Ch. 226; Vol. 10
“Linnea cleaned up the toy room downstairs. Why don’t you let Puck go down there?” Mom suggested shortly after we walked in the door that morning.
The Toy Room.
A curse of childhood.
Well.
Only because I self-imposed the pointless responsibility of cleaning it up after my siblings about once a year after it had been absolutely mutilated.
Hence three legs of my Felicity American Girl Doll chairs having been ripped off completely.
I recall something about Carrie sitting on them a few times…
“What are you talking about? I only used those in the Mr. Funny Shows.”
Mr. Funny Shows.
A circus act is what that was. Every Friday with Bing English.
Anyway, Puck found treasure everywhere he looked. Good thing, too, because the neighbor kids were back in school and wouldn’t be home till late in the afternoon.
Meanwhile, Carrie had produced green boxes of Garnier.
I always know my hair color has been a success when she starts snickering…
“You look like a punk rocker.”
Because most moms look good in platinum and orange.
Carrie always has a plan.
This time, we drove to Target for another box of dye.
“Here,” Carrie handed me her Cardinals cap. “To mask your shame.”
Gloria drove up at two o’clock to join Carrie’s Hair & Nail Salon.
Taking a break from scraping the bathroom ceiling. Mom and Carrie were busy with the same – replacing wall paper from the 80’s – which, Diana reminded us, was sealed into our past…
“Oh! You’re not changing that wallpaper, are you? Those are some of my earliest childhood memories!”
Several hours after the initial dye, Carrie stepped back to critique her work…
“You sort of look like Evita.”
I couldn’t deny it; platinum blond.
Thwack!
Thwack!
Sometimes I hear these sounds, but because maybe I’m used to potential disasters at any time of the day, they don’t always register anymore.
Puck threw open the patio door…
“Mom! I know Dad told me not to use the hatchet, but I had to chop that vine off the tree!”
“Oh, Puck!”
The eight year-old ivy climbing up the old persimmon. Well… I hope it’s still half alive anyway…
Francis was back from work before another in-service, hunting dinner. A box from the fridge…
“What is this?”
“Burritos. With jam and cheese.”
Dropped like hot potatoes.
“Collette? Where did you get that?”
Chocolate cheese cake.
Francis ignored the burritos and invaded the slice on my plate. While Carrie offered Chia Seed Jelly. And I ordered Francis’ textbooks for Monday, because apparently he didn’t have time to do that, but he had time to eat the chocolate crust off my cheesecake. Meanwhile, Puck was finding new and inventive ways to discard another peanut butter sandwich. I guess he’s just had one too many…
“I threw it outside, Mom. Something will eat it. Like a snake or somethin’.”
“Bring it back.”
“But I threw it into a bush so it will dissolve.”
Inside, Carrie the Aunt who Spoils the Nephew, offered made-from-scratch Mac ‘n Cheese as an alternative…
“Let me tell you something, Puck. Actions speak louder than words. How about you give me a little smackeroo?”
Kiss.
“Ah, your little smackers were cold.”
The evening ended with Puck laughing loudly over “UP”, a community viewing at church. And much popcorn.
