She thanks me when she gets a greeting card in the mail, even though I wasn't the one who mailed it.
She sings the wrong words to the "I Love You" song, repeating, "You love me, you love me, we're a happy family," no doubt revealing her assurance of her rightful place as a well-loved member of our household.
She changes her outfit multiple times each day.
She appreciates when I put "paint polish" on her toenails.
She plunks herself down in my lap, nuzzles into me, and listens with her head tilted as I read book after book aloud to her.
She never seems to notice when her mop of light hair falls into her wide blue eyes and obstructs her view.
She is delightful, and today she is three.
Happy birthday, Brooke. You are amazing.