Like this:

A couple months ago, as the days began to grow cold and shorter, T discovered the moon. Perhaps it began with Goodnight Moon and was reinforced in the many other children’s’ books that end with a child in bed and the moon in the night sky. One day, when there was a bright full moon, I pointed it out to him when helping him out of the van. He looked up, but I didn’t think it made much of an impression on him. Once we got inside, he looked at me and said, “moo, moo”. Confused, I looked for his barn and toy cows, but he walked over to the front door and pointed at the window, repeating “moo, moo”. I got it. I picked him up and carried him back out to gaze at the moon a little longer. Lately, T has been asking to look at the moon several times each day. I can’t believe how little I took notice of it before. We now see it in different places and phases and at different times of day and night. Recently, Mike called from the grocery store with a message, “Get T out to look at the moon right away. It’s really bright right now!”
One of the many joys of being around children is that we get to rediscover many things that we have grown to take for granted over the years as grown up thoughts crowd our brains. Mary Oliver’s question at the end of her poem, The Sun, grabs me and calms me every time I read it:
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure
that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you
as you stand there,
empty-handed-
or have you too
turned from this world-
or have you too
gone crazy
for power
for things?

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