I squeeze my eyes shut tight, hoping I can hold on to this moment forever. It’s not perfect. Not even close. There’s something rattling under the raccoon couch. My preteen daughter and both of her dads are staring at us from the car parked in the corner of the lot. An early spring storm is rolling in and my hair is probably doing something ridiculous in the humidity. But it’s mine. Even in its flaws, this moment is mine.
