Ch. 188; Vol. 10
My son heard part of the sermon today. I know he did because I spent ten minutes or more scratching his green-and-white-striped back – per his request – while he leaned further into the sanctuary, staring at the pulpit. But for the rest of the time – it was pen on paper, sketching the entire bulletin cover church steeple into one giant submarine periscope security camera.
We try.
With a loud grating whisper, he leaned over to me, one of my good ink pens pressed between his chubby fingers…
“WHY DOES THAT GUY HAVE A EYE PATCH?!”
I guess Sundays are hodgepodge. Hodgepodge Sundays.
Dad: driving out to Grandma Snicketts’ to see about her thyroid medication, etc.
Mom: just back from two days at a riverboat museum in Kansas City with Mrs. O. 200 tons of treasure. Painted porcelain buttons from France. And the Victorian Papers outlet store. Then a nap.
Carrie: out till one-thirty Saturday night helping Lucia with her car; broken down on the road. Made the pretzels. Then almost napped.
Joe: F-1 races with Thunderbird; no surprises.
Rose: purchasing a new wardrobe in anticipation of five days in San Diego.
Francis: walking in from church – “Where’s the food?” Auntie Anne’s pretzels from Gloria as a late graduation/Eagle Scout present. Entertaining us with stories from work…
“I watched a lifeguard fail his test yesterday. They dropped a baby down the slide…”
“You mean a doll?”
“Oh, yeah. A doll. So anyway…”
And all the other terrible things that happen at public pools that I don’t want to hear about… Some vibrant stories around here.
“FRANCIS! Did you eat all the PRETZELS?!” Puck’s eyes were wide.
“Oh… I’m sorry… buddy?”
– Guilt. –
“I thought you had one already.”
And Francis also would have napped if not for stacks of algebra waiting in the basement. Later he did anyway.
Linnea: recovering from two weeks of intense friend-ness with Cherry. Also napped.
The Bear: Napped.
Puck: “Games with SUN!!”
Collette: my own version of games, in which I could only participate by watching immobile baseball figures on my laptop screen, and statistics. I don’t siesta.
“Sun… can you make a pretzel appear?… Just one?”
Instead, she coaxed him over for a snuggle…
“SUN! You said one hug a day.”
“One free hug. The other ones I bought.”
We sat around and talked about dinner options for about an hour.
No surprise.
Pulled pork sandwiches, sparkling lemonade, and gooey butter cake at the grocery store, Carrie operating that battleship.
The Bear was pushing Puck on the swing in the backyard. Puck explained the pulls on his five senses as he rolled casually through the air between shadow and sunshine…
“When I close my eyes and swing, there’s something lemony in my brain when I swing back here. Like just yellow in there. Sort of fizzy in it when I get right… here!”
He is his father’s son.
And his mama’s.
