Mud

"But we thought the mud would be warm."

A puddle forms between blizzards, swallows up the yard and bare feet.

"When we got in the mud, we had to take a BLACK bath," Lulie opens her eyes wide.

"I gotta get more lotion for Lulie's feet," Jack thumppity-thumps up the back stairs.

"Was she out in that puddle again?" Daddy calls.

"Yeah."

"Where is she?"

"Down on the couch."

Downstairs, Daddy stokes the fire. Lucy watches, toes propped on coffee table.

"Did you go in that puddle so Jack would put lotion on your feet?"

"Yeah," she bobs her head, "because it smell good."

Jack drubs down the wooden stairs, pink baby lotion under elbow. "She wanted us to take care of her like a kid," he says, slaps his knee.

Later, steel cut oats, Jack propped at stove, tip-toe on red wooden stool. He rakes metal spatula with the grace of an ax.

"Wave extra for me," he shouts to the front door. Daddy backs little black pick-up down the driveway. Off to work. I wave with both hands.

Another day. Another good day.