Not Too Shabby
Sunday afternoon, Puck came home with a large paper sack full of heavy-duty art projects summed up from his week at Art Camp. Not to mention the self-made professional-looking tie-dyed t-shirt. The orange papier-mâché cyclops dog “with a unibrow” went on display in the living room. The multi-papered fuzzball gumball machine joined it, until I could hang it on the wall in the kitchen. The multi-colored thick yarn “nest” went in the glass book cabinet to prevent dust build-up. And the giant paper-stuffed mustache – Puck wanted to hang that above his bed. Sometimes I think kids’ art is the best.
We spent part of the morning at the park. Yali ran around after his big brother, wearing a huge smile, as they went up and down the spiral blue slide together. Companions.
It was now time for Yali to visit Dr. Box a couple of miles down the road for his back-to-the-States physical. A lot of papers, a lot of questions. But when it all boiled down, Dr. Box only needed to recommend one referral appointment – a cleft palate clinic – that would address the other outlying issues. An all-in-one kind of situation.
In the end, Dr. Box diagnosed the situation as overall looking pretty good. Considering that Colombia was afraid no one would want to adopt him in the first place because of his meandering list of medical issues, I would have to agree with him.
Before we left, Yali got stuck twice for Hep A and the Chickenpox. He was already halfway to a temper tantrum because Oxbear wouldn’t open the window shade so he could see the lake outside. So the nurse was greeted with tears before she even produced the idea of needles to the ornery critter.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” she tried to soothe him as she prepared the necessary instruments.
“It’s okay,” Puck reassured her, intent on a skiing game on Oxbear’s iPhone. “It just adds to the confusion.”
Once the scream-crying had subsided, there were green safety suckers for both boys.
We had a late dinner of sandwiches back home before it was time – once again – for the nightly waterworks. Cry, cry, cry, sniff, sniff, sniff, cry, cry, cry, sniff, sniff, sniff. One of these days he’ll finally understand that going down to sleep for the night in a big comfy bed full of gifted stuffed animals across from his big brave brother, isn’t exactly the end of the world.
Puck’s Monthly What-do-You-Want-to-be-When-You-Grow-Up Status:
“Scientist.”