It's Almost November?
“Come on, Puck. Eat up. You don’t want to be late.”
It’s a morning ritual. Puck doesn’t mind the 6:15 wake-up call much. He’s a bright-eyed morning bug. The problem is, he’s usually so fascinated with new ideas and options for the day, that he distracts himself from breakfast. Yes, even food. Today, I looked over at the table where he was sharpening a bag of pencils. Sharpening a bag of pencils, while the clock ticked.
Carrie-Bri texted me after the boys left. Apparently the “super healthy bread” Mom had made earlier that week and left under glass on the counter had duped Francis into taking a bite. He was so disappointed with the results, however, that he felt obligated to leave a note documenting his review of the dish.
“This cake is a lie.”
Sometimes, there’s so much work to do, the clock cuts through five hours: hot knife through butter. Today was yet again one of those days. Who knew sending my big guy to school would somehow make life ten times busier.
(I did, however, have time to make myself more honest-to-goodness healthy dark chocolate peanut butter bites.)
Anyway, Puck poured out of his classroom that afternoon with a pile of coat, hoodie, lunch box, and backpack, sending them in an avalanche at my feet in the hallway. We talked etiquette.
Back into the light rain of a cooler October day.
I prepped vegetable chili – yes, something must be wrong with me – for dinner. And actually liked it. Definitely something amiss. Puck liked it so much, that he looked me in the eye and made a statement I wasn’t sure I would ever hear him utter.
“I love beans.”
We concluded the meal with our own version of “Bright Eyes”. I think Shirley Temple is becoming a new – if not fully admitted – favorite. I’m pretty sure he even teared up when her silver screen “mom” was hit by a car and died. And expressed shock when the bratty kid counterpart got slapped in the face by her respective silver screen “mom”. Those 1930’s…
Puck had one last thought before bed that night. He tumbled head-first onto the couch, as he often approaches sitting down.
“I think I’m gonna write a book.”
“Oh, that’s cool. What about?”
“My life.”