Ch. 243; Vol. 10
Bare feet running through the grass. Puck helped open my car door…
“Look! For your anniversary! Nana let us have this! She said it was ok!”
Pre-used small water cooler with spigot. There was also a length of unused lighting chain. Give my son a Junk Yard.
An hour on Minecraft, crammed blueberries into his mouth while the conversation of Racism-Capitalism unrolled yards away.
Izzy swung Puck before we left. “Let’s give your mom a break for awhile.” I think he gets it.
Louis tore away lime tissue paper for his Chima Lego packaged astronaut ice cream style.
Two six year-olds exploring categorized bins of colored blocks could last for hours. But they were forced away to Brunswick.
Bowling.
Twelve?… years?
My guess on the last expedition of donning this alternate foot apparel. Something about an end-of-the-year choir party a few weeks before a few flights to Budapest one summer. And while I did not have an actual taste of bowling again – per se – watching my son and husband take a few tears [and tears] for the purpose of my own personal entertainment – surely – was close enough.
The perfectionism and competition of a Kindergartener and First Grader was enough to induce tears from one and head-banging by the other. In that order. Gratefully, the expressions of defeat were not manifested until the last frame of the game. And by then, other intrigues were calling.
[I think Bær bowled a 26?]
Laser Tag.
More tears. This time by my son, sporting a red spot on his temple from the previous head-banging on the bowling couch…
“I didn’t think it would really hurt,” was the defense he provided – which – I suppose is in someway acceptable for earning second place in a four-way bowling match.
His tears, however, spawned mostly from entering a dark hive swarming with glowing twelve year-old boys who definitely knew how to play the game and Puck, did not.
“There have to be some tears at every birthday party,” Misty-Hanna and I agreed.
Overstimulation.
Arcade.
A hit. Also by Louis who ran his head into some machine or wall. Cards swiped left and right, upways, sideways, gathering tickets for the arcade store.
“Oh! It’s such a hard decision to MAKE!” Puck clutched a squishy pom-pom ball like semi-precious stone.
They were pleased with these decisions of bouncy balls and Swedish fish and other squishy things, and – overall – Louis Bowling Laser Tag Arcade Birthday was actually a good success.
Why was I feeling a little tired?
Pizza.
Pantera’s by the dying K-Mart [isn’t it sad] and abandoned Shop ‘n Save [also sad]. The boys jostled Transformers borrowed from the Kirk Lego Room at the table, waiting on pepperoni, cheese, and sausage. Puck feeling very important with a Styrofoam cup of Sprite.
Star Wars.
Kirk Basement, peapod balloons, blasts of sunlight puncturing early evening cloud over cow pasture.
Called in to Mom on the drive home – rain chasing us; we hoped – at Longhorn Steakhouse with Dad.
Packed off Puck to bed in Rose’s old Praying Mantis t-shirt.
“I DON’T WANT TO WEAR PANTS TO BED TONIGHT!”
And why not.
He and Bær pulled the moon remote control out of the freezer; I don’t know why it was in there; sometimes it’s best for the boys to have their own secrets.
