I Need a New Shirt, Mom!

Nothing like a little Mr. Rogers circa 1972 over a mug of hot homemade tomato soup on a chilly day in early May. That’s where little Yali – strong as a monkey Yali – found himself on a late Tuesday morning before a cozy 90-minute nap in his grandma’s room. Honestly, this kid lives the life.

Outdoors the skies were chalked over in gray for the time being. The roses were blooming again. And Francis had just returned from class to pick up his repaired truck.

“But first, I’m going to eat all these potatoes!” he declared from the refrigerator.

He wasn’t kidding. Francis, too, is attempting to curb the notorious Snicketts sweet tooth. Then Mom joined us in the dining room for awhile to read some ridiculous old letters Uncle Mo had written to her while he was attending Mizzou back in the day. Later, we concluded that handwritten letters seem to have died out right after my generation. A thing for the history books.

Carpool. Hundreds of enthusiastic children were a little more chaotic than usual that afternoon, following an all-school yearbook signing in the gym. Eventually they all spilled out into the hallway, sporting wristbands of three different colors in preparation for upcoming Spirit Week, in honor of the Royal Scottish flag. This is some hardcore Presbyterian heritage representing right here.

“I NEED NEW PANTS, MOM!” Puck declared, marching past lines of waiting parents.

The left knee of his pants was busted wide open. I didn’t ask why; there’s really no need.

About ten minutes later, he popped back out into the hallway from where he and Bob had apparently been getting some math homework done together.

R-i-i-i-i-p!

He yanked at the torn corner of his evergreen monogrammed polo as it shredded right in front of my eyes. “I NEED TO GET A NEW SHIRT, MOM!”

This time, I did feel the need to ask. “Puck, how did that happen?”

“BOB YANKED ON MY SHIRT AND IT RIPPED!” Puck replied, continuing to tear the Lands’ End polo – Hulk style – pretty much in half.

“Well,” Hans noted, “he looks pretty happy doing it.”

True… pretty much any 3rd grade boy would be completely thrilled to destroy his school uniform with zero consequences. Seventeen and a half more days of school. His school wardrobe has to last only seventeen and a half more days of school.