On a Cold Day
Monday, April 16, 2012
The morning brought cold green, wind, and gray.
“Mama.”
“Yes, Puck.”
“What did you do with the antennae on the stairs? I’m still busy reflecting somethin’.”
Sometimes almost-five year-olds remembered.
A little O.J. with breakfast. Juice didn’t happen so often in the Silverspoon the Younger house. You know, unqualified reports about arsenic and sugar spikes and all that stuff… But sometimes a calcium boost was necessary.
Mom had sent a mango home with Puck to cut up after he read “Theodore Mouse Goes to Sea”, (which contained a Universal Studios post card from 1992 sent from Grandma, Martha, and Amanda as a bookmark). A wrinkly green thing from Peru was the fruit. Puck ate the entire thing in a wink.
After his “studies”, he arranged a proverbial orchestra of pots and pans on the floor with drumstick wooden mixing spoon. After the cabinet had been cleared of these metallic elements, he buried himself inside…
“Count to one, to two, to three, and then… ready or not, here I come, ok?” he instructed Collette.
“But I already know where you’re hiding.”
“No, Mama,” Puck replied with a Mama-you’re-silly giggle. “Just search. You won’t know where I am. Just pretend you don’t know where I’m hiding. Ok? Just count to three, to two, to three…”
This was followed up with IM consult – Joe was making the final decision about shipping out to Philmont for the summer.
And the cord of the shade finally snapped in the living room.
Puck chomped a PBJ, guzzled a glass of milk, and drained the last of the Pringles for lunch over a creative license reenactment of John the Baptist. An ant took a trip around his finger – one of the pesky flood-outs – and disappeared.
“Aaah.”
– Puck jumped from the table, ripped the shirt over his head, and threw it to the floor in a heap. –
“The ant went down my shirt!”
He resumed lunch after a few moments, however, when he couldn’t locate the antennae-d creature.
Francis dropped in for some help with unit conversions and moles – the chemistry type, and cool York peppermint patties, while Puck giggled through half an hour of Cardinals TV with the ever-loveable Fredbird and a pot of tossed carrot-celery stew, apparently…
Which was followed by some “thinking about his sins” for a time in his room after some whining-disobedience.
Sometimes he had to learn the hard way…
Francis lifted off for another shift at work just as the mail lady drove up to Puck in socked feet and handed him the typical bundle, but this time with a bank sucker. A little orange glassy circle of goodwill. Of course, in thanks, Puck added in a note about his upcoming birthday, and something about how he liked the nice lady’s Cardinals t-shirt… while Collette was on the phone with Rose…
While Collette prepared dinner, she let Puck listen to some Johnny Cash, and explained that Johnny Cash was “with Jesus now”. This led to other questions of “being saved from my badness”…
“Did our badness just curl up and try to sneak up on us and kill us?” Puck asked.
“Well, in a way…”
OLeif chugged up the driveway after five.
He was looking a little more… suave?… than usual.
“So…?” Collette asked him about this unusuality.
“People were asking if I got a hair cut at work today.”
Of course. The comb-across. But it worked not bad, actually.
The usual rough-house and Happy Hollisters with Puck.
Sometimes it was nice to have “every day”s.
Collette caught a game of the NLCS over laundry while OLeif racked up another load of homework. Home stretch.
Speaking of laundry… those indestructible fire-hose pants. Every time. Every time.
“Dude. Two holes. In only seven months. Sitting at a desk all day. What happened?”
“I don’t know,” the carefree OLeif replied. “Something must be wrong with me.”
“Maybe they’re corrosive toxins in your body,” Collette suggested, returning the folded pants to the dresser.
At this point, she wouldn’t be too much surprised.
Meanwhile…
Curly had turned 22 down in Nashville.