Definition of Health

A phone call, text, and email alerted me early this morning that school would be a 9:45 late-start. Of course in the boys’ mind, this only gave them license to dilly-dally.

Halfway through his breakfast yogurt, I heard Puck walking up the stairs with something heavy – some of Oxbear’s weights from the basement.

“Puck … why?”

“I just want to show Joe,” he paused to grunt from the exertion, “how strong I am. Now, Joe … this boy?” he pointed at a large disc, “You don’t want to mess with. … You’re a strong baby! But you can barely even lift this.”

Yali was more interested in putting on chapstick anyway, one of his latest interests.

School seemed way louder than usual that morning. Maybe too many cabin fever kids packed into the same gym at the same time.

Eventually I found myself downstairs working in the lunch room. I paused to see Puck for about two minutes during his shift, but he was mostly just interested in tearing apart slices of cheddar from his lunchbox with some of his buddies. I find that most of his food gets destroyed before entering his stomach anyway.

Francis picked me up in his old blue truck a little after noon, because the tires on my Fit hadn’t been acceptable enough that morning. We stopped for a few supplies on the way home, including ski wax for his new skis, and a few groceries.

I texted him from the other side of the store. “Need more milk?”

A standard Francis response: “Yis.”

“2%?”

I already knew the answer.

“The fat kind.”

To Francis, Vitamin D milk is the only acceptable kind of milk. The fatter, the better.

When I got back to the Big House, Carrie-Bri informed me that my second son had tried to trade in Thumper for a turn on the iPad.

“Yeah, I told him he couldn’t use the iPad, so he pulls in Thumper by the hand, pushes her over to me, and then points at the iPad again!”

At the dinner table that evening, Puck tore into fistfuls of raw spinach and kale. I think he’s half rabbit. When he offered Yali a leaf, Yali just grinned tentatively, licked it and handed it back with a smile that said, “I know you’re just kidding about this, brother. People don’t really eat leaves. Good one, good one.” He must be my son after all.