Always Something Different
Puck woke me up by jumping on the bed and landing somewhere close to my head, if memory serves. This is not an uncommon occurrence these days. In my half-asleep state: the stories and ideas and questions that were already spilling out of his mind – I don’t remember what he said – but I remember mumbling something like:
“You have a good memory, kiddo.”
“Well.” The aplomb was rising. “I guess that’s just the talent God blessed me with.”
At breakfast, Crackers clawed Puck’s arm. Nothing very malicious; just sort of happened. Puck, none too bothered, revealed the hairline scratch, paper-thin line of blood. He came back with a clean dishcloth wrapped around his arm, and handed me a roll of transparent Scotch tape:
“Can you tape this cloth on for me, Mom?”
I found him a band-aid.
Anyway, the afternoon rushed in before we knew it, and we wrapped up one last class on the couch with a stack of ancient history and plastic world maps. I’m still trying to convince Puck that his dad wasn’t raised in Mexico. Texas, Mexico; same thing.
An hour with Anna and Eddie and the now highly popular Nook in a warm gray afternoon, and Puck returned for dinner and another nature-based 1960’s Disney.
As the evening arrived, he changed into his jams, pondering the next day’s activities, including an over-night at his aunt’s where he would “stay up till nine o’clock” for sure. He looked at me solemnly:
“Spending the night at Onion’s is a real honor.”
He wasn’t asleep long when Ricky and Rose drove up with boxes of gyros for dinner, just as I caught the Cards turn a triple play in Toronto. Carrie and I are used to opponent announcers lauding the Cardinals throughout our games; it’s a theme. This time they were admiring Matt Holliday’s muscles, watching the ripple effect of a hit-by-pitch a few times over. We did agree however, via text by the end of the game, that Toronto probably has the worst fans in baseball.
Anyway, Ricky started banging out the wedding march on the dusty old piano, showing off his latest skills after a first piano lesson with Annamaria. Until Puck woke up.
So we watched another Nicholas Cage bomb over Trader Joe’s peanut butter cups and dried pineapple rings. Ricky fell asleep; again. El Oso almost fell asleep. And Rose and I laughed through every Nicholas Cage line. Can’t be helped.