tiny bubbles

Today I got some rare 1 on 1 time with one of my kids. I planned ahead and brought a basketball because the universe spread clouds all over the sky, giving us a nice day for once. You can't have anything nice in Arizona. So! While I fished out the basketball I noticed a lonesome party favor of bubbles in the car door. I grabbed those, too, and we ventured over to a couple of concrete squares to play our own version of two square.

Rules changed often, score was forgotten, smiles were wide, and laughter was easy. This little hour was one of my favorites of the day. Week? Possibly. Especially because this is the child that connects most easily with my husband. They are best friends. And that happens in families, some personalities click more easily. I've accepted this and try to sneak in special time with this child intentionally to close the gap between us. Sometimes it feels like we are on opposite sides of The Grand Canyon. Today it didn't.

Today, I accidentally impressed by being 'so good' at 2 square. My tricks were smooth. Until I caught the ball with the tip of my finger. And it hurt. A lot. I didn't cry, but I wanted to. I wanted to swear it hurt so bad. But I also didn't want to ruin the moment.

We sat on the bench together, me hating that I was ruining our magical time together by being a complete wuss with a jammed finger. SO LAME. Then I caught a glimpse of the bubbles. I just started to send them into the air, uncertain of what the response would be. At what age do they decide bubbles are only for babies?

"Mom, I love the way these bubbles look. They are especially pretty because you are blowing them."