The age of four has mythical powers in our house. If ever I ask The B to do something he thinks he can't do, or, more often, something he doesn't want to do, he gives me the standard answer: "I'll do it when I'm four".
He seems to think that on that day, his birthday, all these things he wasn't previously able to do as a three-year-old will suddenly be within his capabilities as a four-year-old, as if by magic.
As it stands, when he's four, The B will suddenly be able to write the second half of his name, pedal his bike, undo the velcro straps on his shoes BEFORE removing them and, a little more worryingly, drive the car.
There are some other things, though, that'll take a good while longer.
The B has never been able to pronounce 'milk' correctly, saying, instead, 'mulk'.
I asked him this evening when he thought he'd stop saying 'mulk' and start saying 'milk'.
He responded, with an earnest look on his face: "When I'm as old as you."