It’s strange

The things we know about our kids.

Their favorite songs, their specialest place in the backyard, when they don’t want a hug.

We know what it means if they’re holding perfectly still when they should be laughing, what it means if they don’t want their toasted challah bread.

We know what that grin means, and that fuss, and that sigh.

What’s stranger

Are the things we don’t know about our kids.