Isn't that just the way it happens...
Monday, July 9, 2012
SLAM!
“Mama!” Puck wailed, running into her room. “I knocked your picture off the piano!”
Again.
The fated “rather obscure” Rembrandt.
And this time, the glass had, indeed, cracked out. She removed the wounded print to the bedroom, as Crackers — hiding under the bed — continuously attacked her legs. Floozie gnawed on a peach sticker in the kitchen.
“Puck, eat like a gentleman. Don’t stick your fingers in your oatmeal.”
“But I had to clean up my mess, Mama.”
“It fell on the table?”
“Yup, and my foot. It fell on my foot and I ate it… I think it only fell on my leg or somethin’. I’m not sure if it fell on my foot. It could have fell on my foot, I fink… Could have been part of it…”\
Floozie was drinking out of Collette’s new water glass, because she had forgotten to cover it with a book again, while she washed up the dishes over Spanish. Puck ran around half-naked chasing the “baby cat” while Collette tried to clean up the feline disaster of the basement – where they had found it necessary to begin de-shelving storage – and sweep away – with the straw broom they had begun to mangle – the full body of short hairs scattered from north to south around the crazed meowing with Puck sing-screeching – tuneless – in the bathroom…
It all sounded like a great way to kick off a Monday.
At least the three-digit heat wave record had finally been broken.
Between morning studies, Puck marched around in the yard in roller skates with metal pole as “walking stick”, examining trees and bushes…
“This plant has a lot of garbage in it,” he said, pulling out dead leaves and upturning rain water.
When he returned, sweated through…
“I found a grain for you, Mama,” he said, waving a brown weed in her face while Collette de-shelled his feet from the muddy roller skates. “We can make it into a little bread. It’s so fresh. I’ll pick some more tomorrow.”
The kitten was learning to be trouble. But finally she wore herself out enough to cuddle in a fuzzy gray lump by Collette during the replay 2011 All Star Game as Puck completed his hour of try-to-be quiet.
For the last half-hour of the evening, Puck sketched “villages” on index cards, and wrote his first word without spell-prompting “up”, although he wrote it “pu” at first. Then Crackers attacked his pencil eraser until he could no longer control himself over her cuteness and air-hugged her. Already he was beginning to understand the crushing effect of the Silverspoon bone structure.
It had been sort of a rocky start though for the week.
And a dull weather headache all day long.
Collette consoled the evening with a quesadilla.
Fireworks still cracked in the night.