It's December

We had another mild December afternoon. Puck ran outside, three small glass bottles clutched in his arms, two of them full.

“I have to pour these out, Mom.”

“Ok …” I was a little more interested in keeping Crackers out of the rotisserie chicken before we even got a taste. I heard the tell-tale crack of plastic packaging and shooed her off.

When I looked back out the front door, Puck was drizzling Cracker Barrel syrup down the driveway. When I looked out the window, he was chasing a strange dog out of the yard with one of those wood blind slats, which he clearly thought was a game, and … I’m not so sure the dog did. No fear for my son, apparently.

Crackers gnawed through the chicken carcass as Puck and I wrapped up dinner. While I folded three loads of laundry – and downed half a cup of that blasted pumpkin – Puck had enjoyed 45 minutes of running around with neighbor friends just before dark, and was therefore ravenous, as usual.

Bær returned at seven after another round of “Scotchgiving” with work buddies. Lamb burger. Joe ordered a Scotch egg.

Puck’s Blog: Day #9

I almost got out of friendship with my friends. Well, a little complicated … They apologized. They wouldn’t let me apologize though, because their dad said, “Sand castles don’t last forever, you know.”