My daughter has a hero.

This weekend, Liberty followed her hero wherever he went. His name flew from her lips repeatedly, "Daddy! Daddy!" If he sat down, she climbed onto his lap. If he walked into another room, she followed closely on his heels. When he switched directions, she whirled around, fell over, picked herself up and trotted after him.

Daddy cleaned out the garage this weekend and pushed his to-be-restored 1983 Camaro into the driveway. He talked about washing the car, and Liberty dragged out the bucket and sponges necessary to complete the task. Daddy pulled the garden hose over to the driveway and began spraying his beloved machine. In her pink and green sun-suit, Liberty followed directly behind. When the wind blew droplets of water onto her skin, she squealed and ran away laughing then quickly returned for more, her little blond curls bouncing as she ran. Liberty kept Daddy supplied with fresh, soapy sponges, and she scattered bubbles delightedly in between sponge deliveries.

When Daddy walked to the other side of the car, Liberty walked to the other side of the car. When Daddy backed up suddenly, Liberty got stepped on. But that did not deter her from her hero-worship!

I really can't blame her. He makes my heart go pitter-patter, too!