I was sprawled on my bed reading when Liam rushed in, happy to show off the Hermione LEGO mini-figure we scored at Barnes and Noble that afternoon. (Which is also when I got my book.) He flopped on my bed and ruffled up the pillows, cuddling into me, and I playfully locked an arm around his neck.
"Do you want to snuggle with me?" I asked. He smiled but didn't answer.
"Can I sniff your shirt?" I said.
"No!" he laughed, but I still inhaled his size 7 green tee.
"Can I bite off a piece of your hair?" I pressed, and he jumped up, still laughing.
"No!" he cried. "But I did it last year, and I can tell you, it tastes gross!"
I stared at him in amused disbelief. "How would you be in a situation where somebody else's hair is in your mouth?"
The details of this quick exchange -- only 30 minutes ago -- are already fuzzy, and I'm not sure I nailed it, but I remember with crystal clarity the mischievous smile that spread across his face and put a shrug in his little shoulders.
"It happens!" he said, and ran out of the room.