Husband standing, waiting a small blue backpack with an orange shark print motif dangled from one hand. Barely in view, crouched down in the middle of our driveway was Carter examining what was left of our snow – tire crushed, frozen snow slush. They walked slowly towards the house, Husband stopping every few steps and glancing back nodding at whatever Carter was saying.
The boy in the puffy blue jacket flitted from snow pile to ice chunk, from snow covered branch, to mud puddle carefully looking, studying little pieces of nature as only a three year old can do. I smiled, hidden in the shadows behind the window. It was such a treat to watch him from the inside looking out. I reveled in not being the one coaxing him forward ever so slowly step by step, back to the house from the bus stop. I was only an observer.
As they got closer and into the yard they gravitated to what was left of our snowman, a lopsided snowball the size of a beach ball, one lone branch-arm pointing accusingly to the sky as if cursing the warming trend of the last few days. Carter plucked the branch out of the snow and started poking at it. A chunk broke off. Husband picked it up and tossed it. As it came down he kicked it with his size 14 foot and it exploded in a burst of snow flurry. I heard Carter laugh. I imagined Carter asking his papa to do it again as Husband scooped up another snow chunk and proceeded to punt it to the sky. After a couple more chunks were kicked they turned and headed my way. Smiling, I ducked back into the kitchen to stir the leftover soup and take the warm bread out of the oven. Time for lunch.