An Old Man

“Mom, I am NEVER eating peanut butter on a plasma car in the sun again.”

I remembered Saturday’s lunch. I’d sent the boys outside on their bike-cars with peanut butter sandwiches, to keep the crumbs outside.

“Why not?” I asked him.

“Because it made me think of boring things. If I had eaten that peanut butter for TEN MORE MINUTES, I think I would have puked.”

“Because you would have been so bored?”

“Yeah.”

I considered putting a pause on peanut butter sandwiches for the next week or so.

Meanwhile, Puck spent most of the first hour of his morning with a box of Kleenex. Shortly before we left for church, following all that hard work, he made an announcement.

“MY COLD IS GONE!”

His faucet nose definitely seemed to have calmed down during the service at least.

At one point during the sermon, he leaned over to me and whispered, “Look, Mom! It’s the evolution of the cootie catcher!”

He waved a hand over the little line-up arranged on the hymnal next to him. Like nesting dolls – itty bitty, to almost hand-sized. At least he listens better when his hands are busy.

The Big House. Oxbear and Elmer found some South American circa 1950s music to play for the siblings sprawled around the living room. Carrie-Bri and Yali made chocolate lava cobbler. There were hair cuts.

“Everyone,” I announced after trimming Oxbear’s beard, “you’ll be happy to know that Oxbear now has gray hair.”

Well, he had for awhile, but it was gaining momentum. Francis began applauding him.

“Now you’re wisened and can tell us all the secrets,” Rose told him.

One step closer to his goal of becoming an old man.