Ch. 223; Vol. 10
Spanish on CD, Calvin & Hobbes, a little Rumble of Thunder on a Monday morning.
Why not.
Puck had found new inspiration in the land of workbooks and mathematical calculations. You could see it take off behind two bright eyes, like a sunrise just about to pop…
“I like math.”
. . . . .
“I like writing!”
. . . . .
“I like SCHOOL!!”
I hugged him.
Couldn’t even help it. Tried to reign in the appreciation avalanche…
“That’s awesome, buddy. Because life is school, really.”
“I know! Look at how great I can draw this eight!”
“Beautiful, man. It’s like what we talked about. Your life is sort of like a work of art for God. An invention that you can give to Him.”
“Yeah! I like addition problems too!”
“It is kind of fun. Math is like a mystery. You don’t know the answer until you finish the problem.”
He was milking it, I could see it. [So was I.] But it was sincere, by his dancing eyeballs…
“If someone would steal my school books from me, I would just buy new ones!”
Math was almost finished, and Puck still had a few thoughts…
“49 reminds me of a loaf of bread… Which reminds me of breakfast… Which reminds me of toast. Which reminds me of eggs-in-a-nest! Which reminds me of oatmeal!! Which reminds me of yogurt…”
Suddenly he jumped from his seat and threw two arms around my neck…
“But! There is something I LIKE THE MOST FOR BREAKFAST!”
Two eyeballs staring inches from my face…
“What’s that, man?”
“YOU! Because you make all the FOOD!”
Puck and I are making Mondays for groceries.
The luxury of wheels in the driveway.
After a stop at Target for $1 mascara [I roll high]. And choosing a new kitchen towel to slowly replace the nine-year rags the drawers currently house. It takes a surprising amount of consideration from a six year-old male to select the perfect towel. He finally settled on a canary yellow waffle-knit.
And groceries.
Another choice for the big man: “Fruit Buddy”. So many kinds. I think he ended up with the raspberry, while I waited near a cart stocked with banana, lime, cilantro, peach, kiwi, and carrot.
We waited in line behind a mama of two girls. Blue tiger lily and poem tattooed on her shoulder. The woman in front of her: dirty blonde hair, Missouri Baptist University t-shirt. Both of them consoling the elderly lady with short white hair – Jane – behind the scanner for it just not being “her day”…
“When’s your shift over, Jane?” Tiger Lily asks her.
“Oh, half an hour, I hope. Maybe fifteen minutes, because I couldn’t take my break earlier…”
“Well, I certainly hope they honor that.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” was about the best I could off her, taking the six bags and receipt.
But I like to see people trying whatever they can to make life even two minutes better from the 73 year-old checker at the superstore. Sometimes that’s the best a regular mom can do on a Monday afternoon.
Puck wrapped many objects in electrical tape while we finished reading before dinner. Whatever caught his eye.
The Bear read books to Puck for the night, as he usually does.
Chicken nuggets and peas waited for him afterward. Some rare days it pays to eat the frozen aisle. And to have a son and husband who don’t care…
“Chicken nuggets! I love chicken nuggets!”
Said the husband.
After rubbing my lifting-heavy-children-in-the-nursery-fused spinal cord.
