Never a Dull Moment

It was hotter than Indian summer now. Yali and I sat in the yard wearing shorts and t-shirts early in the afternoon, eating lunch together. High wind. Warm sun.

It was a short hour after school for the boys, whacking volleyballs around in the gym, and then chasing each other across the playground with a pile of siblings waiting for volleyball practice to end.

Every time I looked up to the jungle gym, Yali had climbed into some other height that he wasn’t meant to be in. And he screamed like a banshee every time I extricated him.

When we got back, the boys ran outside with the boomerang together. At one point between taking Oxbear’s phone call and preparing dinner, I thought I heard a door slam. But I wasn’t really paying attention.

After about ten minutes of complete silence, I began to wonder what was going on out there. I walked around the house to find them.

Nothing.

They weren’t in the basement, or in their rooms. I checked the yard again. Still gone. And they certainly weren’t responding to any calls or whistles. Finally, as a last resort, I opened my bedroom door.

There they were – the two of them – caught red-handed with amazingly innocent looks on their faces. Sitting in the folded clean laundry on my bed with a big box of goldfish crackers, watching Netflix.

“Boys!”

The wind continued into the evening. We sat around the dinner table like real St. Louisans eating t-ravs.

“All done! All done!” Yali exclaimed, waving a hand over three remaining t-ravs.

“He doesn’t even know what that means,” Puck scoffed.

Sure enough, as soon as I took his plate, he grabbed at it for more. “NOOO!!!!”

Sometime after dinner while Puck burst through a round of homework at the table, we heard a very common sound.

WHACK!

“WAAAAH!”

Yali, hitting his head on something. This time it was the coffee table in the basement. About ten times a day he’ll hurt something, somehow. Takes after his big brother.