He couldn’t stop looking out the window.
I’m first. His mind shouted it as he dressed himself.
He knew how to do it perfectly. Mom had done it many times before and he watched and memorized the whole thing. Socks, long underwear, jeans (not the good jeans), shirt, sweatshirt, snow pants and snow jacket with hood. Big Bird yellow boots, scarf, knit hat and mittens with the inevitability of being soaked through in the matters of minutes. Oops. Mittens come back off. Forgot the Chapstick on the lips and some swirled around on the cheeks. Was it to make them rosy? Either way, check, but it didn’t seem to be done as good as mom does it. Mittens back on and a final snug zip of the blue puffy snow jacket, it was time to face the last obstacle to be first.
When he first opened his eyes that morning from a snug and warm bed, he knew it was going to be a good day. Mom was the class mother and he heard the rotary dial tht-tht-tht-thtting calling the mothers of other soon to be happy kids. That’s when he shot out from his covers and stuck his little head behind the shade and pressed his warm nose against the cold glass.
“Hello moms. No school. No School. No school.”
Finished, her slippered feet slipped her back into bed and he slinked towards the coat rack lined with winter warming woolies. All dressed and greased, he padded his way down the dark hallway. His eyes took time to adjust to the whitish hue that seemed to just sit in the windowsills. He had to feel his way down the hall; his over-puffed and stuffed arms felt the closet door and then past the space that led to the bathroom.
His eyes were adjusting a bit and he made out the door frame of mom’s room. Tip-toeing to the side of her bed, he mustarded up a whisper.
“Mom. Can I go outside?”
She didn’t move. Yet, he still thought he saw a hand rise straight through her covers. A giant finger pointed.
“Go back to bed.”