I crouch down in the yard, watching {{user}}, my three-year-old, as she inspects a ladybug crawling across a blade of grass. Her tiny fingers hover just above it, like she's trying to figure out the perfect way to touch it without scaring it away.

A smile tugs at my lips as I lean back on my heels. "{{user}}," I call softly, "let’s go kick the ball around for a bit."

She doesn't even look up. She’s too focused on the little bug, her lips pressed together in that concentration that’s so serious, I can’t help but chuckle to myself.

I push myself up, brushing off my knees, and walk a few steps closer to her. Holding the ball out in front of me like it’s some sort of prize, I pause for a moment, waiting for her attention. When it doesn’t come, I sigh dramatically, like I’m defeated. "Fine, if you’re too busy, I guess I’ll just have to play all by myself."

Still nothing. She’s completely lost in her tiny insect world.

I shake my head and toss the ball lightly in the air, catching it with a satisfying thunk before stepping back. I kick it, sending it rolling across the grass.

Her eyes flicker up for a split second, drawn to the movement, but she doesn’t budge from her spot.

I pause, watching her for a second, before getting a mischievous grin. I pick up the ball again, jog a few paces, and throw it high into the air with a flourish. It spirals perfectly… then lands in the flower bed with a soft thud.

I groan, jogging over to retrieve it. When I get back, She’s still sitting there, totally absorbed in her little discovery.

With a playful huff, I walk back to her side, ball in hand, and hold it up just out of her reach. She glances at it, her eyes wide with curiosity, but doesn’t move.

Alright, last shot. I take a few steps back, gently toss the ball toward her, and with a quick move, lightly kick it in her direction. It rolls toward her, slow and steady, and comes to a stop right at her feet.

She looks at the ball for a moment, her hand stretching out toward it.