"What's that *****?"
"That's called 'frost', munchkin".
She looked at the railing with astonishment and wonder, her green-blue eyes sparkling.
"Fwost?"
"Frost"
"Fwost!", she said, confidently.
I just shook my head and smiled.
"Can I touch *****?"
"Sure"
"Will hurt?"
"Nope."
She looks at me with those same innocent eyes. Trust implied - despite her open mouth indicating uncertainty.
A gloved hand glides up to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. Gingerly, she steps forward - she's learned to be careful walking on ice. I'm tempted to scoop her up into my arms and stride over, but resist the urge.
You won't be around forever. She needs to learn...
She's almost at the railing when she realizes that I'm not right behind her. She hurriedly turns around, head craning to look for me.
"I'm coming munchkin. Don't spin around so fast".
"Ok *****!"
In a single stride, I've covered the distance. I can see her body visibly relax - *****'s here. She pries open a gloved hand, tiny little fingers emerging from their warm cocoon. Instantly, I can sense her shiver as the cold assaults her exposed skin - already pale skinned, her hand gets paler as the ***** beats a hasty retreat to conserve body heat. Montana in February can be unforgiving.
But bravely she ventures forth, ignoring the cold and discomfort. Stretching her arm forward, she gingerly touches the frosted railing - shimmering in the late afternoon sun.
Instantly her hand shoots back towards the warmer confines of her jacket.
"*****! Cold!"
Once again, those eyes wide as saucers turn towards me - her source of all knowledge, teddy bears... and ice cream.
I laugh, "well of course it is! That's why it's called frost!"
"But why cold?" she asks, still forgetting to use pronouns.
We'll have to work on that...
"Why is it cold?"
"Yes. Why it cold?", she asks impatiently.
Hmm. How do you explain to a toddler why frost is cold?
"Because it's made from ice. The same thing that we are standing on", I grin.
She's more amazed than ever. The same lake where she and her older ******* used to go swimming in the summer is now a frozen flat top.
I checked my watch.
Local **** would be coming by soon to play hockey. Better get her off the ice before she gets hurt
I stopped for a minute, lost in thought. A scene from my own ********* flashed before my eyes - the cold air burning my lungs as I streaked down the ice, dribbling the puck, swerving and dicing, head swiveling from side to side to be alert for checks. A ferocious ballet on ice.
I smiled, wistfully.
A scream snapped me back to the present.
"*****!"
My senses went on high alert. A surge of adrenalin surged through my body while my heart pounded in my chest. My face flushed and my eyes widened.
I spun around to where I heard her voice come from - fully expecting to see a wolf or bear clutching her or see her flailing around in ice water.
Instead, I saw her running - as much as it's possible to call what a scared toddler does on ice "running" - full tilt towards me. Her blue-green eyes now showed fear. Her impish smile replaced by the scrunched up expression of stress.
A stream of tears in her ****.
I bent down to one knee and opened my arms. She came sliding towards me and I scooped her tiny body up into my warm, protective arms. She was sobbing uncontrollably. I put her head to my chest while soothing her hair and back, patting gently to calm that racing heart.
"Shhh! It's ok munchkin. Everything's ok. *****'s here. *****'s here. Shhh!"
She lifted her head up, her pretty eyes rimmed red from ****** and sobbed "Look bad *****. Look mean and scary."
Then bravely, she lifted her head further and with an arm, pointed out the offending thing and the immediately cowered down into my arms.
It was a dead rabbit - probably the victim of a wolf or eagle ******. It was half mauled and frozen. It did look gross. No wonder the poor *** was shaken up.
Her sobs were less noticeable now. I soothed her, rubbing her back. Snot from her nose left a stain on my jacket. I gently lifted her chin and gazed squarely into her eyes, "want to go home munchkin?"
She shook her head in agreement.
"Ok then, let's go home"
She threw her little arms around my neck, sniffed and planted a sloppy, wet kiss on my cheek.
"I love you *****"
"I love you to munchkin", I replied as I ********* her with kisses.
"***, you all right?"
I tear myself away from the window - which led to the porch outside with it's wrought iron decorative pieces covered with frost. I turn and look. It's my ********. All 5'8" of her, with her red-blond hair, those magical blue-green eyes... that impish smile.
She touches me on the shoulder. A gentle touch. I wince inwardly - the wounds and scar tissue are more sensitive in the cold.
"You ok ***? Something bothering you?"
'Something bothering you'? That's my ******** asking me that question - her voice and her face showing concern. My dear darling ******** - the one who once ran screaming from a dead, frozen squirrel.
I shook my head with a smile.
"No darlin'. Everything's just fine". I put a hand to her cheek, "you're ****** and I are just glad you're home".
She walked closer, slipped her lissome arms around my neck, planted a big sloppy wet kiss on my weathered face.
"I love you ***".
"I love you too munchkin. I love you to", said I; as a single tear brushed against her soft skin.
