It's Never the Same

“Nine plus four is most definitely… thirteen.” Puck raised a hand of protest in the air. “No compliments!”

About a quarter hour later, he bent his head carefully over his math sheet, his pencil scratching…

“The six and five are getting married,” he explained.

“Why?”

“Because they’re sort of related, you know? They’re right be theirchother. I have to erase the whole page because she doesn’t look very nice… Now she’s holding a flower, a bouquet…”

When this masterpiece had concluded, Puck pulled out the basket of colored Sharpies to sketch a…

“…’refilternator’ for the water to go through.”

Then there was that whole deal where…

“Mom. Could you please write down this new language for me?”

“Sure.”

“Here’s the paper. Ready?”

“Yup.”

“bluhwrulwrulbluhglorihrrrrrrrlllllihbalrillasheeblahgallihrrrllll…”

Puck relaxed back into the couch pillows early that afternoon. He had a pondering…

“Let me fink… I’m wondering if I should be a farmer when I grow up.”

He let this thought simmer while we began readings on Dutch children and Christmas traditions, leaving candies in their wooden shoes. Puck had issues with this, of course…

“Sweets under their stinky little feet? That would be sort of unhealthy because who knows what was on their feet.”

We hit the stores under dark gray skies, the kind only November has, backlit by the white west. It sparked rain spots as we ran out with the groceries, including a small paper sack of goldfish crackers in rainbow shades.

“Hmm,” Puck agreed with his stomach later, practically patting it. “Those goldies tasted good.”

Bær was getting back late after a dinner meeting with Red Strike. So I got busy after tucking Puck into bed. Right about the time I was lacing up the lavender dish gloves…

“MOM! I HALFWAY SAW A GHOST! CAN YOU OPEN THE DOOR A LITTLE MORE?”

Loading the dish washer…

“IS THERE SUCH A PLACE AS ABU DHABI?”

Then a little more Lee Min-Jung and Gong Yoo. This stuff is crack.