Three. As in, three years. Three-cheese. Three-part harmony. You get the point.
Fourth years seem a bit daunting. Like, you have to do big kid things like share and help out around the house and be more responsible for yourself. My fourth year will have me sharing myself in various guises on the interwebs and in print-like fashion. I'll help out some friends in their quests for greatness, all the while taking extra-good care of myself and my children.
Hey, guess what? My kids are fucking awesome and (thank god) none of their awesomeness has to do with their father. I mean, they could be total jerks and act out and be little assholes like some kids I know whose parents are divorced. When the first thing your new sitter says about your kids is, "Your boys are so well-mannered and polite," you know you're not totally fucking up as a parent.
So, anyway, three years have passed.