Ch. 273; Vol. 10

“Mom?”

“Yes, Puck…”

“Um… why does Crackers always eat that poisonous plant?”

“She doesn’t,” I answered over a pile of books and papers. “She leaves that one alone. She just eats the other one.”

Proof in dead and crunchy slivers of brown fronds.

“Well, why do you keep the poisonous plant?”

“It’s ok. Crackers doesn’t like that one.”

“But what if I was out of my mind and started eating it?”

“Why would you do that?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

A moment of silence; then he got another idea…

“Because Dad would give me caffeine and not know it?”

Sure.

During Puck’s journal writing, I asked if he would like to write about Grandma Snicketts and what she meant to him.

“No… That’s way too personal. Even in my notebook.”

“Well, it’s ok. You know Grandma might even be able to see what you’re writing about her, and she would like it. I don’t know if she can see what’s going on here, but she might.”

Puck thought about this. I went on…

“I imagine that while she’s waiting for everyone else to join her in Heaven, she would like to see what all her grandkids are up to if she can. You think?”

“Yeah… until we all get up there?”

“Unless the world ends first.”

We keep it light around here.

“Well,” Puck reasoned. “I wish it wouldn’t end yet because it’s too close to Saturday.” He grinned. “I love Minecraft, you know.”

A few dance parties, giggling mini trampoline parties.

The usual Monday Ton Laundry.

We had errands.

Library: The Long, Long Trailer, Ravi Zacharias [of Oscar Wilde].

QT: the same blamed fuel pump that keeps shutting off.

Target: eyeliner, mechanical pencils [for Puck], Scotch tape.

On this drive, also to collect groceries, Puck cleared his throat…

“I was trying not to cough, to show my impressions.”

“Your impressions, eh?”

“Yes, that was actually a very good impression.”

“So… what is an impression?”

“It’s… showing off.”

Could never quite grasp that one…

Puck packed himself with Hebrew National all beef hot dogs, apple, and cantaloupe over dinner, revisiting Ghostwriter per his request. The kid doesn’t mind repeats.

Bær called. On his way to a meeting with Ruby and Ethiopia regarding further business endeavors.

Puck rolled himself up on the couch with Crackers – closed eyes, long stretched cat-arm across his chest – reading of Greek myths, imagined planets, cardboard space ships, almost got to the talking spiders, and a feeding of the 5,000. We got it covered.

I spent my evening hiding aerated Hershey’s bars from Bær, so as not to tempt him into sin. And apple juice from Grandma’s glass with the blue tulips.