It’s a lazy Spring day, sun streaming down through leafy trees. My legs stretch out in front of me. I watch the dappling move and sway. I wiggle my toes in front of me. Through half shut eyes, I watch the kids make slow circles in the yard. They try to decide on a game they both will play, indifference and the call for shade wins, they find me and plop down on chairs and watch their own toes sticking out of sandals and flip flops.
For a while the three of us sit in silence. It is not often this quiet. With heads tilted back, shading our eyes with our hands, sunglasses. I hear the twittering of birds and in the distance a dog’s bark. My daughter turns to me, holds out her arms, I pull her up into my lap. Then there is quiet.
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.