You come home, a little sweaty from the walk up the hill. Black t-shirt and Chucks and jeans. Your hair is messy and longer than it has ever been. The girls and I are making a bed on the bedroom floor. "We napping," Anya says.

I look at you with the eyes of someone old, who has lived her life already. This is a strange feeling, like I have already been here. It makes me sad, like I am watching a scene from a movie where the main character is not going to make it to the end. The sun is coming in the window just right and the future seems unwritten and free and yet I think, "We will never be younger than this. We will never be happier than this."

One of those is true. You will never be younger than you are today, this very minute, this very second. You are the youngest you will ever be, so stop wasting your time.

"We will never be happier than this," is hopefully not true. I hope I don't think this again. I push it out of my mind and help the girls turn their floor bed into a dragon cave and then a bear cave and then a monster cave and we have made all of the known caves and we are on to something new.