Fresh Snow

I’ve been struggling with how to start this thing.  The blank page can be so intimidating. Then I remembered that when I was a kid and we lived in the mountains, there was nothing more thrilling than discovering fresh untrammeled snow to dash through and make your mark upon.  So, here I go. Wheeeee!

 

Elias starts kindergarten in the fall.  That means he’s eligible for the half-day summer camps at the community college where my husband works.  He started his first camp this week, and since his brother Miles is still in classes for another week, we have an opportunity for one-on-one time that is all too rare.

 

 We drop Miles at school and head to the college, but we’re early, so we go to the cafeteria and I grab a coffee.  Eli grabs some Frosted Flakes and milk, and we find a table.  We’re chatting about the first week’s theme — space — about bats (deciding it’s cool that they are nothing like birds except that they fly) and about the flags of dozens of nations lining the walls of the dining room.  We try to guess which country each represents, and we agree we need to get a book out of the library so we can know for sure.  Then Eli gives me one of his thoughtful gazes.

 

“Mommy?”

“Yes.”

“What did you want to be when you grew up when you were little?  Daddy wanted to be a bass player.  What did you want to be?”

 ”Well, I guess I wanted to be a singer.”

 A moment goes by.  Eli looks at me quizzically.  I’ve never told him this before.  

 ”But Mommy, you’re not a singer. You work at a museum.  You said you wanted to be a singer but you’re not.  Why didn’t you get to be what you wanted to be when you grew up?”

 Ugh.  There it is.  The moment where I might explain to my five-year old that people don’t always get to be what they want to be when they grow up.

 ”So,” I say, “Which country do you think that one with the big blue star in the middle comes from?”