Fun Fun Fun
Nine o’clock in Clayton. Puck and I camped out in the dentist’s waiting room while El Oso got his teeth cleaned. I guess it wasn’t the most interesting way to start a vacation day, but we had more exciting things prepared.
Apple Store at the Galleria. Fun times. Puck stared into the fountains and the tempting piles of shining coins winking at him from under the water.
“Want a penny to toss in?” El Oso asked him from behind a cup of Starbuck’s.
“Dad,” Puck scoffed. “I don’t even believe in that stuff.”
Clearly, wishing on coins has quickly gone the way of Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.
What’s even more interesting than turning in a laptop to get it fixed? How about a couple of adoption physicals?
To be fair, we stopped by Hardee’s first for lunch and ate at the park. I got through about a quarter of a Monster burger, splitting with Puck, who ate almost half. It was hot and sticky. Rain was coming, but not till much later. Appetites weren’t ravenous.
So, Des Peres. New doctor. Friendlier doctor. I let Puck have the iPad while I explained the almost yearly ritual of filling out medical adoption paperwork. One surprise: I seemed to have shrunk:
“Five foot, two and a half,” the nurse told me.
As Carrie texted me later, “What happened?”
I decided I’m okay with five foot, two and a half.
Finally, we began to find some rewards in slicing up a perfectly good vacation day into mundane and irritating errands.
QT: Hershey’s drops. While the boys went inside to pick them up (and an orange juice slushie for Puck) a mouse ran across the parking lot, hopped into the underside of a red SUV, and took a little ride.
Trader Joe’s: snacks for the game. Yes, I decided that if I had to sit through yet one more physical than I agreed to for an adoption that’s been strung out way too long already, I could at least reward myself with a ballgame a few hours later.
It was hot. Hot and muggy and sticky. I could have easily lived with that, even with the uncomfortable backs of the bleachers grating on my spine. But a 17-5 loss to the Cubs wasn’t pleasant. Still had a good time. Puck doodled in my little green Moleskine, copying the Wainwright jersey of the guy in front of him, occasionally yelling a “FOR PETE’S SAKE!” when the cheering got too loud. Or, when the beer man offered his products to section 507 one too many times:
“Can we get some beer, Dad?”
El Oso charged through a package of candied ginger, and escorted Puck out to get the car in the bottom of the 8th. Right before Tony got to bat, I had to leave, meet them on the street before the downpour. And it did. On the sleepy, soggy drive home, Puck re-examined his interest in baseball:
“I’m not really sure how much I like baseball, Mom. I don’t really know much about it, the numbers, you know, what those zeros are, you know? But I know Minecraft.”