Figuring it Out

Something in Dad’s morning email devotional had caught Puck’s ear: equal and fair measures and weights in the book of Deuteronomy. Dad used a Snicketts-family modern-day example of family members not always fairly splitting the last piece of gooey butter cake.

Puck stared at me with accusation. “Mom, you usually give me the smaller piece!”

“That’s for your own good.”

Puck didn’t mind that much though. Aside from the fact that he’s never really liked cake anyway, he was busy staring through that prism pressed up against his eye.

“I’m going to start studying rainbows,” he told me.

About twenty minutes later as he and Oxbear left for work and school, I confirmed with Puck that he did not want me to register him for the school’s baseball team that afternoon.

“I want to do soccer, Mom. Baseball is your sport,” he marched out the door, and called over his shoulder. “I don’t want to get hit in the head with a baseball bat.”

Fair enough.

Puck bounced out of the gym, tearing down the hall. In his hand he held a coloring sheet of a donkey pinata. On the front he had written: “his name is rodeto”.

“Rodeto?” I asked, as we entered the freezer blast – yet somehow not as cold as yesterday – of the half-sunshine afternoon. “What does Rodeto mean?”

Puck shrugged. “It means Bob.”

One last time for cousins to play before a Saturday morning flight back to Austin. Puck got Elvis giggling as they played ball on the stairs at the Silverspoon’s. Shared a pomegranate. And a cold neighborhood walk with Kitts while I purchased Spring Training tickets for the bunch heading down in March.

While my boys had their “guys’ night” at home, I joined Mom, Carrie-Bri, Francis (with a sack of Culver’s), and braided Linnea’s hair over an old Hope/Rooney black-and-white.