Goodbye, Winter

Puck grinned at me big. “Sucker!”

I raised my eyebrow at him; I have to raise that eyebrow a lot. “Don’t call your mom a sucker.”

But Oxbear already had some words prepared. “If she was a sucker, she’d be pretty sweet.”

Puck buried his face in our bed, laughing. This was last night right before he went to bed. Things can get a little slap-happy at about 9:30 on a Saturday night after a late evening out at the movies with your dad and loads of buttered popcorn.

Sunday morning: snow globe snow. Thick and heavy, quickly covering the slowly greening lawns. Out of left field. Of course by the end of the morning service, all traces of it had disappeared on that first day of spring, quickly melting off freshly blossomed crab apples. No evidence remained by the afternoon.

“Yali! Yali!” Puck chased him down between Sunday School and the service. “Yali! I have to tie your zapatos! I have to tie your zapatos!”

Big brother keeping an eye on little brother. Until the food comes out, of course. Then it’s every man for himself. Francis was already prompting me to get in line for the luncheon down the hall.

“Hang on. Have to take down a note.”

“For what?”

“I have to remember to bring some fruit to the Easter breakfast next Sunday.”

“Well, I’m bringing something, too.”

“What?”

“My professional opinion on the food.”

I’m pretty sure he slapped his gut. If Francis’ brain was a pie chart, I think about 80% of it would be food-related.

Back at the Big House, Francis sprawled nose-down on the hardwood living room floor for another snooze. He takes after Mom; can sleep any time, anywhere. Until Yali decided he would make a good horse.

Mom and the girls talked houses with Elmer and Jaya. Irish worked another shift at Dillard’s. And Puck went dumpster diving in the basement. Again.