Chapter Fifteen
I don’t know if dreams are the result of deep, personal fears or just caches of forgotten clips from the day. Maybe neither. But when the centerpiece of my dream features the old riverfront – a society of antique pastel riverboats patched together in a violent community of outlaws and murderers, backed up to creepy woods and fields and abandoned stagecoaches… I’m going to go with “neither”.
I scrubbed the stove hard this morning. Whoever came up with the idea of a white porcelain stove, never had men cook in the kitchen. Now, I’m not blaming all those never-will-be-entirely-removed stains on The Bear, but… let’s just say the percentage of offense probably lies more heavily in his direction. And, no, I don’t think Colombia is going to nix our application based upon the appearance of our stovetop, but I have to clean it anyway. Puck held his nose as the potent cleaning foam glittered temporarily across the four craters of the gas range, raking through a melamine – yes, I’ve learned – plate of 18th century island prints ladled in three fried eggs and two slices of Italian bread toast. While he ate, he devised a system of discipline for Crackers, incorporating lost privileges for various offenses…
“If she jumps on the table… she will lose her cat house for… a month. And if you get on the counter, Crackers, cat house lost for a whole… year… And if you get on the table? Cat house lost for one fifty thousand years.”
And I thought I was a drill sergeant… While Puck marked “important papers” [old college informational sheets] with “arrow generators, with batteries, but not in a playful way” – oh the mouthfuls – wrapping up breakfast, I reminded myself to begin exploring his interests for the next few years…
“So, do you want to play an instrument, Puck?”
“Well, I’d like to have a ‘boy day’ with Kirk.”
“Ok; we can do that again sometime… But do you want to play an instrument like Dad and I play the violin?”
“Um… I’ll just have a robot do it.”
“So you don’t want to play?”
“Not really. I want to be important.”
“Important people play instruments.”
“But not rich people.”
“Well, they do, but…” I decided to tackle that one later. “…what about a sport?”
“I already told you, Mom. I’m going to play every sport in the world.”
I had some interesting conversations ahead of me, I could tell.
“Mom, could you please stop interrupting me, though? I have some very important papers now.”
He continued his scribblings, including photo copies of CLEP registration forms, which for some unexplained reason included my weight from my senior year. 95 pounds. I don’t even know what that means anymore. And Puck’s questions are rarely simple, really. A few minutes after he requested that I cease distracting him, he turned to me again…
“Tell me how people used to live back then, Mom.”
The preparations for the adoption inspection continued into the middle morning. I view my house as being organized, really. Things are put away at the end of the day, scrubbed down. Still, when the kitchen counters are stuffed with things like white hobnail perfume bottles, Tony La Russa’s autobiography, a shot glass of pennies, boxes of tea I forget to drink, and a bag of Coco Puffs knock-offs – it’s not my fault I don’t have a pantry… people don’t understand my system of organization. So I have to appease. I let Crackers lick the remains of the tuna can for Puck’s lunch. I can already feel that bubble welling up in the pit of my stomach; I picture something animated by Hayao Miyazaki, a subterranean bubble from the abyss. Physicals and house inspections, Greek terms on vacation days, a child with enough daily energy to keep Taiwan running for a year, Kindergarten curriculum – there it is again, unsavory circumstances at church, tabs on nine family members and extended family matters, forgetting stuff in the oven… mind blown. I guess it doesn’t take much sometimes. Add in touching up all the doors and trim, the walls I had painted the wrong color – finally fixed those – and I was not feeling so vivacious come two o’clock in the afternoon. But Puck was…
Sloosh, sloosh, sloosh…
“Puck? What’s going on in there?”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I am just mopping my room. So Miss Kirsten will be impressed with me when she comes on Thursday.”
The floorboards were soaked. In between all of this busy, busy, The Bear informed me of his promotion to Production Supervisor: Web Development. With a tidy pay increase. Very grateful, of course. Guess I don’t have to worry about buying those six extra bottles of root killer every year, I joked to myself. I looked up, and Puck was mopping the entire house, in his bare feet. The place was a shallow swimming pool. I can’t go more than about a half-day without checking in on the crew – given the rate of new information that flies around here – so while Puck swamped the place, I caught up about Francis’ final Eagle project presentation approved and Joe’s portfolio – which I heard straight from himself, comfortably reinstalled back in his room… things can get crazy all up in here, as Joe would say. I looked up, and the macaroni, cheese, and kielbasa casserole was in the oven for dinner, and Puck was whining about getting into the shower again…
“I just took one a few days ago, MOM!”
During dinner, I tried not to tempt The Bear too much over IM with sales from the CBD catalog. All those monster sets of fat theological volumes. It had been a crazy day; sometimes the information feed is stuffed. I pillaged the library and bedroom for the last heavy preparation before Thursday. And so this same fellow came home for hot casserole, unable to meet with Magnus because the kid had caught the flu, and ready to discuss a thousand and one things over celebratory groceries from Trader Joe’s while I helped Rose update her resume, review salaries, and her purchases of the soundtrack to “Journey to the Center of the Earth” and “Wagon Train” and a pearl pendant necklace: gift cards to kill. Bottles of sparkling pomegranate and cider, brie and pita bite crackers, maple leaf cookies, Ritter chocolate sport bars, baked cheese crunchies. Things! When they come, they come hunting in packs. And I am not ungrateful. Although for some reason we decided to end this day of upheaval with clips of Tina Fey and Amy Poehler hosting the Golden Globes. Sometimes I don’t even ask questions…