Chapter Sixty-Four
“Mom.”
The light from the hallway outlined the solemn silhouette in footy pajamas with the big head of blonde fluff…
“I think I’m a little sick. I achoo-ed and sneezed at the same time.”
He was bark-laughing a few minutes later on the couch after another sneeze-cough while I made lemon tea, which he didn’t drink, and was fine… No rain. Not that I knew of. But snow. Still tiny pieces floating around in early March. Just how I liked it… Puck followed The Bear around, donned in batting helmet before our departure.
The commute was long, but I don’t usually mind that. There was no slush or snow on the roads that hadn’t already melted. The salt trucks weren’t even out, but for some reason anything that falls from the sky scares people around here. You’d think we were in Texas, not St. Louis. We stopped briefly by Target for The Bear to pick up a box of sudafed, because a handful of miles further out where we live you have to have a prescription for that stuff.
Somewhere around two hours after departure, we trunked up the 20 steps to Rose’s apartment, after having passed through the soft snowglobe. A large smash of something greeted our ears as the key slipped into the lock and we walked in the door. I don’t know what Madeline was trying to pull, but somewhere, something had made a mess I was sure. Things didn’t seem too suspicious though. A box of 24 juices sat on the counter – grape, apple, and orange. The brass-and-glass platter was festooned with bananas, grape fruit, mango. Sausages, goat cheese, sweet and sour chicken in the fridge. Apparently Carrie-Bri and Linnea-Irish had dropped in to stock her up. A hard-working 50-hour-a-week busting single woman can sometimes forget to purchase groceries. A fat Restoration Hardware catalog, one of Rose’s favorites. But no Madeline-mess. The snow died away before eleven, the strain of sun pushing just to the clouds, and not past. A peanut-butter-faced Puck tried to keep his voice low…
“I love math.”
That’s what I like to hear. Probably mostly because it means an easy fifteen minutes supervising addition. Maybe he doesn’t love it as much as reading books for hours – me doing the reading of course, until my jaw hurts – but he does like adding objects together and recording the answers. He pulled one of the spinning turquoise-padded chairs to the window and watched things past the hand-carved zebra while I packed up our things.
Another ride down 170 past the windmill to QT for we three. A package mix of Doritos, Sun Chips, Cheetos, and Rold Gold, pure apple juice, iced tea for The Bear, a Tummy Tickler apple juice for Puck…
“My tummy isn’t being tickled,” he told us seriously.
The wind was way high. Gusts splurged over us…
“I bet trees that are newborn are being blown off the earth right now,” Puck reasoned.
After a late Quiet Hour, I realized that Puck had set off another reality bomb in his room. Stuff. Everywhere. I was getting tired of that same old drill, and irritated enough for Puck to call after me…
“I bet if you were in Heaven you wouldn’t be acting this way!”
Thanks, Puck. Thanks a lot. So I forgot about the mess for awhile, and sent him to dinner to solve the problem at a later time. By this time the snow was swirling again in the gray wind while we flipped on some Andy Griffith involving a handful of drunk chickens, or as Puck put it…
“He drunks them, Mom. Why was he drunking them?”
I washed him up for the night, scrubbing his face with a fat green bar of olive oil soap. There were no protests this time…
“I like the smell of that soap.”
I cajoled some cuddles around Bible reading and Garfield for the evening. There’s nothing better than holding my little-big-guy in his footies all warm and cozy on the couch, even if he’s not entirely behind the idea…
“You’re going to be six soon,” I told him. “And then you won’t be able to cuddle with me anymore.”
“Sure I will, Mom. Six is Five’s nephew.”
That explained everything. While I arranged the books for the evening, he came out from the sink smelling the soap bar in his hands…
“Can we get another bar of this to keep in my room, Mom? I just love this smell so much.”
Sometimes I find myself looking up unusual things for him. Olive oil room spray. Dollhouse miniatures catalogs. I ordered one of those freebies this week. Not because they’re for dollhouses. I don’t think he realizes that. Just because they’re small and interesting. Another interest he combed off me. I’m guessing he’s a pretty good blend of The Bear and myself. Except for the third lung. I really still can’t classify that loudly expressed anomaly.