St. Pat's
Wake late to texts from siblings about things like snails leaf-surfing in aquariums and some Frenchman demanding the return of the Statue of Liberty... to local news detailing the path of county tornados Friday night, including one that snaked a few miles northwest of our house... to a review of the 1965 Mercury turquoise station wagon Puck wants for his 18th birthday...
We're starting spring break twisting Patience's dark-chocolate-with-a-touch-of-deep-red-sunset-glow tresses back up in that explosion of curls...
...when Yali calls me from his LEGO desk in the basement... “Uh. Mom? The ceiling's crying"... fortunately it's only the shower curtain diverting water onto the tiled floor and through the air vent... we don't need any more toilet volcanoes in this house...
Then it's time to drop off my apparently-Danish Lutheran husband and very Chinese Lutheran daughter to participate in a wholly Irish Catholic parade in Irish Dogtown for the next few hours...
My boys are not parade people and prefer to be home... Puck spends a couple of hours in his home gym and Yali gets back into the ice cream...
And between all the dishes and laundry and clutter... pick up a book on Chinese culture from the library for the kids...
After delivering a plate of thinly sliced pork and spring peas to Puck for a late lunch... Yali and I drive as close as we can get to Oxbear and Patience following performance number eleven of the season at St. James the Greater Catholic Church... woven into a network of old Irish neighborhood with blocked and packed streets of holidayers and some of them having a difficult time finding an upright angle...
Home with just enough time to drive Puck to work... someone has been breaking into cars on the Schnucks parking lot so a drop-off is currently preferred...
Cooling evening... Yali asks me... “Mom? Does one of my eyes look more closed than the other?” // “One might be a little swollen... could be allergies, Yali...” // Patience cuts in... “I've already had mine”