Michael, Man of Words

There is much to be said for being 17 months old.  Life is just so dang simple.  Each day when I get home from work, Michael is the first to greet me.  He and the dogs are often waiting at the door, noses pressed against the glass, hoping to fall on to the porch when I open the door.  I nudge the dogs out of the way, get everyone back in the house, pick up Michael, and give him a hug and a kiss.  And then we have this conversation.  Every day.

Me: How was your day?
Michael: Good
Me: Did you have fun?
Michael: Yeah

Then he grins and buries his head in my shoulder.  

We then move on to discuss other things like what toys he played with (vroom!), what Elmo was talking about today (vroom!), and the oil spill in the gulf (vroom!).  But it amazes me how sincerely happy he always is when I ask about his day, and how he expects to have our initial conversation every day.  Without it, I think he feels a bit cheated.