Early Gifts

“Mom! Here’s a birthday present for you!”

I opened my eyes, still seeing dreams from the night. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! Open it!”

On the outside of the tin foil packet was written on a square of paper: “MOM” in chunky dark blue permanent marker letters. Inside – a tin foil loop.

“It’s a bracelet! Keep it in your jewelry box, ok?”

How could I not? A one-of-a-kind limited edition Puck creation.

It was only a few minutes later that a stack of magazines landed beside me on the bed.

“Mom? Can I sell these in a garage sale? I will sell them to random people for just a dime. Sell history to random kids. I will give them a merchandise.”

I didn’t have enough presence of mind at that early morning moment to learn which magazines he was trying to sell. They weren’t yellow enough for National Geographic. But I did, at least, stop him before he walked out to the curb in red track pants, taco truck t-shirt, and cowboy boots, (at least he remembered the winter coat) in nine degree weather.

Bær called us right before lunch. (Puck wasn’t so excited about the idea of the omelet, but he’s always up for a fat bowl of cucumber and orange wedges. An entire cucumber.) Anyway, Bær’s advisor suggested he could graduate from seminary with two Masters degrees by May of 2017. Eight years later …

Puck had his own thoughts for me during the meal. (In the seasonal reality of 21st century cultures dressing up eight year-old girls as pregnant teenage virgins …) “But you need a man to help make the baby too. It’s not like they could kick up a stew and pick the baby up out of the stew.”

Well said, my son. Well said.

And because Puck accidentally gave his ceramic mug of wrapped chocolates thank you gift to the wrong lady on Wednesday night, we had to make another trip to the store.