Ch. 178; Vol. 10
A new morning.
Puck slurped into his breakfast oatmeal, banana, peanuts [?], listening to one of his favorite Adventures in Odyssey – “The Malted Milk Ball Falcon”. After a 5:30 wake-up call [then fell asleep again] and some kind of summer cold. Bad headache for his mother. He pulled a few drinking straws from a cabinet drawer…
“And two for my air conditioning system!”
More like five. When things get hot, he connects them together, blows through one end and points the other at his face. I guess that’s one way to do it.
Since Wednesday night, I had already developed a small fascination with Joseph Cotten. One of the rare Hollywood men who apparently didn’t divorce one of his wives. I develop these random interests sometimes, which have been known, on some level, to mirror brief mini obsessions. I protest that a little. I only watched all the Cary Grant films available at the library that one summer. Not every single Cary Grant film. But it’s a Snicketts Girl thing, really. Didn’t get it from Mom. Don’t think we got it from Dad… that’s a mystery, that one is.
Idlewild had suggested that we try a splash pool for the kids on Friday, because of the heat. I carefully approached this idea with Puck…
“Would I have to wear a swimsuit?” he asked me solemnly.
“Yes, but I’ll let you have a t-shirt so you wouldn’t have a bare belly.”
This seemed a little less of an embarrassing option to him. But then something more terrifying occurred to him…
“Bare feet?”
“Yes.”
All bets off. He just has this thing about feet. They sort of scare him. [Of course, by the time I actually got him used to the idea, and he seemed to look forward to the next morning, we found that this particular pool was closed on Fridays.] Feet and stomachs. That’s why Carrie likes to tease him so much about posing for a fountain for her future mansion…
“…with your belly blowing in the breeze,” she told him the other day.
“Sun! Just do a duck or somethin’!”
“No, no duck fountain. I want a Puck fountain.”
“Sun, I present that I will NOT BE YOUR FOUNTAIN!”
A few minutes later…
“Sun, do you mind if our houses are attached together? With a slide?”
“Ok… But my house will be on the cliff.”
“Sun, by the time you can buy that propuhty [property], I will buy that propuhty and all the crops!”
“What will you do with all those crops?” I had to know, observing the many green cornfields he pointed out to me.
“Eat it, uh [of] course!”
In the hot afternoon around lunch hour, it was a global dance-off. Puerto Rico, Colombia, India, Mali, England, Germany, Moldova… and taco salad. I guess less dancing, and more crashing matchbox cars into each other at high speeds while I made the taco salad. At least he wasn’t letting the robot bug dig head-first into the plant soil like he tried to pull off at Rose’s yesterday. Always something…
“Isn’t that COOL, MOM?!”
“Mom. You can’t just sit there like a prince. You have to help me find Crackers!”
Puck grinned at me as he walked by on his way to Quiet Hour, sans cat, who seemed to have hid herself away for the afternoon. A few minutes later he was slinking – almost silently – on his stomach through the hallway towards my room, hunting adventure. Caught, of course.
He was still festooned with red scratches all over his legs from running in the tall sharp grasses around church Wednesday night, chasing parachutes and rocket paraphernalia.
After the hour had been accomplished…
“COME ON, MOM! RAM CARS WITH ME!”
So The Bear had a prayer meeting with some fellows from church – his first invitation.
Puck went down under a soft, cool Angry Birds comforter just a little early, after a shot shower, full dinner, and a glass of milk, still sniffing from his summer cold. You could see it in his eyes.
Organic Peach Izze and York Peppermint Patties for me. And a little Joseph Cotten.
We get our fill in.
