Somewhere in Russia

Irish called me Monday night while I was boiling the potatoes. She had tested for her driver’s license for the first time, and passed. Just like her big sister: four months after her sixteenth birthday.

That morning, after Puck walked out of his room with his entire necktie collection hanging from his hoodie, Carrie texted me that Shirley Temple had died at 85 out in California. Because Irish had been a real live modern Shirley Temple for us when she was little, I had always felt somewhat connected. Sometimes we put her hair in curlers just to make the picture closer.

Puck didn’t know who Shirley Temple was, not by name anyway, let alone that she was Episcopalian, or that she married a navy intelligence officer who worked at an Hawaiian pineapple company and became ambassador to Ghana and Czechoslovakia. Puck was more interested in the remaining icicles hanging from the eaves. “Look, Mom! It’s a two-person eyeclop!” (I think he meant two-pronged icicle.) He turned back to his current art project: magic markers and fruit stickers from Honduras and Guatemala on paper. “Lila’s collecting stickers from fruit. I’m going to start doing that too.” Then he began serenading himself through math, “Whaaaat do you waaaant from meeee? It’s so complicaaaated!” pausing only to make conversation over the heavy chocolate-colored telephone receiver (now a toy), “Hello, I would like a pizza! Pepperoni and stuffed crust and olives! Thank you!” And, “Don’t look at me with those evil eyes, Crackers.”

In the afternoon we discussed the bright green bones of the garfish, and another fishy specimen once swallowing a leather book. Puck explained his take on the situation. “I guess it was too big to go out his bum!”

While I washed the dishes after dinner, Puck was taking calculated leaps over the open dish washer. My warning of, “Puck, let me remind you that I don’t have a car to take you to the hospital to get you stitches …” was answered with, “If I fell, I would hit this way, Mom. That would probably just cost me a couple of band-aids.”

Mom had called earlier, reminding me about the Olympics airing at the Big House that night. We hadn’t had television reception in over a year and a half, so I had to travel to watch the Russian snowboard for Switzerland and the Ukrainians skate for Russia. If I’m honest, the Olympics don’t really make any sense.

Puck’s Blog: Age 6: Day #26

“I had a good daaaay… I decided I’m going to become a fan of Wall-E. I really like it. I have to go to sleep. Goodbye!”