You greet me at the door, dressed in your snowsuit. “I need my boots, I’m going outside,” you state with confidence. Before I even set my bags down and unload my work day you are searching for your hat. Yia Yia arguing with you about wearing gloves. You are shouting, “Papou! Pame!” (Grandpa, let’s go)
You look at me and smile. You have done this yourself. Gazed out the window all afternoon waiting as the snow fell. I can imagine you asking to go outside over and over again while Papou and Yia Yia tried to distract you. I can see the moment the snow stopped, you were tired of waiting so you went to the closet, pulled your step stool close, and yanked your snowsuit from the hanger with fierce determination.
You’re out the door in a whirl. Bossing Papou into pulling you on the sled-barely enough snow to make it slide. Falling on your back, you make a snow angel even though no one ever taught you how. You are as wild and as free as the snowflakes themselves.
When did you get so big?
I turn my attention to your sister, kicking her legs furiously in the swing. Her smiles have given way to impatience. She uses grunts and kicks to communicate. A stark contrast to your three-year-old independence and fire. As I approach her she squeals with joy. I hug her to me feeling her warm little heart beating. We stand at the window and watch you take on the world.