A Little Fun
It wasn’t much, but you could feel thunder in the air early that Thursday morning. Just in time for Holy Week. I don’t know if thunder and Holy Week really go hand-in-hand, but it feels appropriate anyway.
My morning was quickly sucked into the vacuum of adoption papers and emails, publishing papers, podcasting seminars, and book-based research. By the time I left at two o’clock, I had things back on a roll.
Between subtle patches of rain throughout the day, the blossoms had expanded around the city, slowly turning woods into rolling fuzzy caterpillars of oxblood, cream, rose, and new kelly green, infested with work-nibbling robins.
Puck ejected himself from the gym with the usual gusto, ready for a couple hours of fun at the Magic House with buddies from school. The whole complex had been rented out for the kids to run amuck from six to eight.
But first – Faust Park. We never even exited the car, sitting in the parking lot watching the rain roll in, listening for thunder rumbles. Puck stashed himself in the back seat with a box of fresh Legos, Iron Man style, which he carefully pieced together via the instruction booklet. Villains included.
“Goll-y! … Goll-y! Did I do it wrong?” he flipped through the manual comparing sketches to the Iron Man legs in his ever-growing paws. “Goll-y!”
A little cloud-to-ground lightning in the west. Puck stared in unabashed disbelief at the kids continuing to swing on the playground.
“What are they THINKING?!”
As soon as Puck saw Violet in the atrium: profusion of embarrassment.
“Mom! Go talk to Violet! Go talk to Violet!” he pushed me in her general direction.
In the end, while Puck tore off with handfuls of Cheez-Its and juice boxes with fellow compadres, Oxbear and I spent the majority of our evening chatting with Violet’s dad/Puck’s teacher – six foot, five Hunter V – about family, adoption, golf, baseball, etc., including the fact that – despite being a “mild” Cards fan – Mr. V had taught Mike Matheny’s kids P.E.
“I have the distinction of knowing that Mike Matheny knows me by name,” he said, almost proudly. “He came up to me in the carpool line once and told me that his son was impressed by how high I could kick a ball.”
St. Louisans and the weird things they appreciate.
On the way home, a sleepy Puck was full of fun and snacks.
“So, did you see Violet?” I asked him casually.
Puck replied carefully, and with tempered embarrassment. “Well. I glimpsed her.”