The Ferrible Fours

Is it just me or is the 4th year the worst? Everyone of my sweet doe eyed love monkeys has turned into a flaming beast at the age of four. I never thought Mads would follow in their unholy footsteps, but it seems she will. The age of four has been worse than any other year for us. There was never the Terrible Two's or Three's, but four makes me want to bury my head in the sand. For the protection of those that have already passed through these years I will not divulge the atrocities committed.................or at least attach a name...........one of them tried to knife me, one of them beat holes in my doors, one of them bit holes in their blinds, there have been spasms akin to epileptic seizures, Christmas decorations used as weapons of mass destruction..............the list goes on...............and makes me tired.
So far Mads has only thrown some nasty fits and flung her shoes at my head while I was driving. I sense it could get worse. She is also becoming fearful of more things, I am sure thanks to her successors. Last night she kept telling me she was afraid of "The Colt". I couldn't figure out what the heck she meant. Considering she has never had a speech impediment I knew I wasn't misunderstanding the word. I was like.........uh, you mean your are afraid of a baby horse? NO NO, the guy that turns green, she screams. Ah, enlightenment, the Incredible Hulk. In her amped up state she combined the two words...........sort of. The Incredible Hulk rocks so enormously (He was my favorite super hero when I was little. I had my very own Hulk that I carried around like my baby and I watched him everyday on T.V. with my grandma.) that I tried desperately to get her to understand that the Hulk is sweet and kind and only mean to nasty, evildoers. She still has the unnatural fear of Pickle People, she has now added other mysterious beings. I've tried every kind and decent act of assuring her that she is safe only to be rewarded with having one of the nasty little imps I raised repay me by taking her into a dark room and whispering furtively in her well shaped ears.
This morning my beautiful doll like baby attempted to slam me in the back door because I wouldn't make her a sippy cup of chocolate milk.
I think it must be that as they come to this age (the saddest age...............when they are escaping babyhood and running headlong into childhood.........when your baby is gone and you are left with the shell of something you used to love......and that loved you too) that they struggle between wanting to be big but still being too little and then wanting to be a baby when they are far too big.
Who am I kidding, four rots and then it gets worse. I wish they were all two, except for Max.......he can be two months.