I baked a pan of cookies for snacks and cooled them on a rack when it seemed like twelve minutes had passed. I didn’t bother to set the timer while they cooked and I wrapped presents in the other room. I relied on gut instinct and smell. It seemed impossible to be in two places at once anyway and the nerve-racking echo of the oven timer couldn’t be reckoned with. When I finished, we went back to the kitchen. He was hungry and refused the ramen I made earlier. I offered cheese, which he readily ate so made a cheese quesadilla for him. As the cookies cooled, I diced lettuce and croutons then the chicken and mixed them in a clear bowl with chunky sea salt, pepper, and Parmesan cheese. A scoop of salad was topped with chicken and onto a small plate. Marko sat in his chair stuffing quesadilla triangles into his mouth. All done, yes. I cleaned up and he got dressed in his snow pants. I held his sled in one arm and my hot chocolate in another. I half walked half drank and I couldn’t say how it happened exactly, but the thermos slipped from my hand and spilled on the snow atop the hill. Uh oh, he said. On to sledding.
