Winter Afternoon

At daycare pickup he runs toward me, chanting. Mommy Mommy Mommy. I stay still on the mat, not letting one snowy boot touch the pristine wood floors. Bribed with a sucker, he lets me dress him: mittens, hat, coat, boots.

I drive home, slowly, weaving down the parkway. I ask him about his day. Did you have fun? No! Do you mean yes? Yes! Who did you see? Assan, Cash, Audit, Ack-Ack, sucker! I tell him I missed him, did he miss me? I am admonished to stop talking - Mommy, sucker!

At home, I pull into the garage. The door closes behind us and it gets very dark. From the backseat he Woooooos. I grab him from his car seat, throw away the half-sucker stuck to my upholstery. I unload the car, layer my body with work bags, groceries, Henry's backpack.

In the house, we strip off the bags and winter clothing. We let Oskar out. I fix a snack, cubed up cheese and strawberries. I unload the dishwasher and he talks to himself while he eats, cheese cheese dawberry mommy.

I hold him in my arms and we look out the window at the backyard. I ask him if he sees snow. No! Do you mean yes? Yes! I show him how I can use my hot breath to steam up the window, and how I can use my index finger to draw a heart in the steam. I add an H for Henry and an M for Mom to the heart and then I wipe the drawing away with my palm.