Chapter Fifty-One
Francis stamped up the stairs in a “first” for the Snicketts household – an high school seniors t-shirt, complete with this name on the back with all his other classmates. I guess home schooled kids are trying a little harder to make their way in the world these days. But Puck was laughing at this hair, which resembled a sea urchin doused in castor oil…
“Your hair looks really funny, Francis! [Giggle, giggle.] You don’t even look important anymore!”
Whatever that’s supposed to mean. He found a basketball in the backyard – frozen – ran out for it, and began to single-dribble it in the living room…
“Am I getting a talent or what?”
Carrie – Aztec clay mud mask, back brace for her funky rib, Arabic. Mom – rows of eggs-in-a-nest on the griddle. Puck – wire hanger, cowbell, ideas. Linnea – Mount Baldy t-shirt, pink sports headband, upset about going to the orthodontist. Joe – German rocket propaganda poster and moon logos [just for the fun of the design practice]. He had been hiking at Castlewood with Magnus and Rose on Monday between Photoshop tutorials and helping Aristotle move a desk up from the basement; he was rewarded with a sandwich. The balanced life. Puck was acting Egg Gastapo that morning…
“Linnea! Come eat your eggs! Francis! It’s time for breakfast!”
He pushed the plates quickly from the counter, delivering a clatter of forks on the side.
“Grandma, I would like to mop your floor.”
Mom had no reservations. Amazingly she also had no reservations about Puck joining Francis and Linnea for their biology lecture in Mom’s and Dad’s room. It was actually completely quiet. Except for the loud motor of Snuggles rubbing against my legs while Carrie drove off in frozen air to Theodore’s office. Francis tugged on a pair of brown cowboy boots. I know. Francis. And cowboy boots. Apparently they work great for ATV-ing. And because they were another Valentine’s gift. Kids and their fancy special occasion splurges these days… [No comment about my DNA kit.]
Mom asked me to come with her to Linnea’s orthodontist appointment for advice, so I did, leaving Puck in a pie of blankets to play. 10:45; Chesterfield. Aside from her orthodontist being a goofball, he also straightens the teeth of the St. Louis Rams and some of the Cardinals, like Albert Pujols’ kids. I was immediately intrigued. Suddenly the options of metal or ceramic braces were just a little bit more interesting. And I saw that Olympic torch in the waiting room, too. Signed by Muhammad Ali. Linnea couldn’t complain too much. I mean they’re actually going to knock her out when they pull her baby teeth. I… was not so fortunate…
We hit up Aldi on the way back. There was already a run starting on milk and eggs and things like that. Apparently we’re supposed to get a dumping of snow tomorrow. Plus Aldi always has some interesting things like Winking Owl wine or Australian mango licorice. Oh, yes, we loaded up. Toquitos, chocolate peanut butter cups, penguin crackers for Puck, ice cream drumsticks, a lot of cheese, hummus, a chocolate bundt cake Linnea found for $1.50.
“What do you think’s wrong with it?…”
Back at the house Francis and Puck carted in wood to start a fire while Linnea debated whether or not she should have clear braces or metal.
“Seriously, Linnea, get over it,” Puck tried to help. “It’s just braces.”
“No, Puck. You can’t speak that way to your aunt.”
He’s around adults and older teens all the time, picking up their lingo. He just doesn’t get it sometimes.
“There’s a mouse running around in my room,” said Joe, gripping a can of Lysol on his way down to the basement. “I’ve been letting him just do it for a few weeks, but then he started eating my food. He’s got to go. I’m going to tie him to a parachute and drop him out of my car.”
I wasn’t too worried about his prediction. All young mice are safe in the hands of Joe Snicketts… A few chicken nuggets later – home-baked, if not healthy – we were tugged off in the bitter cold to church where our recent missionary from Ukraine delivered the evening’s homily.
“So are you going to let Puck have a snow day tomorrow?” Kirk’s black-haired pixie-like mom asked me.
She knows I home school. She’s an art teacher in the public school system, so she was hoping for a cancellation, too, which around here – even the night before – is not too rare. I had thought about letting Puck off, unless it was a tenth of an inch as some reporters were indicating. Although if it had been me growing up, we were less likely to take snow days but “nice days”, as Mom called them, when the weather was so nice, she just couldn’t stand to keep us all inside.
“Cherry says that Iowa’s supposed to get three to twenty-four inches,” said Linnea.
Three to twenty-four. That sounds about as accurate as any weatherman in St. Louis. You can’t blame them, though. I’ve heard it has something to do with the rivers here. But I’m not sure if that makes complete sense.
Dad I discussed sermon delivery, church, and the Truth Project curriculum on the ride home. The Bear had been commissioned to rehearse for a children’s concert at Lindenwood, which basically meant show up with his violin, mandolin, and the usual improv. There are people out there who actually believe he can’t read music…
