She trots on her tippy-toes into the kitchen. Her grandmother is preparing for dinner, and she asks; “Can I help?”
She is given the job of fetching the potatoes from the outside storage room, and she gleefully grabs the saucepan and skips down the hallway, ready to put her shoes on. The winter boots we bought a few weeks ago quickly find their way onto the right feet, and she jumps up, ready for action. I open the door to follow her out: “Wait for me, Mamma!”
As she tip-toes through the snow, I see her so clearly. She has put on her big sisters jumper, which is way too big, and it looks like a long-sleeve dress over her bare legs. She had to take her pants off earlier, as she had been outside playing in the snow and they got wet, a few hours earlier. Our house is warm and snug, she reckons, and there really isn’t much need for pants anyway.
Her blonde, wavy hair is flowing down the back of her over-sized top, and the curls are bouncing up and down with every step she takes. It has been snowing lightly all day, and the path hasn’t been used for a few hours, so she needs to navigate her way through the snow without slipping and falling. The saucepan is still firmly in her hand, and the other one is moving around in some sort of a dance move I’m sure I’ll find in the ballet.
The snow flakes are finding their way to her locks, in a precise pattern of beauty, and they just lay there between her golden strands, twinkling in the outside light, like the sand on a sparkly beach. They are not melting – they’ve made their home there, on my three-year old girls’ head – and they are simply magical.
I see her.
As she is navigating her way through the masses, she turns around and looks at me, the snow crystals following along with the turn of her head. “Are you coming, mamma?” More and more snow is falling down, she pokes her tongue out to try to catch a few, and as she does, she breaks into the most adorable giggle. And her whole body smiles with her.
I look at her for a second, as she twists back and continues on to the storage to fetch her potatoes. I see her, and I see her happiness.
My girl is thriving, she is loved and she is a thing of beauty.
And she has snowflakes in her hair.