And So It Begins

I turned to the sound of little, running feet to find an angelic face full of excited expectation. Sleep tousled hair, bright shiny eyes, sweet pink cheeks, and a plump bow-shaped mouth all frame a pert little nose shimmering with a constant flow of gleaming snot. How can I deny such a face? A face created within my own womb, reminiscent of his handsome father, and so pure and innocent that it breaks my heart into tiny pieces every time I gaze upon it. I long to smother those sweet cheeks with a thousand kisses, except a shimmer on the right one suggests smeared snot, so I'll refrain for the moment.

Then a sweet voice, like angels singing on high, emerges from that bow-shaped mouth while chubby little hands extend an empty plate in my direction, "Maw, peas?"

And my heart aches. So sweet. So trusting. So hopeful. But I must deliver the evil words, "I'm sorry, Tank. The cinnamon rolls are all gone. You ate the last one."

There is silence so deafening that I think my ears will burst. And the breath is sucked from the room, eagerly waiting in dread for the response of heartbreak. It is not long in coming, and its ferociousness is staggering in its intensity. The initial scream of denial is piercing but quickly tamped down by the rapid, demanding stomping of angry little feet. 

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" is the lament that fills the air and surrounds our souls. "NOOOOOOOOOO!" is its wrenching echo that rips the heart from your chest. "NOOOOOOOO!" is the denial that renews the anger and heartbreak. 

"I WON MAW SIN-MON WOES!!!"

And the plate clambers to the floor, and the sturdy little body collapses next to it, and the kicking, and the pounding, and the screaming ensue. Tears flow. Wails flow. Snot flows. The mourning of the devouring of the last cinnamon roll rivals the anguished lament of a thousand mourners at a wailing wall. It is so consuming. It is so agonized. It is so woeful.

"Would you like some strawberries?" I offer.

There is silence so deafening that the echoes of the recent screams still ring in my ears.

"Okay." 

My angel lithely springs to his feet, the soul-wrenching flow of tears gone, the keening wail silenced, the eternal flow of snot still at a run.

And we have survived the first hour of the first day of summer vacation.