Kids

I love the way she holds my hand and tugs me along to see whatever new thing she wants me to see.  I love the way she crawls onto my lap and leans into me with a sigh.  I love her kisses, the way she puckers up and smacks me and then asks for nose kisses, finger kisses, cheek kisses, even occasional ear kisses.  I love the way she clambers onto my bed in the wee hours and nestles into me, sighing and settling into sleep as only a child can.

I love the way he randomly hugs me.  I love the way he says, almost shy, that he loves me.  I love the way he wraps his arms around me and drops his head on me and tells me he could just sleep there like that, standing next to me, leaning on me.

I love the way they challenge me every day, and I love the way they absorb my fear, hurt, anger, frustration and turn it into love.  I love the way they listen, and the way the don't listen.  I love to hear them play together, despite the difference in age.  I love to hear them laugh, giggle, fuss, negotiate, and go a little crazy.

Every day is an opportunity to fuck them up completely or to be transcendent, and I love the way they love me just the same however the day went.
They're my kids.  Lucky, me.