A Budding Scientist
A soggy August morning in the STL.
I love August; by far my favorite month. The sky just has a different look in August. That particular variety of white cloud spread in endless clusters across the sky like abnormally shaped spaceships. Perfecto.
That morning, Puck asked if he and Yali could play out in the rain. I allowed it. A few minutes later, I saw them sitting under our neighbor’s tree, just outside our own yard. It looked almost like they were having a counsel together, sitting on a piece of the old plastic jungle gym that we’ve kept stored in the shed for awhile. Eventually, Puck returned to explain what they were doing.
“I’m teaching Yali what it would be like if he didn’t have a house.”
Later in the day, Puck and Eddie added more to this fort of sorts, including Grandma Snicketts’ cane, a tape recorder, pistol from Disney World, Puck’s blue metal safe, and the chair from his little desk. And a bunch of rocks. All the essentials.
Before Yali’s nap, I found the boys monkeying around on our bed after a loud BOOM echoed through the house.
“Mom! Yali somersaulted off the bed!”
There were some tears, but nothing a few kisses and a minute couldn’t fix.
After the traditional Quiet Hour, Puck paused on his current project involving a small hammer and an ad pack from the mail so we could run two errands. Only one of them was necessary.
Clarkson Eyecare: Oxbear’s much-needed eyeglasses were ready for pick-up. Puck toted in the ancient piston with him before I noticed it, and had a conversation with the attendant about pistons and cars in the woods, etc.
“Find more treasure!” she told him as we left.
“I will!”
Puck talked magnets and other science-y things on our drive, a volcano of conversation, since he still wants to be a scientist when he grows up. After awhile, he had even amazed himself.
“Wow, I’m getting really good at my physics,” he reflected.
Our second stop was just for a treat: fat organic malt balls and blueberry Izze.
The rain continued harder into the evening. Fortunately the Cardinals were out of town.
“I’m going to be bad tonight,” Oxbear warned me when he got home. He hadn’t even seen the malt balls yet.