Chapter Two
Puck sat back in his breakfast chair this morning, thoughtfully observing my plate of apple wedge and cheddar…
“That’s theology berk,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Theology berk.”
“What does that mean?”
“Means it’s not healthy.”
Just like yesterday when his pants were falling down a little and he diagnosed the situation as being…
“Half a percent off.”
This was after we had sent The Bear out the door in a still-frozen powdered sugar of 15 degrees Fahrenheit morning to his first class of Greek Round #2. And also before Rose informed me that she had apparently had been busy New Year’s Day after all. Gnawing off 117 pages of study, she had also taken a cat bite to the eyebrow, and a claw on, or in, the nose. Alcohol had been applied. But long after I dreamed a dream of another cruise in which I – seated at the exact center of the prow – found the ship to hit a large, dark blue wave, which corkscrewed the front half of the ship, slinging it into an island. I arrived safely without scratches.
Puck, as usual, had distracted himself in the bathroom again. This time, it was Legos. It’s usually Legos…
“Look, Mom,” he held up an original composition of a river raft. “These people are all married. They are all the married people. This is Annelise. And this is me… And that’s Lulu… And that’s Curly’s… Curly’s… this is Curly.”
I hung the Japanese wood-punch lamp above the kitchen table by way of a ghetto-rigged chip clip on the Crackers-busted window shade, until further efforts could be made. I use the excuse of being a seminary family. For a lot of things, actually… Then I helped Puck dig out two tiny resin dinosaur arms from the pyramid-shaded plaster block in the grease-catcher. After he learned the “ow” and “ou” sounds in his Blue Back Speller. And before open-faced grilled cheese on Italian bread with a side of red pepper and more apple.
Yes, The Bear had sacrificed 57% of his vacation days for the year for two credits of Greek. He would do the same in 2014 for Hebrew. But it was worth it. Especially when class lasted just four hours a day and the entire afternoon and evening could be reserved for study at the quiet, quiet seminary library. Or home, maybe, But today, he made other arrangements. After a successful introduction to school, he arrived home early after a stop for groceries. Including a fire extinguisher to replace the last busted one for the adoption home inspection. And pencil lead and three-ring binder for seminary.
Swish, swish, swish… Quiet Hour wasn’t so quiet with Puck wrangling the metal slinky from Rose all over his bedroom floor. Crackers was solitary spectator and witness. Probably a very unhappy witness. Puck’s level of loudness is sometimes just too much for her ears to handle. The plush snowman pedaling the bicycle to Christmas tunes didn’t help either. She just stared at me with a pair of terrified yellow eyes while Puck tried not to giggle too much. He also tries to be a good cat daddy, but sometimes he just gets a little too carried away with himself. Just like he got carried away with the plaster block again and chipped out three more bones before Quiet Hour had ended. Victoriously, I might add. Twenty minutes later he came practically prancing out of his room, barefoot, with a dimply grin…
“I made the plaster wet, Mom! Now it’s easier to dig!”
The Bear’s son.
Puck showered and wrapped himself up in his angry birds hooded green cape wrap, requesting that Crackers join him for the episode of Wishbone’s interpretation of Jekyll and Hyde…
“Not right now, Puck. She’s busy watching birds.”
“But, Mom! She wants me. Pleeeeeease! She’s waiting for me to pick her up. Like a bus stop! How would you feel if you were waiting for the bus to come and it didn’t come for you?”
When the boys eagerly joined the table for eggs, bacon, and biscuits with blueberry jam at dinner, The Bear broke open the leather ESV to read about wisdom. Although it only took one word from Psalms, a forbidden word in Puck’s vocabulary – stupid – to erupt him into chronic giggles.
“Puck…” The Bear cautioned him after the chuckling had continued for some time.
“Yes, Dad?”
“I want you to listen now. It is very important that you hear what the Bible says.”
“Ok, Dad,” Puck replied, a patch of blueberry at the corner of his mouth. “But do you have any duct tape?”
The Bear resumed translation of twelve verses of John after a few giggling “breath wars” with Puck, which ended up in Puck falling over in a heap, amazed at this new game. We tucked him under the covers after reviewing the next card on his prayer list – Uncle Francis. Then I resumed Spanish in the kitchen under the homey pale luminescence of the new lantern.
“Mom?” Puck yelled from across the cracker box. “What comes before one?”
“Zero!”
“Ohhhh!”