“We ain’t doin’ that anymore,” she said, glaring at me with her icy blue eyes. Chocolate and white cream smears decorated her pouting mouth and dappled her blue and white striped shirt underneath her overalls. Her hands and the floor were covered as well. Thankfully, her blonde pigtails had somehow escaped the flurry of ChocoCreamies that had been torn from their package and shoved greedily into her mouth after I had carelessly knocked over the lunch sack I was preparing. She managed to snatch and eat three in the time it took me to retrieve the tattered package with a single, squished ChocoCreamie – thing – in it. I honestly, didn’t know what to call them. Little, elongated chocolate cakes filled with cream and covered in chocolate icing. No, I knew what to call them. A cavity in waiting.
“I said, we ain’t doin’ that anymore!” Her face scrunched up further as she pointed an accusatory finger at the last ChocoCreamie I saved from certain ingestion. She had picked up the phrase from me over the past few months. It’s something I would say jokingly when rescuing her from leaping off the high bed onto a hard wood floor head first or dumping out half a salt shaker onto her breakfast cereal. It sounded quite funny coming from her as a command, but I thought it was important not to laugh, so I did my best to keep a straight face.
“Now, honey, you know these are for after your lunch. I’ll pack you some new ones, but you can’t eat anymore of this now,” I said, getting down on my haunches to meet her eye to eye.
She failed to see the reason for my temperance and responded by crinkling up her face and crying out words and sounds that amounted to something similar to “But I want them”. As tears ran down her cheeks, she ran three steps and threw her arms around me. Kids. They are nothing like most adults you meet. She was mad at me, but she also needed to be comforted by me. But I had made her mad. See what I mean? Anyways, I wrapped my arms around her, picked her up and assured her that I loved her and that everything was going to be okay. For her, anyways. I was going to be late to a meeting, which meant I’d be late to three other meetings, which meant I’d probably miss lunch. But she didn’t need to know that, and as long as I got to come home to her innocent smile I didn’t much care if I was late or missed lunch.
“Let me put you down now,” I coaxed. She shook her head and buried her face into where my neck and shoulders come together. I don’t know what it’s called, but you know what I mean. “But honey, I have to grab your stuff so we can get ready for school”
“No. I don’t wanna go to school. I wanna stay home!”
“It’s okay, honey, you’re gonna have so much fun with your friends. And Miss Jessie is waiting to play with you,” I cooed.
“No. Stay home!”
I knew I wasn’t going to win this conversation, so I just held her tight with one arm and used the other to retrieve another pack of ChocoCreamies from the pantry and place them her lunch sack. I usually never packed these kinds of deserts. I think kids get too much sugar these days. But they were a gift from the grandparents this past weekend, so they needed to be eaten. For the next few minutes, I struggled to wipe the chocolate and vanilla cream smears from her face, hands, and shirt, pack her nap mat, blanket, pillow, and lunch sack into her backpack, zip it up, and put it over one shoulder. After everything was finally packed, I made our way the door to the garage, opened it, and kept it open with my left foot while I used my free hand to grab my keys off the hook.
“Is Miss Jessie really gonna be there?” she asked as I fumbled to get the back-passenger door open.
“Yes, and she’s going to be so happy to see you. I’m sure she missed you this weekend,” I said as I lowered her into her car seat, her backpack sliding down off my shoulder and onto my forearm.
“Mkay,” she replied, a little smile on her face. I placed her backpack on the floor of the car and buckled her in.
“My kiss!” she exclaimed just before I shut the door. I stopped and gave her a big kiss on her chubby cheek. I never forget to do that. I must have been in a hurry.
I got into the car and started driving to daycare. For the rest of the drive she hummed along to the radio. When we reached the intersection by the daycare I realized I forgot my backpack. And there was chocolate smeared on the collar of my shirt. And probably the back, too. I’d have to go back home, change, and grab my backpack before heading out to work. Which means I would be even later. But at least there was a spare ChocoCreamie cake waiting for me on the counter.