Spray Chart

6:45, awake. Didn’t matter that I fell asleep close to one that morning, I was done and up. Puck awaited – perhaps not eagerly – my arrival at the Big House after a night of hot-fudge-sundae-Prince-of-Egypt-awake-till-9:30-sleeping-under-the-kitchen-table debauchery. The life.

With the Daniel Boone practically shut down for the weekend, traffic sent us sprawling in various routes across the city. Mom and I shopped up some gift bows and sub sandwiches for Sunday afternoon before she and Dad dropped Joe off with his fiancé on their way to Columbia for the traditional hole-in-the-wall steakhouse. Carrie had spent the night with Rose before a tiring bunny adoption in Chesterfield. Rose had plans with Annamaria, Thunderbird, and “Captain America.” Francis: life-guarding. Irish: choir clinic. And El Oso and Theodore at a light-Scottish-speaking theologian’s conference at Westminster.

We left a few hours later, Puck and I, as Irish was leaving for a solo flight to the mall and Carrie was passed out on the couch after hours of work with the bunnies.

Gloria had rotisserie chicken waiting for lunch, beef, hot garlic bread, sweet potatoes, and salad. My squishy-dimpled son suddenly wasn’t so happy about the idea of eating a dead bird:

“I don’t want to eat it. It’s too mean.”

For the record, he’s eaten dead birds thousands of times, literally. Perspective-shift. He opted for the beef instead. I didn’t explain that one to him.

Secret Reeses for me in the secret bureau drawer. I shared the wealth with El Oso. Puck tore around the yard with his dad before lunch, ringing the tree like a carnival ride. He modeled his top hat shipped over from Amazon for the wedding; it was growing on him. While Theodore and Gloria paid a visit to Home Depot for green paint, Puck hung out with El Oso in the basement over some good old-fashioned-Saturday video games on the iPad, until Joe drove over to borrow the truck for the week.

Six o’clock: the game in Pittsburgh, Puck’s bubble bath and footies all ready to go followed by a little Phineas and Ferb, and Gloria brought back Papa Murphy’s stuffed pizza. I texted Carrie about the game:

“They say the Cardinals are a team with no egos, or at least manageable egos.”

“Aside from Kozma’s hair,” she replied.

I guess that requires too much back-explanation.

Anyway, when Puck walked out to the car in jams, running shoes, and the top hat with a napkin of pizza, that completed our night. Plus a little Ben & Jerry’s back home. The spoils of life.