All These Kids
Sometime around 10:45 we became the newest members of the fifth church I’ve attended in my life. (Although one of those I guess I can’t really count because it was just for those six months we lived in Ohio.) After the induction, Puck was congratulated by the pastor for having a solid handshake.
“Has a handshake like his grandfather. Must be those Texas genes.”
The dapper fellow took a seat back in his chair. I did, however, make him leave his cane and top hat in the car. No, really, I had to do that.
Rose, Ricky, and Francis half-stumbled over sometime after lunch, having arrived back in St. Louis somewhere around four AM. They got heckled about how much they enjoyed Chicago; Francis didn’t seem to care that much. Although it sounded like they spent most of their time walking the city trying to find hot dogs. Carrie-Bri was not impressed, and told them so.
“I think Carrie needs a hug,” Ricky suggested.
“Do you want a hug?” Rose asked reluctantly.
“Not until you wash Chicago off you,” came the retort.
Later, Carrie did confess that there was one thing about Chicago that she liked. Their tornado sirens. So we spent some time comparing favorite tornado sirens on Youtube.
Anyway, before they had walked in, Mom was talking about Disney World. Dad had ideas about a family vacation that autumn, and Mom was trying to lure us in. The boys were all for it. The girls took a little more convincing. As soon as Mom mentioned something about the “best mariachi band I’ve ever heard,” I knew Carrie was out.
Blanchette Park. Dad read over his dissertation – he had more plans for it – at a picnic table. I think Francis might have fallen asleep on the bench. Mom and Rose walked in the garden. Puck zoomed around the playground.
Then while Francis took Zuni to dinner and Irish joined friends at an ice cream social, Joe and Jaya met up with us for a trip to Stumpy’s BBQ in St. Peters. We were led to a room plastered with photographs of sports figures.
Ricky had hit the road home earlier, and so wasn’t there to witness Puck point to a picture of The Rock and say, “Hey, Rose, look! It’s Ricky”
The last thing Puck asked me to do before going to sleep that night was to smell his stinky feet. He finally roped me in with his, “EEEEW! THEY SMELL LIKE VINEGAR!”