Sandbox Days
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
“I ‘fink’ I have a stomachache, Dad.”
A serious Puck entered dressed in full gray, barefoot.
“Maybe it’s from your disobedience,” OLeif suggested, noting the fact that Puck had not finished drinking his glass of water as commanded.
“Dad. Disobedience isn’t in your tummy; it’s in your brain.”
Puck had been quiet on the ride out that morning. But finally he needed to say something as they plunged through topaz-stained woods…
“Sorry for interrupting, but… there appears to be no deer on this side anymore.”
Francis was ready for fresh trouble, joining Puck in the living room with the old rubberband gun from early Grace days, constructed by a small group friend…
“Is something wrong, Mom?” Francis asked, walking into the kitchen where Mom was washing dishes.
“No. Why?”
“Because I shot you with all the rubberbands and you didn’t react.”
Carrie attempted intervention when the boys began fighting over more rubberbands…
“Puck. I didn’t get a kiss this morning. And it makes me a little bit grumpy.”
Puck obliged.
Naira joined them at 8:30. Hot dog buns at Mannino’s – since 1939 – and Cottleville’s park – all rubber chips, eco-friendly rain water hand sinks, rubber-coated swing chains, vending machines packed with cherry Pepsi, M&M cookie ice cream sandwiches, and creaky root cellars (for which Puck begged access, and was denied).
Carrie texted in. Earnest had sliced Bon’s nose, bringing blood. The vet would be avoided. Before lunch, cooling refuge was sought indoors at the shopping center never to be named. Collette pushed the double-kid cart around plants to examine tomatoes and strawberries while Mom checked into colored sand and came away with a long, flat storage tub and four heavy sacks of play sand.
Hot dogs were fished out of a hot thermos at the Lutheran church park and cemetery, where local road names such as Kisker and Thoele were carved on the stones. An old wooden cane lay in the mulch, snapped right in half. That was… creepy…
“I will have three strawberries. And Naira can have two,” said Puck, back at the cooler.
“How many should Naira have?” Mom attempted a stem on the selfish suggestion.
“Twenty!” Naira grinned.
She out-ate Puck anyway.
Serbian hour was dished up on the radio as they dropped Naira back home.
Francis was at work.
Things were strangely… quiet.
Puck employed himself diligently in his new sand-filled recreation box. Later, he could be seen clutching at his head in disbelief.
“Oh NO!!! I thought I loved the sandbox more than SUN!!! AGH!!!”
Carrie-Bri and Puck discussed future house plans on the afternoon ride-out, including grocery-store-big set-ups of bunny heaven tunnels, rooftop pools with lights, a room for Puck, “like a Cardinals room or a pirate room”, and a tornado dungeon shelter leading to the ocean, etc.
“All the way to the south?” Puck asked, nose wrinkled in concern.
“Yup. And you can call me to pick you up with my helicopter,” Carrie instructed him. “Or a hot air balloon.”
“But Sun, I don’t know your number.”
“Well, you could write me a letter.”
“Sun. I write really sloppy. Sometimes I have to use white-out.”
“That’s ok.”
“And Mama and all the people who are good in the world can come.”
“That’s right. And we’ll put a sign on the front – NO FRANCISES ALLOWED.”
“No, Sun. You have to love your bullies.”
“Oh. Who told you that?”
“Nothing. It’s just what God says.”
“Well, how about – NO BAD FRANCISES ALLOWED.”
“Ok. And could you buy a limousine, Sun?”
“Um… I don’t think so. I don’t really like limousines.”
“Well, Sun. I saw a pink one you would like…”
After a swirl through J.C. Penney for Francis’ polos, they checked out the latest fashion – a maraca of wild Brazilian colors and patterns shaken over an ocean of maxi dresses.
“Oh boy. Oh boy Oh boy!!!!” Puck moaned as they crossed the highway. “I just get it in my mind that I’m better than SUN!! Oh boy…”