Ch. 138; Vol. 10
I was dreaming heavier again. Somewhere sinking on a cruise liner in the Baltic Sea – prow up – attending a cold underground cave lined with bright white tile summer camp in violet swimsuit with kids a good ten-plus years my junior [and no one seemed to notice it], I woke…
9:13…
9:13?!
Ok, I had slept in, a few times in my life, but anything past nine was almost sinful. In my personal life anyway. But when you don’t have a Puck and you were up till one o’clock the previous night, it’s sort of a natural repercussion.
So Puck was deposited in our living room at a few minutes after ten o’clock. Sticky red lollipop on his face and fingers. Stories of making volcanoes with Sun. And the return of the iPad. The good life. Mom and I made plans for Sunday afternoon – Cahokia, Gus’ Pretzels… And then she had to go. Bible Study BBQ that evening, Francis and Linnea getting ready for the spring formal. Busy May busy May.
I was supposed to plant the Colorado Blue Spruce trees from Curly’s and Lulu’s wedding. We had brought back three of them. But I was already anticipating doom. I couldn’t be entirely blamed for lack of green finger. After all the red clay in this soil is the equivalent of death warrant for anything worth planting. But maybe a tree would last longer. Maybe they’d have a fighting chance. Still, I delayed the planting, and gave them a bath instead.
We switched on a goofy Little House for lunch – Nellie’s elopement…
“Ahgg…” said Puck, already well-versed in the art of embarrassment via romantic fictional entanglements on the screen. “Now they’re going to get hugged and kissed, too.”
The Bear wasn’t feeling so hot. Throat, eyes, head, neck. Chalk that up to the weather, the end of a tight semester, and all the other things this kid does to put food on the table and fulfill his wild lifelong dreams. So he took a long nap in the afternoon to try to fix it.
It was quiet. Reeeeaaaally… quiet…
I think a pick-up truck drove by outside.
A kid tossed a basketball in the street.
A Saturday at home was kind of a strange thing.
We were supposed to attend Creole Coca-Cola’s graduation party. With The Bear hunkered down for a two and a half hour nap, we had to skip out. Chamomile tea for him. The park for Puck and myself. He ran around for forty minutes until he produced enough perspiration to be admirable…
“You smell like a puppy,” The Bear told him when we returned.
I had done my job.
Scrubbing down my six year-old son is easily responsible for shedding 400 calories in one match. The effort it takes to hold him in place under the spigot long enough to get all of the shampoo out of his face while he screams bloody murder –
“EYES! EYES! EYES!”
– I should get a plaque. It’s not completely worthy of a normal-sized plaque, even, but maybe a business card-sized mention on the mom-of-the-week wall we keep in the basement.
Not really.
We enjoyed sandwiches and popcorn over a movie for dinner. The Bear groggily emerged to pour two tiny cups of apple juice…
“Dipping sauce for the popcorn. Try it.”
I was surprised Puck agreed…
“It’s DELICIOUS!”
“Mom,” said Puck. “You don’t have to come with us if you don’t want to. Dad and I can just have some guy time right now.”
I was welcomed.
Because The Bear was feeling a little better after dinner. We took a slow walk around the neighborhood. Well sort of. Puck kicked a ball the whole way, which ended up in a soccer match between himself and The Bear at the driveway. Aside from the sweat waterfall-ing down The Bear’s face, I guess the fresh air might have done him some good. Soft gold sun, late, green things. It’s a good time of early evening for walks and kickball.
I guess people live for Saturdays. But I think pretty much any day of the week is like this.
Maybe I feel a little spoiled.
Maybe that’s partly because Jacob made me buy a second DNA test kit for himself and a red dress printed with robots and spaceships.
Spoiled.
