Lia's my slice of perfect pie.

The early summer Sun is dangling from a string one foot above my head. the beads of sweat race down the back of my neck seeking shade under my t-shirt. Think cold thoughts. You're walking on the frozen plains of the north pole. The freezing winds are burning the skin on your face. Fresh crispy air fill and sting your lungs. And instead of pushing a stroller you are pulling a heavy wooden sled, where all of your life's possessions rest softly and enjoy the free ride. Splash. The sound of water and children's laughter break me from my dream. The children, newly freed from their academia and social hierarchies, are swimming in pools in their big back yards. Protected by tall wooden fences- pale yellow fences that still smell faintly of Home Depot. My yard is small. And my daughter has no pool. And my fence is made of old, brown boards we took off of the former fence when ol' Gustav decided to blow it down. I'm just trying to get to fun. I just want to take my daughter to music class and watch her dance and sing-watch her love me and show her I love her. Instead its ungodly hot. Instead of singing, she's sweating. And instead of dancing, she's sitting in a stroller. But we do make it. I watch her smile and play and run. She went along for the ride without a single cry or whine. She thought nothing of the strangeness of not traveling in her familiar car seat, or if she did think about it, at least she had the decency not to comment. Not once did she mention the heat or the bumps or the bright sun. She was perfect. God gave me a slice of perfect.