For the past week, Thomas and Heloïse have been watching a puddle at the corner of Belden and Geneva. Monday and Tuesday it was liquid, murky and brown, bits of leaves and mud sticking to Heloïse's pink sneakers as she trudged through it. By Wednesday, a thin layer of ice deceived us until the stroller wheels easily broke through what looked, to us, like the possibility of a snowy day. "Pas de neige, pas aujourd-hui," Heloïse exclaimed with a sigh fitting for a barely four-year-old.
Today, however, the puddle was completely frozen. Heloïse's micheivous smile and the dimples on her cheeks said unmistakably that she understood the significance of the puddle's état gelé. This afternoon, holding tight to the poussette as we walked home, talk didn't stray from the hope of a white morning tomorrow.
So, for Heloïse, and for the sake of my my sanity tomorrow, please let it snow!
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