That - after years of setting them up, taking them down and climbing over them - there are no gates up in my house. Took them down a month ago as a trial run and haven't looked back since.
That my son runs off upstairs to go play Hide and Seek two or three times a day. I don't let it bother me that one of these is usually a ploy for him to secretly poo in my bed instead of having me sit him on the toilet when he gets, "that look."
That my son will insist - a good four of five times a day - on giving the dog a treat. I'll hear him calling, "light!" from the kitchen. Which means he's in the closet and wants the light on so he can see inside the box.Then he'll walk into the living room with dog in tow and give him the biscuit. At which point he'll lie down about two feet away and watch him eat it.
That my daughter greeted my wife into the shower with, "Hello Miss Hairy Leg" yesterday.
That my daughter told me she couldn't hear stuff at night because she, "turns off her ears." Upon being asked if she turns off anything else she told me that at school she "turns off her poop button - because otherwise it would distract the teacher."
That my son wants to go to bed at bedtime. As long as he can lie right underneath me and read along to Danny and The Dinosaur and Curious George he's content to climb under the covers and pass out.
That if I put on a shirt and tie and pick my daughter up from school it makes her really happy. She thinks I dressed up all fancy for a Driving Home Party. Consequently I do this most Fridays.
That my daughter has her own song. She spells out her own name, then says her name. Her mother made it up for her so she could remember how to spell her own name.
That if I give my daughter a treat but not one for her brother she will - more often than not - go split it with him.
That in all the TV shows my kids watch that any creature that is from the North has a corny Canadian accent.
That my son will come to me and ask for a tissue for his nose. Then he'll delicately dab his nose with it before scrubbing his upper lip like he's clearing a blackboard and then throw it in the garbage can. His sister would literally let it gush down her chin. He finds that vulgar. Hence why she can spoon milk into her lap at breakfast with nary a blink, while he will demand a napkin to wipe the table clean lest he accidentally get his sleeve mildly damp. After eating she will suddenly burst into surprise that someone has magically poured a jug of milk all over her crotch. He'll already be requesting a damp cloth to clean his fingers thoroughly. He's quite au fait in that regard.
That - on cue - if I call to my son, "hey - can you hear a cow?" that he'll make the biggest MOOOO!! noise you can imagine.
That if I get my guitar out my son will quickly grab his and plunk along with me. He'll even close his eyes and rock out. I do not do that.
That my son - like all kids - thinks he's completely invisible if he covers his eyes. But even more so that he then runs at me like a cunning invisible death-ninja with his hands over his face until the very last second. At which point he'll yell and I have to feign total surprise before exclaiming, "oh my....it's as if you appeared out of nowhere."
That my daughter still insists on calling me Madam when she's pretending to be posh.
That my daughter will sit down with a cooking magazine and pick out what she likes the look of. Today she picked this. Yeah - good luck with that.
That my daughter told my son this morning that, "when it snows I'll take you up the hill to hunt pigs." To which he responded with a massive Kenneth Williams, "ooooh!" and ran across the room.
That my daughter thinks she is pretty without sounding the slightest bit vain about it.
That my son will cover his head with a blanket when I'm driving and then yell, "where's Daddy?" for ten minutes because I can't actually reach him to discover him.
That when I asked my daughter to go take a photo - a special one - to signify some of the things that she thinks I like about her and her brother she took this one of between her toes.