Good, unrestrained, imaginative curiosity is probably the trait I cherish most in my small people.
I love bugs in the bug catcher and escapee snails on the stairs.
I love the little finger in the cocoa powder and the little hands which will only be satisfied playing the entire eighty-eight piano keys one after the other. donk. donk. donk. down the scales.
I love 'indoor' curiosity. The kind that finds small people peering at the world map on the wall. Looking through books. Checking out bugs under magnification.
And shells. And fingernails.
And I love 'outdoor' curiosity.
The kind that leads children to dig into the ground and climb trees.
I won't care if my children aren't amazing academically, or sparklingly social, or astoundingly commercially successful. These things aren't important to me.
But I will feel like a failure as a mother if they have no sense of curiosity.
And, er, if they can't cook a whisker.
And perhaps if they eat a lot of hamburgers.
You? What matters to you?