We had a play date that extended well beyond Miles's mid-morning nap. On the short drive home, my almost two-year-old fell asleep in the back of the car.

As I carried him up to the kitchen, he began to wake. We listened to a snow plow as it scraped around in our driveway. The sound of any truck approaching (FedEx, the local recycling company, the garbage hauler) is an exciting noise to Miles.

I placed my son in the Learning Tower, a glorified step stool with railings, and positioned him in front of the window.

I sliced up two pickles and fed them to the mesmerized window-watcher. The slices could have been popcorn, Miles could have been watching a thriller. Every so often, "Mar" (more) would bubble from his lips. I was pretty sure he was requesting more pickles but it could have been he wanted more truck action. Miles used to wake up and immediately sign "outside." Now he awakes, signs for milk, and says Tuck.

I started to defrost some shrimp when I realized the “Mar" utterances had ceased. It was oddly quiet now that the Bobcat snow plow vehicle had drifted away from our condo wing.

I looked up from the thawing shrimp to see Miles slumped over the window sill, his head resting on a fluffy raccoon toy as if it were a pillow. With half open eyes he managed to mumble one lonesome wistful word: Tuck.

I slipped him into the crib, pretty sure of what he'd be dreaming about.