Last night when I got home, I looked out back and saw Nikki sitting on the porch with Abby, blowing bubbles. They were just sitting there, lost to the world. Abby crawling around looking for clumps of dirt to eat...bubbles flying everywhere. Mother. Daughter. Love. America. Rockwell.
When I went to join them, I noticed that the porch door was locked. And, thinking back, so was the front. It seems that in reality, Nikki wasn't teaching our young daughter that bubbles are a metaphor for the fleeting joyful moments in life and we should appreciate them before they pop. She forgot to take the house keys and locked herself out. Aww.