Back in the Lou
Another diving thump to wake me up that morning. Sometimes Puck plays it cool, when he gets up first, feeds the cat, sits himself on the couch with a pile of Garfields, laughing hysterically at intermittent periods. Especially if he knows I’ve had a late night and he’s up before my internal alarm clock. But not every day, and usually not the days that I need to catch up on sleep the most. This time, however, he was not inclined to serve me toast and vitamins in bed.
My young chap watched me carefully at the table halfway through school and shortly after his morning snack. I was working on a Greek yogurt chocolate bar, taking cold chomps, one at a time. Puck apparently did not agree with my particular method:
“Mom, I want to give you some information,” he said seriously, from behind his chocolate mustache. “Just lick it only, and it will last longer. I’m going to teach my baby brother that.”
Every life lesson is an opportunity to share one day with his “baby brudder.” He really should keep a notebook.
The morning ended quickly. I worked Puck through his books before lunch because El Oso’s plane landed mid-afternoon, and we didn’t want to miss the airport on time.
I washed celery and peeled oranges at the sink, watching Puck sitting on the step outside the glass patio door, playing with Crackers who was madly batting the window with her paws. She wanted escape too. When I turned back to them again, Puck’s hands were folded together, eyes closed, head rocked back, clearly praying aloud for something of great importance:
“PLEEEEASE! …mumble mumble mumble… PLEEEEASE PLEEEEASE PLEEASE …mumble mumble mumble…” Head rocked forward, “PLEEEEASE PLEEEEEEEEASE!”
I couldn’t help myself. I asked him about it when I called him in for toasted peanut butter and jam:
“So … what were you praying for, bud?”
“Oh, nothin’. Just for God to make talking cats.”
A perfectly acceptable request. Faith of a child.
El Oso flew in about ten minutes early from Philly: three days of conferences, parties, Cuban food, and a brief crack at the Liberty Bell. He immediately claimed headache and exhaustion. Vacations aren’t always vacations. Nothing that a little Chick-Fil-A and “Brave” can’t fix. There were a few freebies involved as well. Philly-map-etched glass for me, and one of those sports-foam-pointy-fingers for Puck. Anything’s a hit with that kid.