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  • Writer's pictureA is for Agape

Popsicles and Smiles

Before I can shut my eyes and fully retreat, there is a tug on my arm, “Mom, remember when we had popsicles, just the other day.” And just like that the silence ends, my daughter wiggles on my lap, expectant. I just nod my head. My son runs towards the door, my daughter slides off. As fast as they can, they are inside. I hear the freezer door open, rustling of packages being moved, shifted. Then there is the familiar crinkle of popsicles unwrapping.

They burst out of the house. Outside, they run to the grass, and under the bright sun, they lick the icy sugar until their tongues are bright red and mellow green. I almost pull myself out of the chair to get my own, wanting to remember just how exciting a cold popsicle on a warm day can be.

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