The Iceman Cometh

I go to get a drink of water. Of course, ice is needed, so I place my glass into the ice/water dispenser, pressing the button to release a few "cubes". Ice spills into the glass. Some escape and fall to the floor. The sound of ice plummeting onto hard tile brings Ian running.


"Ice, mama. Ice."

He quickly searches for clear cresent shapes. To his delight, he finds one and tries to pick it up. His pudgy hand tries to grasp the cube, but the cold, watery mass slips between his fingers and slides across the floor. Ian stands and locates his prey. Once spotted, he runs over to it and squats. Again, he tries to pick up the ice, this time successfully.





He holds out his hand in my direction and proudly proclaims, "Mama, ice!"

Happy about his acquisition, Ian walks over to the sink, eyes glued to his hand, making sure the contents don't escape again. No matter how tight his grip, water drips between his fingers, leaving a trail across the kitchen floor.








Ian slowly reaches up, water now dripping down his arm, and releases his prize into the sink. He turns to face me, an earnest look sweeps across his face. "Mama, ice."