You run from one side of the dining room to the other with your arms back and your head down, a la Superman.
You love love love love love to eat crackers (cra-ka? CRAKA?) and spaghetti.
You try to say words that end with a k sound and pronounce them like some Tibetan who emigrated to Russia and speaks Polish, that is to say, a sound I've never heard and can't reproduce.
You must deconstruct everything. Nothing may stay in it's assigned place. Pots and pans, markers, cars, toys, dirty laundry. It's your mode of operation.
You wrestle with sleep, tossing and turning, smacking your head against the pillows, throwing your weight from here to there. No matter that the bed faces the west, you always turn yourself north to south.
You grab my hair by the fistful just to feel it slide through your fingertips. Sometimes you bring it across your face, just below your nose. I don't know why, but it soothes you.
You think every animal goes "mooooo".
You still have two bottles a day, even though I probably should have stopped that by now.
You adore your brother and dogs and you give wet sloppy smooches and high-fives.
You break my heart a little every day with how awesomely cool you are.
