Over the weekend, I watched Molly play in a blow up pool and ride her bike around the cul-de-sac with her neighborhood friends. All the kids were barefoot, though their parents made a valiant effort to the contrary, standing up every so often from lawn chairs to holler, “Turn around!” “Too far!” “Car’s coming! Out of the street!”
We clipped and unclipped helmets. Kissed scraped knees. Applied and re-applied sunscreens in quick, uneven strokes.
And then as if the moment couldn’t absorb another inch of suburban nostalgia, the ice cream truck came slow-rolling through the neighborhood playing “Pop Goes the Wiesel” and all the kids lost their minds at the exact moment we were trying to shuffle them inside for dinner.
These days are so sweet.