I see a bike rack. She sees a magic tunnel.
"Mama! Mama! Can I?"
We're leaving a doctor's office and I am in a hurry. It's already 5 p.m. and I still need to get dinner started, Buttercup's bath and story time in before bed, and then get The Husband prepped for work so he can leave at 11 with a thermos of hot coffee and a lunch cooler. I want to get home now so I can move so fast that perhaps time will speed, allowing me the small luxury of momentary freedom from the constant craziness that much sooner.
"Mama? See the tunnel?" She's tugging at my pants, just itching to follow her imagination wherever it may lead her.
I sigh as I release my child, laugh as I hear her squeals of happiness in its purest form.
To me, it's a bike rack. But to Buttercup, it's a magic tunnel.
Time has stopped. Dinner can wait.