At age three you informed me that you needed to see a shirt in the light (as in natural light) to see if it was really pink. You love to draw and paint. You love to drink hot tea and eat sticky sweet dates rolled into balls--you are a lot of fun to take along when we visit local friends. You can throw a tantrum with great feeling and force, and the next minute crawl into our arms and hug us with equal penitent sweetness. Sometimes you play the baby, but often you want to be independent and do your own thing. And today you are four. I can hardly wrap my mind around it--I want so much to keep you as you are, and equally to see who you will become--our bundle of sweetness and sass, thank you for being our own.
