Clang!

The gate crashed shut, jolting my thoughts away from that morning’s staff meeting. Vibrations rocked the black aluminum fence around our neighborhood pool as a shriek rose across the sunny, chlorine-scented pool deck.

“Daddy!” My four-year-old, Emma, came tearing toward me around the pool in a pink unicorn swim vest. I noticed the collective wince from all the adults present as her little feet slapped the concrete, mere inches from the water.

“Walk, Emma!” Lila, my nanny, shouted. Her words went unheeded as Emma collided with my legs, almost knocking me over. She was like a puppy: deliriously happy to see me after only an hour of separation. Adorable, but exhausting.

I swept her up into the air and settled her against my hip. She hugged me, her face nestling into my shoulder while curly pigtails tickled my chin. The stress of my morning felt a little lighter. At least one of my girls was in a good mood.

Lila sat on the pool steps, beaming, while my eight- and ten-year-old daughters sat at a shaded table—arms crossed and scowls at the ready.

Now what?

They’d seemed okay when they left with Lila that morning. I sighed, pushed away the fatigue, and pasted on a calm smile as I walked around the pool to join them.

Putting Emma down, I tested my luck with Audrey, who sometimes seemed to be “in a mood” just to align with her big sister. “Are you too big to be thrown into the pool?”

She bit her lip, glancing at older sister Chloe, who rolled her eyes and looked away. My gut tensed as Audrey looked back to me. Temptation flickered in her eyes and I raised my hands slowly in an offer, lifting a brow.

“Me first, Daddy!” Emma shouted, yanking my elbow. I crouched down, lowering a brow at her sweet face and trying to look stern. “Emma. We don’t get what we want by shouting and grabbing people, do we?”

She pursed her lips and shook her head, blue eyes twinkling. “Sorry, Daddy.” She glanced at Lila, who smiled encouragingly at her. “Please?”