- R.
"That's called 'frost', munchkin".
She looked at the railing with astonishment and wonder, her green-blue eyes sparkling.
"Fwost?"
"Frost"
"Fwost!", she said, confidently.
I just shook my head and smiled.
"Can I touch *****?"
"Sure"
"Will hurt?"
"Nope."
She looks at me with those same innocent eyes. Trust implied - despite her open mouth indicating uncertainty.
A gloved hand glides up to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. Gingerly, she steps forward - she's learned to be careful walking on ice. I'm tempted to scoop her up into my arms and stride over, but resist the urge.
You won't be around forever. She needs to learn...
She's almost at the railing when she realizes that I'm not right behind her. She hurriedly turns around, head craning to look for me.
"I'm coming munchkin. Don't spin around so fast".
"Ok *****!"
In a single stride, I've covered the distance. I can see her body visibly relax - *****'s here. She pries open a gloved hand, tiny little fingers emerging from their warm cocoon. Instantly, I can sense her shiver as the cold assaults her exposed skin - already pale skinned, her hand gets paler as the ***** beats a hasty retreat to conserve body heat. Montana in February can be unforgiving.
But bravely she ventures forth, ignoring the cold and discomfort. Stretching her arm forward, she gingerly touches the frosted railing - shimmering in the late afternoon sun.
Instantly her hand shoots back towards the warmer confines of her jacket.
"*****! Cold!"
Once again, those eyes wide as saucers turn towards me - her source of all knowledge, teddy bears... and ice cream.
I laugh, "well of course it is! That's why it's called frost!"
"But why cold?" she asks, still forgetting to use pronouns.
We'll have to work on that...
"Why is it cold?"
"Yes. Why it cold?", she asks impatiently.
Hmm. How do you explain to a toddler why frost is cold?
"Because it's made from ice. The same thing that we are standing on", I grin.
She's more amazed than ever. The same lake where she and her older ******* used to go swimming in the summer is now a frozen flat top.
I checked my watch.
Local **** would be coming by soon to play hockey. Better get her off the ice before she gets hurt
I stopped for a minute, lost in thought. A scene from my own ********* flashed before my eyes - the cold air burning my lungs as I streaked down the ice, dribbling the puck, swerving and dicing, head swiveling from side to side to be alert for checks. A ferocious ballet on ice.
I smiled, wistfully.
A scream snapped me back to the present.
"*****!"
My senses went on high alert. A surge of adrenalin surged through my body while my heart pounded in my chest. My face flushed and my eyes widened.
I spun around to where I heard her voice come from - fully expecting to see a wolf or bear clutching her or see her flailing around in ice water.
Instead, I saw her running - as much as it's possible to call what a scared toddler does on ice "running" - full tilt towards me. Her blue-green eyes now showed fear. Her impish smile replaced by the scrunched up expression of stress.
A stream of tears in her ****.
I bent down to one knee and opened my arms. She came sliding towards me and I scooped her tiny body up into my warm, protective arms. She was sobbing uncontrollably. I put her head to my chest while soothing her hair and back, patting gently to calm that racing heart.
"Shhh! It's ok munchkin. Everything's ok. *****'s here. *****'s here. Shhh!"
She lifted her head up, her pretty eyes rimmed red from ****** and sobbed "Look bad *****. Look mean and scary."
Then bravely, she lifted her head further and with an arm, pointed out the offending thing and the immediately cowered down into my arms.
It was a dead rabbit - probably the victim of a wolf or eagle ******. It was half mauled and frozen. It did look gross. No wonder the poor *** was shaken up.
Her sobs were less noticeable now. I soothed her, rubbing her back. Snot from her nose left a stain on my jacket. I gently lifted her chin and gazed squarely into her eyes, "want to go home munchkin?"
She shook her head in agreement.
"Ok then, let's go home"
She threw her little arms around my neck, sniffed and planted a sloppy, wet kiss on my cheek.
"I love you *****"
"I love you to munchkin", I replied as I ********* her with kisses.
"***, you all right?"
I tear myself away from the window - which led to the porch outside with it's wrought iron decorative pieces covered with frost. I turn and look. It's my ********. All 5'8" of her, with her red-blond hair, those magical blue-green eyes... that impish smile.
She touches me on the shoulder. A gentle touch. I wince inwardly - the wounds and scar tissue are more sensitive in the cold.
"You ok ***? Something bothering you?"
'Something bothering you'? That's my ******** asking me that question - her voice and her face showing concern. My dear darling ******** - the one who once ran screaming from a dead, frozen squirrel.
I shook my head with a smile.
"No darlin'. Everything's just fine". I put a hand to her cheek, "you're ****** and I are just glad you're home".
She walked closer, slipped her lissome arms around my neck, planted a big sloppy wet kiss on my weathered face.
"I love you ***".
"I love you too munchkin. I love you to", said I; as a single tear brushed against her soft skin.
- R.
