Happy Birthdays
The rain was still falling lightly, but steadily, Sunday morning, on an already lazy kind of day.
Following church, we gathered to celebrate Carrie-Bri’s birthday, five days late, and Mom’s birthday, three days early. Surprisingly, Mom was okay having Dad cart in six boxes of Cecil Whittaker’s pizza for the occasion.
There were also gifts: Victorian-styled shoes, Rogers and Hammerstein’s 1965 “Cinderella” on DVD, a “gumdrop” tree, and Hobby Lobby gift certificate. For Carrie: tiny gold bunny earrings, an Amber ring imported from Lithuania, and a book on bunny massage.
Puck snatched the piece of glittering silver wrapping paper left over from the unwrapping.
“YES!”
Before the meal had ended, glitter. Everywhere. Hair, face, pants, sweater. He grinned like he had just accomplished some feat. I continued to find sparkles throughout the afternoon and into the evening.
After lunch was cleaned up, we could all hear Dad and Rose arguing in the kitchen about a tax error that had not yet been resolved.
“It’s all Turbotax’s fault!”
“Turbotax has nothing to do with this, Rose.”
“But it is Turbotax’s fault!”
“Rose, quit being a duficus brainicus.”
That’s Snicketts arguments at their best. Hasn’t changed much between Dad and Rose in the past 24 years.
Anyway, while the necessary paperwork was discussed and/or processed, Mom flipped on “Cinderella”, one of her long-time favs.
“Why are all the men wearing onesies?” Joe had to ask.
“That’s what we used to wear back then,” Dad explained.
“That’s much more tame than what they really wore.”
“Rose!” Mom always feels obligated to express shock for about every other comment Rose has to make.
“Well it’s true!”
Then we all argued about Linnea-Irish’s future in volleyball. Because the Snicketts family is required to family-conference all life issues.
By this time, Dad had run out again for ice cream sandwiches, drumsticks, two kinds of cookies, and a large iced chocolate chip cookie to fill with candles as we sang “Happy Birthday”.
Puck went to sleep last night with a musical request.
“Do you have any Getty’s music, Dad?”