Analyzing Sochi

I heard rattling in the kitchen; Puck was out there somewhere making things. El Oso had already left – it was still very early – for a breakfast meeting at The Original Pancake House. I didn’t inspect the rattling. “Surprise, MOM!” Puck carefully walked into my room minutes later with another tray of breakfast in bed. This time, he had kept things simple: two cups half-filled with water, his vitamin jar, two pieces of toast topped with heavy butter chunks. “I’ll eat your toast, what you don’t finish,” he informed me, chomping into his own slice, crumbs flying all over the comforter. He also produced the library DVD case of “I Love Lucy,” insisting that today was practically a holiday anyway, and something about, “I guess you raised me well, Mom.” That’s the way to kick off a Friday right.

“Look what I saved for you, Puck!” Carrie said in a sing-song voice, dangling a ziploc of golden-blonde hair over the back seat of the Fit. She and Irish had picked us up to visit Target on the way back to the Big House where Puck would spend the night. And the bag of hair was only a little plus on the side. Hadn’t I just the other day removed a hair-soaked soup of El Oso’s scraps inside an old candle jar on my nightstand? Curing. This all might be a little creepy if it wasn’t for the fact that Puck collects: EVERYTHING. And the family happily indulges him in this sport. When I looked over next, the hair was out of the bag, shedding on the car seat. “I’M GOING TO MAKE A SHIRT WITH YOUR HAIR, SUN!” came the maniacal declaration from the kitchen sink where he soaked his masterpiece and grinned. “I’ll make it so itchy! I’ll put salt on it to make it more itchy! And moldy sugar on it!” Now he was just being a Sponge Bob.

I enjoy the Olympics as much as the next guy. But I do get a little tired of the introductory hype. For any sport; it’s a little stressful. Sometimes I wish the media was less involved. Just let the sport be the sport. I didn’t care enough to do anything about it, of course. Besides, we had always watched the Opening Ceremonies, hype or no hype.

The whole family except for Francis (hopefully not stopping trains or lighting fireworks in back country) and Carrie (who really did hate the Olympics and left for someplace with Lucia) prepared for Russia’s presentation to the world over pots of chili with fixings, including Fritos. Puck decided to add milk and oranges to his bowl, including some mac and cheese. His “yums” lasted for about two bites. He also encouraged all participating party-ers to toss their Fanta, Coke, and root beer cans in the indicated trash sack for his later use, which one never knows exactly what that is. Magnus and Cassidy brought dessert. Eleda and Irish had been giggling over goofy baseball videos before dinner. Red Strike followed the boys back from Clayton. And Ricky walked in almost three hours late with a, “What did I miss?” Even Rose, the cynical eye of this bunch, or at least the most cynical out of all the other cynical eyes, agreed that the ceremony in general had been impressive.