There is something about two-year-olds that just makes them completely, 100%, irresistably adorable. Something in their mix of innocense, budding personality and imagination. The mix is intoxicating. I can't get enough of it.
I got home somewhat late on Friday, having seen a matinee of Hunger Games* with some coworker friends. Laura met me at the door with squeals of laughter and glee. Mommy came back!! That's my mommy! Mommy home from work!! She jumped up in my arms as soon as I was through the door for the biggest, squeeziest hug of my life. I love big, squeezy hugs. They are the best, and I told Laura as much.
Laura responded by squeezing harder and harder, so she was dangling from my neck, as I set down my purse and moved into the family room.
It's a strawberry hug, Mommy! I make it for you! I bake it in my kitchen!
Laura slid down to the floor, grabbed a bowl and spoon from her kitchen, and handed them to me.
Here Mommy! More strawberry hugs! I give you strawberry kiss?
I snatched her up for another strawberry hug and this new strawberry kiss. A big, wet, noisy kiss right on my lips. And a few more strawberry hugs as my heart melted and I navigated us to the couch.
Laura explained to me and Nate a little later that strawberry hugs are much stronger than regular hugs, because she makes them special in her kitchen. Strawberry hugs are the very specialist kind. I was worried that strawberry hugs might be a temporary thing, as so much of being two-years-old is fleeting. Having received tons of extra squeezy strawberry hugs all weekend, I think they are around to stay. At least for a little while.
I hope they stay for a long time. Strawberry hugs are the very best hugs. Ever.
*Hunger Games was fantastic. I'm so glad I had a chance to be a part of it on opening day. I loved the adaptation from the book. But it was not nearly as awesome, in any way, as the strawberry hugs. How could it be?