Things remembered

I wish I had a camera, I thought yesterday as I watched the girls run through the yard. Every now and then they’d come running back to me to check in, arms outstretched, Grand-Canyon wide smiles stretched across their face, the sun hitting their hair and lighting it up around their faces.

I’d lift them by the armpits one at a time and swing them around in a wide circle, their feet swinging straight out from my body, their squeals of joy mixing with my laughter.

Then I’d set them down again and off they’d go – galloping around the yard pretending to be horses playing in a vast apple orchard. A few minutes later they’d race back to me and we’d repeat the ritual of lift-spin-giggle again.

It was late in the day – after 6 p.m. and the sun was low in the sky casting long shadows across the yard, giving everything the hazy orange glow that only comes on summer afternoons.

I’d gone out for most of the afternoon – a brief Mommy hiatus taken at Mark’s insistence. I browsed through Barnes & Noble leafing through books and enjoying a few hours of quiet time.

Upon returning home, my daughters rushed out of the house, barefoot with flowery sundresses bouncing around their legs. I received a huge hug from both of them and then off they ran into the yard neighing like horses. The few hours out of the house did me a world of good. My mind clicked along, happy to have been away, but even happier to be home again with them.

I wish I had a camera, I thought again, watching them go. I wish I could freeze this moment, this gorgeous day on film to remember always.

Now I realize I’ll never forget it.