Colours

This morning, you professed to be on board with tobogganing in the park, but then you lay on the floor in your pyjamas poomin’ various targets with your stick. When I finally wrangled you into some clothes, you chastised me for the snugness of your turtleneck. Then you ran and hid your face in the blankets when I said it was time to brush your teeth. After more than an hour of these and other departure delaying antics, a slate grey cloud of annoyance hovered over my head as we walked to the park.

When we got to the park, I was pleased to see that the hill I was thinking of was just your size. You sat on the toboggan, trying to get yourself going down the hill by wiggling your bum around. I gave the toboggan a little push with my foot and you chastised me again for my unsolicited help, steamy bile-green frustration rising up off of you.

Eventually you acquiesced. After a few successful Mommy-powered runs, your toboggan had carved a sleek path in the snow, making it easier for you to do it all by yourself. And so you did, each run down the hill taking you a little bit further, propelling your confidence higher and higher. Finally, towards the end of one particularly successful run, you lifted your hands off the grips, tentatively at first, then thrusting them full above your head in victory.

When the toboggan stopped, you looked back toward me, making sure that someone had witnessed your triumph. There was only a small window of your face visible between the fleecy borders of your hat and scarf, yet I could clearly see the delight dancing in your eyes; your cheeks and nose dusted with a particular shade of frosty pink that I can only conclude is the colour of joy.