Kids, when you tell them they've had too many sweeties, sullenly bow their heads and say "OK Daddy. I will not have any more sweeties," like the expert manipulators they are, at which point you are made to feel like a monster for not giving them more sweeties. Kids stop responding to funny faces and noises about one year in. You can't coast on that sh*t. You have to devise actual bits to keep them from going apesh*t, because kids are discerning.
And that's why you don't see young kids in the RAW crowd popping like they're in Justin's House at Bobby's Sisters, or Bobby Lashley mocking Jinder Mahal's meditation lessons, or Bobby Lashley.
But kids are also blessedly naive, quick to see the goodness in everything. They think you're tired when you put them to bed, and you are. You suffer from chronic exhaustion, which probably doesn't help your perception of WWE's rotten main roster product, but you're also going to stay awake for as long as your body will allow in order to cherish about 45 minutes of me time. Kids are beautiful souls too pure this world, and much too pure for Vince McMahon's.