Offenses
Thump, thump, thump. Puck marched down the hallway, already seeing to business…
“Where did I put that tortilla I chomped?” he muttered to himself.
Even though my sort of illusive cold had not yet disappeared, the regular amusements of the day had not been lost on me. Namely, cleaning and/or sort-of cooking. [If scrambled eggs count.] Or taking my temperature every twenty minutes, even though I never could manage to cook up an actual fever any higher than 98.7. [I have an irrational obsession with competitive numbers. Yes, I said competitive.] Nor was I too ill to renege on my offer for Rose to accompany us for dinner. It wasn’t exactly like she could just walk across the street after work anymore like she did several times a week in the old days. So we took what we could get. Still, though, pop in a cankersore with the whole not-feeling-so-great, and you have a recipe for something a little more than annoying, and a lot less than the stomach flu.
Earlier this week, I finally got to explain to Puck that changes were coming. He was going to be getting a new aunt soon. I rustled up a picture of the young lady in question online…
“Now, Puck. Do you remember who this is?”
“Yes. It’s Lulu.”
“Well, Lulu is going to be your new aunt. She’s getting married to Curly.”
“Oh.”
“And you will go to the wedding to see them get married.”
“I don’t want to go, Mom.”
“Why not?”
“It’s kind of embarrassing.”
Then I had to get started explaining how Puck was getting a new cousin next spring sometime…
“Now, I want you to understand that when you see Kitty at Christmas, she will only have a big stomach because there’s a baby in there. Not because she’s fat.”
[I try to clarify what I can when I see trouble on the horizon.]
“Well, Mom. I don’t think I want to see that.”
“Why not?”
“Because sometimes I just get tempted.”
“Tempted to do what?”
“To call ‘fat’.”
Oh boy…
I broke out the baked fish sandwiches and salad for dinner. Puck, much to his chagrin, received a wedge of lasagna. He stared at the bowl for a short time, musing over his allotted evening fate…
“Lasagna, I will not… devour you.”
Rose arrived – green hair and all – by six o’clock.
I think I would have a hard time discovering any girl aside from my sisters who wouldn’t find themselves completely bothered by that fact. Granted, I’m not talking a Wicked Witch of the West green or anything, but there is a definite mossy hue involved which, I’m pretty certain, would send most girls screaming from the hair parlor. Sometimes those boxed home kits just don’t provide the intended effect.
“Oh well,” Rose shrugged Hallowe’en night.
Following the edibles, Puck conned a reading of The Berenstain Bears out of Rose before a rather lengthy discussion of castles and their ways…
“Well, Onion, I will design you one. There’s plenty of room in our neighborhood. Everyone’s getting a castle.”
He toted out the Lego box to demonstrate his model-building capabilities. This somehow morphed into conversations on other things I didn’t get all the details about. Diamond planets. Keys. Keys to diamond planets. Etc. Even as I was dragging him back to bed…
“Well, Onion, you can’t go all the way to the center of the planet.”
“Why not?”
“Because you would get burned up.”
“Oh. Well, it’s ok because I have fire-resistant clothing.”
Puck contemplated this idea with great seriousness.
“And I would have a cape, too,” Rose added.
“You couldn’t have a cape, Onion.”
“Why not?”
“Because there are no super heroes, Onion. Only God.”
I managed to tear him away from the conversation momentarily, but he was still clearly distracted…
“And please help my baby brother in Colombia to be ok. And please help God to… Oh! Ha ha. Sorry, God. That was a joke…”
It didn’t take long once again. A loud conversation back and forth down the hall…
“Well, Onion, you can’t go to the center of the planet. It would take too long.”
“I can use a rocket. So, it’s pretty fast.”
“It will be Christmas by the time you get back up.”
Puck finally fell asleep after Rose and I finished our conversations with some laughs over “An Idiot Abroad” Bucket List season. The Bear joined us with a paper sack of frozen custard. Some good times.