She grabs another flower, almost losing it to the wind as she holds it up for my approval. I smile and take it through the chain-link fence, adding it to the bouquet that's already wilting in my green-stained hand.
     I motion to the other side of the field, where the opposing coach has finally convinced the batter to stop picking his nose. She whips her head around, shaking her waist-length hair that she refuses to let you cut. As the ball slowly rolls to the outfield, I watch the dimple above her right eyebrow appear as she bites her lower lip in concentration.
     I search the stands for your face, seeing the same look reflected there as you watch her again become distracted by the cluster of daisies at her feet. You catch my eye and give a small wave, smiling; I return it and look back at our daughter just in time to catch her lopsided grin. Her knee-length T-shirt has been pulled up like an apron to aid her in collecting more flowers.
     Chuckling to myself, I remember our conversation yesterday:
     "Alexandra Lyn!"
     Her head turned, a guilty look on her face as she balanced on the edge of the porch.
     "You know better, young lady. Use the stairs."
     She heaved her patented five-year-old sigh and made her way down to the yard safely.
     I heard the front door open and close, your footsteps approaching behind me. You stood beside me, wrapping your arm around my waist and watching Alex traipse through the grass, stopping occasionally to look down before picking up a flower.
     "What is she doing?"
     I turned to you and smiled. "Picking daisies. I taught her how to make daisy chains." 
     You jokingly rolled your eyes and groaned. "Our house is going to be overtaken by flowers, I hope you know this. You got her started on something."
     "I know," I reply, my smile growing, "she is your daughter after all. With your deadly concentration and inability to focus on more than one thing at once."
     I got a playful punch in the arm for my tease. I laughed and grabbed your hand, kissing your fingers.
     I'm brought back to the present by a loud yell from the stands. I recognize our neighbor's voice, cheering on his son. You haven't moved from your spot. Alex's concentration is back on the game, which is nearly over.
     After dropping off the wilted flowers in the car, I carefully step over food, drinks, and people to sit next to you in the spot you've saved. You give me a quick kiss hello.
     "I just called your mom, she says Michael's tugging at his ear again."
     "Damn." All we need is another trip to the pediatrician this month.
     "She said she called the doctor, he said it should be fine. Probably just the antibiotics haven't fully kicked it yet."
     "Okay," I sigh.
     You take my hand, rubbing your thumb over my knuckles. "He'll be alright, sweetie. He's got his mom's toughness," you say with a smile.
     I smile back. "Yeah, and his mama's horrible immune system."
     We're distracted by Alex catching a ball and throwing it over into left field, about five yards left of her goal of first base. She looks into the stands and sees us, waves, as we yell encouragement.
     Sitting back down, a breeze has begun. You automatically wrap your arm around me to stop my shivering. I huddle into your side, kissing your cheek before laying my head on your shoulder, cringing as your yells travel directly to my ear.
     I look up at your face from my awkward position. Your dark hair, just beginning to get bits of grey around the temple. The lines of your face not completely disappearing when you relax. Above it all, the beauty I have seen since I first knew you. "I love you."
     The response I have heard a million times before, but that never seems to have a lessened effect. "I love you too."