Moral Support

“You need to be checked for anemia again, Linnea.”

“And your kidney. You need to have that tested again.”

“Wait – you were anemic before?”

“I don’t know. But I’m not going see the pediatrician. I’m way too old for that.”

“You can’t see a big doctor, Linnea, because you’re still a babycakes. Little babycakes.”

As with everything else in the Snicketts Family, no topic of life is left unturned in the family conference setting. You get used to it. And ultimately appreciate it.

Puck was pumped to be on White again that afternoon. He dumped a basket into my hands filled with muddy cars and Legos from recess.

“We made a track in the dirt. We pulled up the grass because it was all dead.”

“Hmmm … did Mr. V mind that you pulled up the grass?”

“He didn’t mind.”

Maybe he didn’t, but I’m guessing the groundskeeper just might.

Back at the Big House – post podcast; post Francis adding chrome handles and insulation to his truck; post grocery-run – Puck food-mongered in the kitchen.

“Guess where you’re going to be on Saturday, Puck?”

“What’s Saturday, Sun?”

“The day of luuuuuuv. And you’re going to be at my house. And I’ll get to hug you and kiss you and your mama won’t be here to protect you.”

He didn’t scream and run, but he did emphasize several times over, “It’s Grandma’s house, Sun. Grandma’s house.”

About an hour later, Dad looked suspiciously at the rice-broccoli-cheese casserole. More like little boy disdain. Sometimes you put Dad in front of an unwanted food option, and he becomes about five years old again. His opinion of dessert wasn’t much improved when Carrie presented a glass pan fat with white coconut cake.

Dad wrinkled his face in disgust, saying something emphatic to the table like, “I hate coconut. Coconut is God’s curse on mankind.”

And that, was the day.