One Hundred Twenty-Two
“A-CHOO!… A-CHOO!”
Puck’s signature morning sneezes were accompanied by sniffing. A lot of sniffing…
“Puck, do you have a cold?”
“A-CHOO!”
I felt the shower of my son’s exuberant sneeze spray the back of my sweater…
“I was saving that for your BACK!” he declared too loudly.
“Right. So… Why are you sniffing so much if you don’t have a cold, and sneezing so much?”
“Mom,” he gave me his philosophical look and began to put on his socks. “Everyone has a limit of sneezes before they have a cold. Grandma has a limit, too! Like 87 sneezes! And I have my limit. And I don’t have a cold.”
Case made.
I woke up The Bear at eight. He had cranked out a late night working on the old laptop and needed a little extra shut-eye.
“Mom! Come here!” Puck asked loudly, hurrying into our room and grabbing me by the hand. “Look at the storm on the radar! I think it could be another country, but it could be not.”
It was another country. The country of Alabama, but close.
We spent part of our morning in the backyard, collapsing the big sagging plastic climbing thing that Luke and Leia had given him some time back. Given my limited stature, it was hard going for awhile…
“Come on, Mom! Don’t give up! We can do this together!”
And we did. Then we tossed a frisbee back and forth over the wild wood strawberries with yellow blossoms. The tasteless berries that hadn’t grown much yet. Twirled “helicopters” onto the lawn. They weren’t entirely cooperative…
“I don’t think the helicopters are in the mood right now, Mom,” Puck explained. “Just… try again later.”
And blew billows of “wish flowers”, which Puck collected in Tasha’s yard. He thinks it’s pretty marvelous that he can slip back and forth between our yards through the deliberate gap in the fence.
“Here, Mom,” he handed me one wish flower.
We puffed the wispy fuzz into the air…
“I wish for SODA POP!”
[I never call soda, “soda pop”, so where he’s getting that, I have no idea.]
The seeds fizzled into the air.
“Wait right here, Mom. I’m gonna go get more wishes from Miss Tasha’s yard!”
When he returned with two more lollipop-sized flowers, we made more wishes…
“I wish for a SODA MACHINE!” he yelled. “Ok, Mom, I’m gonna go get more wishes!”
He was back in a flash with two last ghostly blossoms…
“I wish for a GOLDEN AND DIAMOND CASTLE!”
The first I could do. In maybe a few years.
Mom called. Linnea’s eight o’clock appointment with the teeth-puller was completed. She was home, napping. About 45 minutes was all it took to put her out, yank five baby teeth, and install a chain along the gaps. Carrie and Mom had accompanied. Carrie had reportedly leaned over Linnea with a goofy grin as she came to…
“Good. This is the first thing I want her to see when she wakes up,” she said.
After our daily siesta, Puck exited his room with silver auto sunshield cape, out the door like a shot…
“I’M MR. INFINITY!”
Air punch, slam the door. So we spent some time kicking the soccer ball up and down the driveway, which is always fun. And then I could see the rain was about to come. Living here all these years, you just sort of get that feeling sometimes. And then it fell. Puck finished his geography lesson in the form of “Weebee Tunes” and made a dash for the window cleaning solution and a cloth…
“Oh, thanks, buddy. What made you think of doing that?”
“Nothing…” he pondered. “But it’s been twelve years.”
I guess that would be a good reason to wash the windows.
We wrapped up an evening without The Bear, who was at Mollie’s grandpa’s visitation.
“Puck, it’s time for bed.”
“Not without a goodnight kiss! And you can’t CATCH ME! HA HA HA HA HA!”
