15-Love

I watch Pink's final tennis lesson through the webbing of a chain link fence violated by climbing vines. I hear the pops of hollow tennis balls against the taut racket strings, the coach's voice rising over the staccato of messy volleys.  The two little ones run around with a friend's dad, putting him in a makeshift prison from which he keeps escaping. They run in concentric circles around him in fits of unbridled laughter, recapturing him over and over. Over and over, he breaks free.

I sit in the glistening morning grass, on the slope of a small hill. It hurts my back and the dew is soaking through my jean shorts and I know it will leave a big wet stain right on my ass, but I wouldn't give up the best seat in the house.

CB is at my side, leafing through her magazine, flapping her pom pom, staying unusually still and preoccupied.  She reaches out in intervals to grab my forearm and smile into my face.  She doesn't get pissy, a small but deeply appreciated victory.

Everything is blissfully normal this morning. I sigh at the unexpected ease of one hour out in the world, alone with all four girls. Usually a looming and obnoxious task laced with anticipatory dread and borderline self-pitying. But today, we have busted out of my makeshift prison, living each small victory at a time. Giggling unfettered. Broken free.