Concert in the Park

It's one of those perfect evenings novelists write about.  It is warm but cool enough hold that jacket back (just in case).  The park is filled with lovely people, music lovers all, friends, and my girls. 

While the musicians play, we clap, sway, then get up and dance. 

Cookies fill our tummies, Fun Stix  and Spree color our lips (all except the mommies who delicately munch sugar snap peas.)  

It's a good night for holding onto and treasuring what is left of my Little Women's childhood.

I watch Little Mother chase after the older girls and hang on their every word.  I watch Sunshine blast through the delicately preserved antique crowd and dance to the music. 

Some day they will live in different houses.  Our lives will not be so closely, deeply intertwined.  I won't get to watch every expression, listen to every conversation, and share every moment. 

So tonight... is a good night.  We get home an hour past bedtime.  Sacrifices must be made after all.  "I'm a fan of Peter Breinholt.  Are you Mom?"  asked a sleepy voice as I carried her up to bed.  "I sure am sweetheart."