Frozen

“Um, are we going to walk across the lake??”

My eldest seems concerned but my middle is excited. The youngest is eager and cold so runs toward the frozen lake.

“Yes,” I say “how cool is that?”

I glance behind me and my husband gives me a smile.

It took us 45 minutes to pack the snacks, the waters, the extra mittens, the normal mittens, the face masks, and the back up snacks. We used the time to get them bundled in snow pants and boots as well, slipping their coats on after they got out of the van.

“Brrr!” Our youngest says.

Maybe it’s 10 degrees? Probably even fewer degrees as we step onto the wide open thick ice. I feel the wind slicing through the open air and tuck my chin further into my scarf.

“My stomach hurts,” my eldest says.

“You were reading on the way here,” I say, “it’ll go away when you move more.”

“Brrrr,” my youngest says again.

I look up ahead, somehow my husband and middle are miles ahead of us and miles beyond them is the kite festival.

“Ugh,” my eldest says, dramatically flopping onto the ice.

“Can we go back,” my youngest says.

His pink face speaks volumes of how cold my own face feels. I pull my scarf free and wrap it around his face. He laughs.

“Mom, I can’t see!”

I tug the top of his scarf down slightly.

“Peek a boo!” I say, “what happened to your face mask?“

He shrugs then stretches his arms out to me.

“Can you carry me?”

“I can’t walk anymore!” My oldest says as he stumbles and skitters across the snowy parts of the ice.

I look up ahead and feel my stomach rumble. Who’s idea was this anyway? Why didn’t we eat lunch first? The food trucks at the festival feel so far!

My husband and middle are picking up the pace as we fall farther and farther behind. My husband thrives in snow and cold. Usually my middle is a disaster in the cold so I take a moment to enjoy his racing feet across the snowy ice as I allow my youngest to reach out to me again and pick him up.

Four year olds are heavy. There’s a reason they learn how to walk at one or one and a half. He drops his head on my shoulder snd snuggles in. The sweetness of his breath against my face almost overwhelms the weight of him.

“Gah!!” My eldest says again and stumbles once more, “can we go back!!”

“Knock it off!” I yell. My hunger and chilled face are enough for me to handle but carrying 40 pounds and a maybe sick probably not actually sick eight year old stumbling next to me pushes me over to anger.

“Get yourself together. You are not sick and if you are it’s your own fault for reading in the car! Now walk so we can get to the kite festival and have FUN!”

My eight year old’s face starts to scrunch together.

“You don’t believe…”

Then he sees my face, turns away toward the festival and walks. Stomps. Across the ice.

I drop my youngest back down carefully and tell him Mama needs a break, he needs to use his legs again.

When I look up again the kites finally seem closer and my husband and middle are waiting for us.

I take a deep breath, grab hold of my youngest’s hand, and we finally close the gap and become five again.

Later, we are fed. We are still cold. And I am carrying my youngest back from where we came. We watch the kites fly. My oldest smiles. I apologize. I take another moment to do what I said we should do and enjoy a moment. I kiss my husband on the frozen ice, once, then twice.

What will I remember of this day? What will they remember?

Together we watch the kites fly.