I am pushing the girls on the tire swing. Alice straddles the rope on top of the tire. Jane is wedged inside the tire itself.
"Higher, Daddy! Higher!"
I am already pushing them too high, but I oblige. Their cheeks bulge with the kind of smile than cannot be repressed. They are giggling and laughing.
"I'm getting dizzzzzzzy!"
Bits of sunlight sneak through the leafy canopy and dapple their tanned faces. The air catches their golden curls. The wind ripples their sun dresses.
I'm going to take a picture.
I never take pictures, but I'm not going to let this moment go by.
The camera is in the house. We're having fun right now. We'll come back later, recreate the scene, and then take a picture.
After supper. We're sitting on the picnic table.
It's past bedtime, but the sun is shining. It's Friday night. There's no rush.
"Oh!" I say, remembering. "Girls, let's go take your picture out on the tire swing."
They run to the swing. I step inside the house and grab the camera. Before I walk out the back door, I can hear the shouting.
"HENRY! DAD said he was taking OUR picture!"
"DAD WANTS TO TAKE OUR PICTURE ON THE TIRE SWING!"
"YOU NOT NICE BOY, HENRY. GET OFF!"
The tire swing knocks into Jane. She topples to the ground.
"MWAAAAAAAAAH! Daddy! He hit me! Mwwaaaaaaah!"
I pick up a sobbing Jane. Alice's eyes are just starting to stream sympathy tears. The three of them are a symphony of screaming.
I slip the camera into my pocket. Jane wipes her puffy red eyes.
"I thought you were going to take our picture? We look so pretty."