Lilly wakes up with a smile every day.
Every day, she bounces out of bed (I know because I hear the thump) and rushes to see us.
This is usually pretty cool, because neither of the boys cares to see us until they need a ride somewhere.
Once they figure out how to use scissors to open cereal, they're basically just here for the free laundry.
I've stopped fighting with her about her outfits. If she wants to wear a velvet party dress with some fruit themed knee socks, well, life is short.
She bounces out the door, and is better than I am about remembering her lunch box.
When I pick her up, she has absorbed the energy from her little friends, and is full of questions.
"Mom? How do traffic lights change?"
"See that yellow box on the pole there? It holds a computer that is programmed to change the lights at certain times."
I have no idea if this is true. I don't care if this is true. I don't care about this at all.
"So, is there a person nearby?"
"No, it's a computer."
"Is there someone in the yellow box?"
"No, no. No people. It's a computer."
"Oh, there's another one!"
"No, that's a donation bin, it just happens to be yellow. They aren't all yellow. See, this one up here is gray."
"Oh. And they are never smaller than that box?"
"I really don't know. I guess some might be smaller."
"And they are always yellow or gray?"
"Sweet baby Jesus please stop asking me questions."
"Fine," she says, full of hurt, "I'll ask daddy when we get home."
"Oh, please do."
We go to Target, and she is so excited about the yogurt that she trips and drops it. She is so excited about seeing one of her friends there that she runs straight into our cart. She's so excited about the Frozen nightgown she found that she falls over the foot of the rack.
At night, she demands we read her a book, every night, without fail. On tired days, we would skip the book with the boys, but Lilly doesn't believe in being too tired for a book.