I bend down to pick up my daughter with curls the same color as the wheat field before me. The same color as her aunt’s. “You ready for some cookies?” I ask, tickling her sides. Her giggles ring out into the sky and the birds chirp as if they’re singing back to her. “Cookies! Cookies!” she chants. “I love you, Mommy.” She’s generous with her I love yous when food is involved, and I can’t help but laugh. “I love you too, Gilly.”
