In that teensy second, my brain whirls with cheering, fireworks, and the image of confetti shooting through the air. In the next moment, I can vaguely hear the sound of a balloon letting out air. It's just cauliflower.
I want to remember. More than anything, I want to remember the sun stretched out, turning the snow cotton candy pink and the wonder of small eyes blinking it in to their souls. I want to remember the tiny bundle, under four big, fluffy blankets in the stroller. Oh, to feel that warmth on my hand, lifting the flap, checking his cheeks, and seeing his little lips sucking on that soother - a blue and black plaid hood framing his wee face. I want to recall the sticks that were so cheerfully collected for a fire when 'springtime comes.' I want to see those little gloves, that zip all the way up to their elbows, digging in the snow 'like badgers.' Please, oh please, don't let me forget, standing with my three children, in a landscape cloaked with snow, watching the sun put itself to sleep, while at the same time we watched the big, fat moon rise high. Crisp air, big sky, and the crunch of our feet in the white. Discussions of coyote and deer tracks and the wild possibility of what a big white hare's feet might look like in the snow, bury themselves into my mind. More than I want to remember, I want them to remember. If their minds are too small to recall the details of our everyday, please let these three little people know a kinship with the wild outdoors and a deep love of family. Let the good of these days be sewn into their hearts.