The little patter of footsteps racing toward your bedside the second they wake up.
When their grandpa asks, “What things do you really like to do?” they answer, “Play with my mommy and my daddy.”
They love work. They absolutely love it.
Their time-standing-still magic of showing them something new, like roasting marshmallows, or the stomp rocket.
Picking out their food, clothes and friends.
Their idea of a great time is when you chase them around the park in front of other kids.
Effectively shielding them from people, places, and things you don’t care for.
It’s a given that they’ll take your side, like when that “bad man” yelled at me in the parking garage. My 3-year-old still talks about how that bad man is in jail.
When they proclaim, “This is so much fun, mommy!” after you present them with two bowls, some beans, and a pair of tongs.
That they play with their pink dollhouse with no sarcasm or irony.
The absolute absence of sarcasm and irony.
If given a choice of apples or candy, most of the time they’ll choose apples.
How they want to go everywhere and anywhere with you, whether it’s hunting for autumn leaves or taking out the trash at the office.
The softness of their skin, the sweetness of their smell, and their little slobbery kisses. (Totally sentimental but I couldn’t resist.)