Ch. 257; Vol. 10

As soon as I walk into Puck’s room and roll back the red shades, Puck is awake. Like a shot.

“BOO!”

Pad, pad, pad. He’s gone before I turn around.

“DAD! MINECRAFT!… [mumbo jumbo about Minecraft things I don’t know about]…”

He sits on the couch, growing so tall and fast, two bare feet under crossed legs. “You have big bear pads like your daddy,” I tease him.

He grins, toothless. “I do not!”

The red frying pan produces three eggs-in-a-nest for the boys before Carrie texts me the “Boil Water Order” for St. Charles County. Right after I’ve chugged a whole glass of tap water mixed with bitter triphala. Of course.

Another Saturday morning.

“I’m making you lunch now, Puck.”

Puck ran past the kitchen. “Why can’t we have apple pie instead?”

“You don’t even like apple pie.”

Puck ran past again, unaffected.

Before we left, Bær found out that bleaching our dishes – as news stations had recommended – would not be necessary. The water main break had not affected our water company. I need no longer fear for my intestines.

“Alien!” My son grinned at me outside the shed, water gun poised.

Bær was right behind him with a small log weapon. They decided Alien Mama wasn’t worth their time and circled the old Oak.

“Should we take it?” Bær asked him.

“Dad! Just POW it! It’s a tree! A tree monster!”

Snooping around the fence led them to the shed, a prime space ship specimen.

“Dad! The biggest of them all has appeared!”

“Close the door! Quick!”

“Yeah!”

SLAM.

Later, after Puck stole the last sparkling lime Mendota off me, I saw him run past with an empty water gun squawking like a pterodactyl. Stopped him from signing soapy messages to his dad on the window with the dish wand a few minutes later. Fortunately, temperatures of 73 degrees allowed me to guiltlessly hustle him outside before further damage was committed.

Grilled steaks, sweet potatoes, guacamole with chips, cucumbers and strawberries [might as well be emeralds and rubies as far as Puck was concerned], and even Oberweiss lemonade. It was a standard Silverspoon dinner. Theodore and Bær worked the grill. Puck ran upstairs to swipe two towels…

“I just, I just really need these for the swing, Nana,” his head nodding rapidly to confirm his words. “My hands are getting, just getting sore.”

About the time Puck had finished up watching Norwegian Ylvis’ “The Fox” music video for the seventh time, Curly and Lulu dropped in for dinner on their way to a Michael Bublé concert in the city. I stopped Puck before his second chocolate chip cookie. And it was all a wrap by seven.

“I HAVE ONE MORE ENERGY BURST!” Puck bellowed, turning a running somersault on the lawn.

And that about finished it up.

Except for one more somersault.