Handprints on My Windowpane

She scooped the whining baby up off the floor and plopped her on the kitchen counter. " You can be Mommy's big helper!" She said, mentally wondering if she would ever get supper in the oven.

Sunshine streamed through the window, bathing the kitchen in golden light. Baby hands explored everything in reach, including a small candle Mama had received as a gift a while back. Mom, busy with food preparation, failed to realize that this marvelous toy's wax had slowly melted in the sun. Soon, tiny fingers were spreading the sweet smelling liquid over the countertop, windowsill, and finally, making trails down the warm windowpane. Eventually, after the artwork was well underway, mom comprehended what was happening beneath her very nose and promptly removed the candle from the tiny grasp. She applied some paper towels to the countertop and the windowsill, but somehow, the prints on the window stayed. I cannot tell you why. Perhaps Mama was in a hurry to get other things done, perhaps she wasn't quite sure how to clean candle wax off a window without making the mess worse, but for whatever reason, they stayed. Days passed, maybe even weeks, and the window washing kept getting pushed off until tomorrow, then the next day.

One day, the house was a flurry of activity. Some friends were coming for supper! Lists were made. Slowly, the tasks were crossed off, but somehow, one got pushed off 'til last minute, and then, forgotten completely. "Clean handprints off window" read the hasty scrawl. I cannot tell you if anyone noticed the handprints that evening, conspicuously white against the night sky on the other side, but I do know that Mama saw them the next morning and made a little sigh. She let them stay a little longer.

Today, I pulled out my hairdryer, still somewhat doubtful as to how these particular little handprints should be removed. As I tackled the task at long last, I thought that a small part of me would almost miss these tiny mementos. Because that day, when the sun shone through the window, when my baby crawled to me, then stood, pleading to be up with Mama, will soon fade a bit in my memory. The days will pass, and all too soon, she will become a grown up. All too soon, the handprints won't be replaced anymore, and I'll sit, staring out of clean windows, wishing they were clouded with fingerprints.