Today fists were raised through wide open car windows in solidarity with spring. The blue above was brighter in the warmth. On a tree across the street from Number Two's pre-pre-school building, three shirts--one each in red, blue and green--waved with the current and proclaimed "No nuclear nothing! Never! Ban it from the planet!"
Number Two and I exited the school close to noon. He ran ahead, enjoying the feel of his feet on the non-icy surface. "Hold my hand, please?" I asked.
"I run!" he shouted, blazing ahead.
I put on a melodramatic pout which was probably more enjoyable than it should have been. I threw in a gratuitous shoulder heave as if sobbing. "But I want to you hold your hand!"
"I know! I'll hold your hand and we can run together!" I grabbed his tiny fingers and we padded off toward sun that layered itself hotly over the salt-film of my car. We dislodged at a bumper that was worse for the wear after a season of rock-hard snow banks. I threw his backpack into the backseat and stepped back only to find him standing next to me with his hand held out for the taking. I clasped it in mine.
"Hold hands," he said. "Mommy no cry."