We have a hammock on the deck. I hadn’t found a moment to lie on it so far this summer, but this weekend, on a whim, I picked up daughter, carried her outside and took a seat sideways on the hammock. It was wet from the downpour the previous day, but I had my lovely five-year-old wrapped around me, her legs bent like a newborn and the wet netting just didn’t matter. It was fairly early in the morning and I had just returned from an 18 mile bike ride. I could see my mug of tea at the top of the deck; it would have to wait. I held daughter tight, helping her get over her fear of the bugs that freely roam our deck. They’re right. It is amazing. It’s completely private with a view of only long grasses, tall trees, a meandering creek and a few deer. Daughter and I lay there, curled up on the hammock while she told me story after story. I resisted the urge to get that mug or grab my phone for a photo of us. The memory of it is enough, her long legs folded up into my lap. My right arm half-asleep from supporting her 46 pounds.