And Behold
Sometimes I remind myself more of a popcorn popper than a human being in the mornings, right out of bed. Pop. Pop, pop. Shoulder, elbow, neck, knee… Pop, pop, pop.
Some scuffling was coming from the kitchen…
“What’s going on in there, Puck?”
“Crackers is being a stinker, Dad.”
“She might be a stinker, but she’s your stinker. So be good to her.”
It was the kind of morning where everything looked made of sugar, sparkling in stiff crystal gatherings. All the woods and prairie edge-of-the-highway grasses.
Francis and Puck were enjoying conversation at the dining table…
“Mom’s not very strong,” Puck was saying. “See?”
He tried a harmless hand-twist of my arm…
“Yeah, I guess that is pretty strong. But have you been eating your meat?” Francis asked.
“Mom!” Puck declared, turning back to me. “You need to give me more meat bulbs!”
“Hey,” I answered, distracted with more planning. “I give you beef.”
“Beef is good,” Francis encouraged. “Steaks and burgers are even better.”
“Well. My belly is the longest. And I don’t even hear thunder in the night, because I’m so tough. I don’t even hear tornadoes. I’m the deepest sleeper in my whole family.”
Joe walked in with a glass of coffee…
“Check this out.”
– He lifted the side of his shirt. –
An ugly red bruise. Something about falling out of a window during a photo shoot in Nashville…
And now that Puck had moved on, Francis was distracting himself very well from his math lessons, scraping out table gunk from between the leaf cracks with a bottle opener.
Puck had been waiting all week for his “date” with Grandma. Of course this ended up including his mom and two aunts. But he was happy. Because the date included hand-picking tiny Christmas ornaments for his little Christmas tree. After much deliberation, he decided that red would be the central theme, with a gold garland and stars from Target’s tiny tree department. Throw in a soft pretzel from the cafe, and Puck was a happy chap.
Our errands weren’t ended. After nuggets and Texas toast [with some creepy 1930’s Christmas cartoons included] for lunch, we traded Linnea for Joe and made a beeline for the first stop…
Vanbuskirk’s – employment opportunity for Joe and two coffees, one for Mom. This was all wrapped up around a sort of impromptu conversation about employment. Joe had already filled in several times overseeing the truffles. But he would take one more crack on Saturday and likely begin working weekends. While he and Mom chatted inside, Carrie produced a one-woman puppet show for Puck with two hair clips. Puck was conveniently amused.
Flo Valley – one year later, Joe was ready to pick up his diploma. There’s something about that crisp unnaturally sized piece of paper that makes you feel a little more important, I guess, even if employers don’t really seem to care much about that sort of thing anymore.
Between destinations, we spent our usual road-time discussing family situations and how to improve or direct. It’s like this small factory of ideas, a factory that is one 24-7 think tank. Maybe it’s also just called “being a family”. But what started as a casual workshop has definitely developed into a royal-grade operation throughout the years.
And Old Time Pottery – things were needed, including a $14 cat box-cave thing, which Puck was very excited to find with Joe. He was almost jumping up and down, fluorescent warehouse lighting reflecting off the glitter his uncle had sprinkled in his hair.
But all good things eventually come to an end.
Chaos and disorder awaited me.
Chaos and deafening noise.
Chaos and sticky hands.
Chaos and… chaos.
The bright pop of harvest moon rising across the field helped, and two hours later, I was very ready to greet a night in which no screaming children were involved.
Puck marched proudly through the front door carrying the cat cave…
“Happy Christmas, Crackers,” he said sweetly. And softly! “Happy Christmas.”