It was one of those kinds of weekends.
One of the really, really good kinds.
One of the ones where you could mark time by our gasps of “I just love her so much!” Because really, we said it almost hourly.
We were remembering, after what feels like a long while, to get caught up in the little things.
Like the way she says “Mommy! You came down!” instead of Good morning.
And the way she answers “Of course!” when we asked to share her snack.
The way she’d excitedly exclaim “I can dance my ballet here!” in each big, empty room of each Open House.
The way she still calls our go-to Mexican restaurant the “Quesadilla Mall” and our go-to Indian restaurant the “Naan place.”
The way she excitedly hopped out of the kitchen to play with her own kitchen.
The way she carefully lined up the small, plastic ingredients for her egg salad along the curve of the living room rug.
The way she can’t resist singing her ABCs in every parking garage, because she loves to hear her voice echo.
The way she refuses to be carried on the escalator now and demands to stand next to us.
The way she will run up and down the hall wearing nothing but her treasured pink tutu before bath time, because she knows it cracks us up.
The way I say “You know what?” and, without missing a beat, she replies, “I love you so much!”
Oh I just love her so much.