The day begins early and quietly. We eat breakfast, get dressed, and hurry to the backyard to play while it's still cool. I bring a cup of coffee, a notebook and pen, and my camera. Lily wanders around then plops herself down to play. This lasts for a total of three minutes.
She comes over to me, eyes my pen and grabs for it. I take it from her and she screams. I settle her down. She climbs the deck stairs, sees my coffee mug, and places a dirt-laced play shovel into it. I dump my coffee in the grass.
She spots my camera. "Lily," I say. "Don't touch." And she doesn't, but she gets dangerously close to it. She really wants to touch it. I pick up the camera and point it at her. At first she half-smiles, then reaches her dirty little hands up toward the lens. I'm determined to get a nice photo of her (what on earth am I thinking?), so we end up bobbing and weaving and she's screaming again.
So we go inside and have a snack, and once again everything is right in the world.