Ch. 163; Vol. 10
Before our morning “work-outing”, Puck wrapped a chubby arm around my neck…
“Mom. I need your help with something downstairs,” he looked at me carefully over the top of his nose. “It’s a little complicated to say.”
I didn’t find out what he wanted, because mornings are busy sometimes. But whatever it was, his serious tone reminded me that I should look into it later.
Arrangements of glassware and wedgwood lace. Rose had completed the collection for Annamaria’s wedding reception. It littered the kitchen and dining room as Mom and Carrie helped compile for the big day.
Thunk.
“OW!”
I heard Puck’s oversized not-really-his roller skates hit the living room floor…
“What, pal?”
“I think I broke my finger.”
“You didn’t.”
“But I need a band-aid.”
“You don’t need a band-aid.”
“But I think blood is going to be STREAMING OUT OF THIS ANY SECOND!”
“It won’t.”
This is Puck’s usual dialogue when it comes to injuries. He’s not really that upset about the whole thing. He just wants an excuse to wear a band-aid, or catch a new scar.
Puck and I weathered the building heat in the Fit while Mom and Carrie walked into Jo Ann’s Fabrics. A few bottles of navy fabric dye and…
“Macaroni and cheese BAND-AIDS!”
I guess a dollar for a box of novelty can make the day for any six year-old. Well that, and the four tiny glass bottles Mom and Carrie had found for him at the hobby shop. With cork toppers. We decided to use them for his lost teeth. [He already knows I’m the tooth fairy.]
Costco was also necessary – piles of things things like blueberries, Provel, champagne, and bacon for Annamaria’s brunch and reception, and then Nutella and avocados and Cinnamon Toast Crunch to please the kids at home. And a case of canned Izze in green apple and blackberry for Puck.
It was hot. Worrisomely hot. But I loved Iceland, so I guess I’m not a great plumb-line. Anyway, it was already past 90, and I didn’t feel like standing in the sun watching Puck bike up and down the street, so I let him watch Wall E over an Aldi pizza. Linnea beside him on the couch before volleyball. We Snicketts girls can be a little strange sometimes – masculine reactions; 1800’s feminine aristocratic constitutions. Who knows. Carrie arranged white ostrich plumes in crackle glass. There’s always something going on.
“Puck,” Carrie grabbed him before escape. “When are you going to model for my fountain?”
“I’m not going to do it!”
“You will wear a toga. With your belly exposed to the wind.”
“No, Sun.”
“Well, I guess your castle can’t be next to my castle then.”
“It could be across the river, though.”
We pressed all the lace flat on the cement in the sun, Mom, Carrie, and I. So hot. Puck watched from the window, not too eager to help. Fingertips stained blue, 42 laces later.
Carrie mixed breakfast casseroles – experiments in taste for the brunch – snipped rosemary off the patio herb garden. Mom mixed “healthy cookies” for the yoga class – coconut flakes, chia seeds, oatmeal, and some Nutella and peanut butter. Not so bad. Carrie offered me a homemade coconut oil and tart lime candy, cold. Also not terrible, for “healthy candy”. The things this girl makes. Which I actually eat.
We debated between the green pepper and rosemary casserole. Carrie liked the rosemary, I liked the green pepper. Go figure.
Puck and I replaced batteries in the smoke detector when Mom dropped us off on the way to yoga.
UNO.
Rolling an old tire clock back and forth across the floor, listening to the game in New York.
We make our own fun.
The Bear pushed that blue car back up the driveway after eight o’clock, hard working soul.
And in my usual baseball distractions, I proudly noted that Yadi – at least for a few hour – had the best hitting average in baseball.
