Ch. 150; Vol. 10
“Dad! It’s supposed to STORM!”
:girly giggle:
We decided to give The Bear a break from our noisiness and ran around town for about an hour and a half before anything but wind really hit…
Library – Garfield, of course, and Holland in finger paints.
Target – a pair of $5 shorts for Puck [in black], and a new shower curtain [meandering chevrons of desert spring hexagons] after the current six-year version had bit the dust.
Groceries – corn tortillas, queso, chicken, salsa, coconut oil, and…
“I love that fluffy yogurt, Mom!” Puck announced with almost glee, as he took the whipped orange cream Yoplait from my extended hand. “I just love these fluffy guys!”
And I guess he tagged after me pretty well for most of the time, occasionally scratching his ankle from a scab he inherited near his boys’ club…
“I need a band-aid,” he informed me when we got home while The Bear volunteered to hang the shower curtain.
“I don’t think so, pal. There’s no blood…”
“There is blood. Look close-lier!”
Crackle.
Thunder in the south at lunch.
Tornado Watch.
And another deluge. Some doozie coming in from Kansas, maybe later.
Quiet Hour was coming to an end…
Click, open…
“Painted a golfball.”
He says these things like he’s just brushed his teeth or made his bed. Like he’s accomplished just an ordinary task in the day. Not that painting golfballs is that unconventional or anything, but it’s the idea behind it. And of course the bathroom sink was now filled with what looked like tomato soup…
“So… why did you do that?…”
“Now it looks like a red hot ball of lava,” he made sense of the situation for me. “You wouldn’t like to drink it. It’s made of paint.”
Puck was crazy after school was over, so it was sun outside – the storm was briefly over – and kickball. A lot of kickball in the hot sun and high wind. Which ended with the shower curtain christened before the next bowl of thunder crashed over somewhere in the northeast. Things happen quickly around here.
Old Disney story-music clips, popcorn, The Bear with us until 6:30 for his downtown man gathering gentleman’s club 1830’s London style or whatever, more rain, hopes for something a little bit more… accented… by the night. Although there was a game in the city, so…
“Mom.”
Puck always has something important to inform me about.
“This looks like it was sewn on.”
He lifted his ankle to me where the scrappy patch of a scab lingered from yesterday.
“Well, I guess it sort of does…”
“It’s like brown, uh, brown plastic was sewn onto it.”
What this kid thinks.
He was down into bed on time at 7:30. We had a hopefully big day tomorrow…
“Mom? Could I put a trampoline below my bunk bed?”
“Why?”
“Because if I forgot and fall out of my bed, I would just fall on the trampoline.”
Some strong storms coming…
