Ch. 215; Vol. 10

“TRAPPED!”

I didn’t open my eyes, because half of me thought I had dreamed a shout.

“TRAPPED!”

Eyes popped. Ok, that was real.

“MOM! I’M TRAPPED IN THE TENT!”

Oh, that’s all…

Somewhere in the vague early morning transition, wherein The Bear assisted Puck with the stubborn zipper, and I fell asleep again, Puck marched in and stared at me…

“I can’t find Snickers’ food. There is nothing to feed her. All I could find was clay marbles!”

Pie weights.

We were supposed to help ice and decorate sugar cookies at church for the ordination ceremony Sunday evening. What we didn’t realize was that the entire youth group – who had been locked in to the youth room overnight [that’s always a weird idea] – was already shoveling frosting and candy sprinklers like madmen.

Twenty minutes.

“That’s the last of the little cookies, kids”

Some projects are best left to the big guns.

Puck eyed his paper plate of lunch…

“Agh! Dumbos!”

“Puck.”

“I wasn’t talking about the computer, Dad. I was talking about the meat bulbs.”

“That still doesn’t mean that they’re dumbos.”

Sometimes the conversations I hear…

When the troupe returned from Nashville at 12:30 – Izzy had an appointment to discuss another wedding shoot – Puck finished some white cheddar popcorn and kept re-slinging the metal hanger into the oak tree. A convenient time-killing game, actually, if you’re looking for that.

“SNATCH!” he giggled, grabbing the green-y metal hanger for another toss.

Puck was carried indoors by Theodore not long before dinner, crying.

“He had a bit of an accident.”

Strider crash.

He now had wounds to match the other arm.

And fancy bandages.

Also, something about lassoing the mailbox prior to the crash…

Roast Chickens.

Guacamole.

Tossing a bumpy orange ball back and forth with Puck outside.

[His wounds were healing.]

Some days are almost better as bullet points.