Chapter Eighty-Four
“CAN I HELP?!”
Clearly, every question or comment Puck ever makes hovers somewhere around the Caps Lock.
“Sure, man. That would be great.”
I removed the lavender rubber gloves from the soap suds to help Puck establish a station beside me over the sink. He stepped up onto Crackers’ “condo” and scrubbed at the dishes with the “dish wand”…
“I just want to gobble up all that soap!” he told me.
I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t, but sometimes boys just have to learn the hard way. [He didn’t eat any soap.]
We sat down for devotions together with The Bear, who was of course holed up in his den away from city streets caked with slush mush. Puck worked on making cross-eyes while he listened to the story of Noah and the vineyard…
“And Ham… saw the nakedness of his father…”
“YUCK.”
At least he was listening.
When The Bear handed Puck a leftover slice of pizza at somewhere after ten and before eleven, I gave them the you-shouldn’t-have-done-that eyes. But with both of them wearing red and posing together without cue, shoving their pizza slices into the air like trophies of war… what could I say?
As we cracked into books and laundry and other things that a Monday has to have, Puck struck up a dance with me, ballroom hold. The Bear walked out to see what was what.
“Dance with Dad now,” Puck grinned.
– He watched for a minute, sort of laughing at us. –
“Come on. Get the rhythm.”
A soft, whimsical sort of powdered sugar still floated in the air of a half sun. Puck had to have his share, of course, piling snowballs on the porch, pounding on the door, running off to dive into a heap on the nearest pile of snow, and grinning at me…
“A ghost did it!”
I always find it a little weird that I will say things to Puck, like…
“But you need to eat your pizza, too. Not just the fruit and veg. Can’t believe I’m saying that…”
It’s regular. Not the pizza part. It could be cake or egg rolls or whatever other unhealthy thing he should be having at whatever meal and whatever place, and he’ll stuff the fruit and veg instead.
Probably the low point of the day came during Quiet Hour…
“Mom! I almost used my bum as dipping sauce into the toilet! Because I still had my underwear on!”
I am a mom.
Rose snapped some good pictures of her adventure, south. Mayan ruins [her tour guide spoke Mayan], Bahamanian tidal pools, Jamaican flora… I was surprised how much she liked Mexico, actually. But now she was right back in the thick, driving out to work. Even Dad worked home today. Pretty much all we saw pass the house for the first half of the day was the UPS man and two garbage trucks.
The Bear and Puck wrestled around on the floor after dinner.
“PLEASE MAGIC STOP! PLEASE MAGIC! PLEASE MAGIC!” Puck yelled in hysterical laughter.
Apparently this sometimes works. I laughed at them too, wrapped a cheetah print band-aid around my index finger paper cut, and drove out for supplies once Puck was down – Garfield, 60 eggs, travel-sized hair spray [just because it fits better in the cabinet]… Essentials. But I do forget it’s Holy Week, which means buying a box of 60 eggs isn’t really all that strange. Still, I think I might have got a few stares. It is amazing how crowded grocery stores will be even at night. Kids running around after seven. I guess Puck is just deprived and has to get 11 or 12 hours of sleep every night or something.