December 7

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Collette woke from a dream in which she and Rose had been on the run as fugitives in the Middle East, or more likely than that, Southeast Asia. So while they were hiding any belongings of value, according to Rose’s directions, under the bed, an email had been sent out from church directing who ought to bring which dishes to the church barbecue. And Collette decided that OLeif should bring mandarin barbecued chicken.

While Collette continued with Linnea on her math, Puck ran in holding out his dragon costume.

“Mama! Can you put this on me?” he asked. “Uncle Francis is gonna chase me. He thinks I’m a fly.”

A few minutes later, Puck was being flown through the house, sitting inside the black book cube, his laughing eyes and chubby fingertips peeking over the edge.

Not long after that, Francis had him, in the cube, wheeling him around in OLeif’s desk chair.

“Go inside your box now, Puck,” Francis told him. “Tank mode. Mama’s going to attack.”

This was much better entertainment than spraying oneself in the eye with perfume, which was what Puck had done to himself the previous evening, quite by accident.

In the afternoon, while Collette annoyed herself with sinus aches and dry, red eyes, Puck amused himself, requesting that Collette teach him how to play ‘Kitty’s’ old viola.

That evening before going to bed, Puck talked to his daddy on Collette’s cell phone.

“I made a big spill, Daddy,” he said. “Look.”

And he ran into the kitchen to hold the phone over the linoleum where he had spilled a third of a cup of milk at dinner.

Then he hurried into his room with the phone to show OLeif where he had his Christmas Joseph, Mary, and Baby Jesus nightlight.

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