Another fun thing Ava did with her Gramary on Wednesday (who came up with the spelling of Wednesday, and can we change it?) was to visit the practice field used by the Iowa Marching Band. The band was there preparing for the big game at Soldier Field this weekend, and Ava rejoiced in marching along on the edge of the field as the musicians honed their steps.
When Ava came home, hopped up on smoothie and chocolate milk, Leah showed her the new kitty cat rain boots we’d bought her that noon. I was downstairs for the reveal, which took place right after Ava’s bath, but when I heard the distinct sound of thick rubber soles stomping up and down the hall on the second floor, I had to investigate.
When I got to Ava’s room, Leah was sitting on the floor in front of the open boot box, and Ava was high stepping up and down the hall, naked save for the new boots, hair still wet from the bath, yelling “Go Hawks!” at the top of her tiny lungs. That little internal voice, again, insistent, frantic, “Get your camera! Where is it? Run and get it, NOW!”
I’ve been known to jump up without notice from a perfectly comfortable spot on the couch to grab my camera and run outside for a shot I don’t want to miss. I actually felt a visceral sense of loss the other day when I saw a gorgeous caterpillar sitting on the edge of a fountain at a landscaping company Leah and I were visiting, its little spiny hairs tipped with water droplets, and I didn’t have my camera.
But I couldn’t bring myself to move a muscle as I sat on the floor and watched Ava march. It was the million dollar video, the once-in-a-lifetime shot. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to recreate this particular moment, Ava’s exuberance, her laughter, the sound in her voice and the movement of her right arm as she wielded her invisible mace, up and down, up and down, in time with her step. I looked over at Leah, and she looked back with a combination “WTF? / This is awesome!” smile that must’ve been a reflection of the adoring bewilderment on my own face. Right at that second, in that very instant before I turned back to watch Ava, I knew that I loved these two people more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life.
There’s never going to be a picture of that moment anywhere but in my mind, a fact that makes it only more precious, like a tale of first love sent down from generation to generation in the stories of new lovers. But I can see it now when I close my eyes, the damp tangle of Ava’s hair on her shoulders, like a faraway star that compels me to consider my place in this world.