Puck's Eye View
“I have a cavity.”
The ominous proclamation shattered the early morning silence. I lifted tired head from pillow…
“What, Puck?”
He glared back at me, two feet planted solidly in the hallway, against the injustice of a cruel, cruel world…
“I have a hole in my tooth.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“You’re fine.”
Fortunately for me, my Kindergartner still believes me without additional questions on a frosty gray Monday morning. From time to time.
“Phooey,” he replied. “Oh, phooey.”
Less because he still thought he had a cavity, and more because he wanted to hear himself say the word in a semi-appropriate context.
“Puck, you’re taking too long with your oatmeal this morning. I’m setting the timer.”
“Thanks, Mom. I will be aware.”
It’s the same kind of proper attitude that sometimes surfaces in observational experiences such as… “It’s my pleasure, Dad” …after a drive through Chick-fil-A. Or merely the attitude of exploration inspired by ideas of future worlds…
“Mom. Are there little islands floating above the erf [earth]?”
Right before lunch, I sent him out to the tree with the Spanish American War bugle. The air was soon corrupted with amazingly loud and sloppy anti-melodies of sick cattle. I’m sure the entire neighborhood would want to applaud me. I eventually called him inside for smoked turkey, canned pumpkin, almonds, and fresh carrots, all of which he eventually consumed in his own sweet, good time. Once the contents of all bowls were finally polished off, he returned to his room, announcing game show style…
“Hi. My name is Gus. Who wants to join us in a little game? I. Am. The baddest of them all…”
Meanwhile, The Bear checked in somewhere around a great holiday ham feast at work they had managed to dub – “Hamdatory Monday”.
Our walk was brief and cold, but we met two cats. That’s all Puck ever asks for.
At dinner, Crackers chased a fresh spinach leaf around the linoleum. While Puck tested “mom magic”, otherwise known as peripheral vision.
“Sit down, Puck. Eat your spinach.”
A very surprised Puck clapped a hand over his mouth in amazement as he giggled, “How did you know I was standing up?”
This process went on for some time, mirroring a Verizon “Can you hear me now?” commercial, until I put a kibosh on the deal so that Puck would actually complete his meal. Sometimes I just sit back and think about what this kid is going to be like when he grows up. Or in high school. College. I have a pretty good idea of the last two. But the ultimate one, the “real” one – I can’t guess that at all yet.
Earlier in the day I had given Puck a metal cork-backed six-inch ruler to use in his art basket. Before he went to bed that night, I found the ruler, bent in waves on his blanket.
“What happened, Puck?”
“I wanted it to look like bacon,” he explained in full innocence. “’Cause I’m a big fan of bacon.”
His dad brought back a fat chunk of Dickey’s ham and yeast roll leftover from “Hamdatory Monday” with new mattress statistics to share.