They were walking home.
“I am not doing that,” Tommy yelled, and slammed his feet to a halt on the snow and sidewalk. He was not going to take another step. Ever again.
Tommy hated cleaning his room.
Momma stopped to turn and look at him and Tommy noticing, stomped his feet again, dirty, grey slush flying fast and hitting the white snow of someone’s lawn.
“I mean it!’ he yelled, at Momma.
And then Tommy took off his blue mittens and threw them. Into the snow bank. Turned to glare at Momma.
She turned around and continued walking down the sidewalk.
“I am not picking up these mittens!” Tommy yelled at her. “I don’t want them! I am staying here!”
Momma did not answer Tommy. She just continued walking.
“Momma!” he screamed at her, and again, “Momma!”
She hoped he would stop now, not further this. Then she heard his boots pounding the sidewalk to catch up with her.
“I am not going back to get them, either,” he said, not looking at her, when he did.
“Okay,” said Momma.
“I mean it,” he folded his arms across the front of himself, marching along.
“You will have cold hands. I will not buy you another pair,” she replied, her head was starting to ache.
And Tommy was silent, before he sighed.
“Will you walk back with me to get them?” the four year old asked.
And Momma said, “Yes.”
“I am not doing that,” Tommy yelled, and slammed his feet to a halt on the snow and sidewalk. He was not going to take another step. Ever again.
Tommy hated cleaning his room.
Momma stopped to turn and look at him and Tommy noticing, stomped his feet again, dirty, grey slush flying fast and hitting the white snow of someone’s lawn.
“I mean it!’ he yelled, at Momma.
And then Tommy took off his blue mittens and threw them. Into the snow bank. Turned to glare at Momma.
She turned around and continued walking down the sidewalk.
“I am not picking up these mittens!” Tommy yelled at her. “I don’t want them! I am staying here!”
Momma did not answer Tommy. She just continued walking.
“Momma!” he screamed at her, and again, “Momma!”
She hoped he would stop now, not further this. Then she heard his boots pounding the sidewalk to catch up with her.
“I am not going back to get them, either,” he said, not looking at her, when he did.
“Okay,” said Momma.
“I mean it,” he folded his arms across the front of himself, marching along.
“You will have cold hands. I will not buy you another pair,” she replied, her head was starting to ache.
And Tommy was silent, before he sighed.
“Will you walk back with me to get them?” the four year old asked.
And Momma said, “Yes.”
Comments
In the midst of preparation for my exams now. Your stories never fail to provide good respite for me. :)