Take What You Get
Puck was one mad cleaning machine.
“Check the windows in your room, Dad! They’re as shiny as a new whistle!”
“Wow. They are, bud.”
“Shiny as a bug,” Puck affirmed with satisfaction.
“Come eat your banana when you’re done, Puck,” I instructed.
“I won’t be done for a week, Mom. Valla [voilà]. The place is done.”
“Good job, bud. Ready to eat your banana now?”
“Nope,” he began his descent to the basement. “Too much work to do… Valla. The place is done.”
About eleven “vallas” later, he was ready for a break. He ate two bananas.
It was a rare day where The Bear needed a drop-off at work and didn’t have to show up until later in the morning. Puck and I eagerly took advantage of the situation. For me, it was renewing my driver’s license. The years expire quickly, I guess. This time, I sat in the quiet waiting room staring down an overexposed photograph of a giraffe’s head on the wall. A pleasant woman who I think was probably from India – light accent – managed the paperwork. Didn’t even ask for proof of address, passport, social security card. A few minutes later she had punched out my new card, and I was done. Sometimes Wentzville feels like a small town.
The boys picked me up with a bag of fresh donuts after fueling up at QT.
“Mom!” Puck announced loudly. “They have a whole donut shop in there!”
Puck finished off the windows when we got back home, after treating Crackers to a light show with the little red laser. Sometimes I wonder what goes through his mind when he’s quiet. Like last night on the drive home…
“Mom? Are angels afraid of the dark?”
I carved up a mess of lunch for him, the Seven Sample Special: roasted almonds, honeycrisp apple, blackberries, celery, sharp white cheddar, honey dew melon, fresh spinach.
I had also worked on a sinus headache all morning until I finally decided to kill it with an Advil. I know they say pain killers will destroy your liver and all that. But apparently everything else in the world kills every other part of your body too. So I’ll do what I can with what I have and not worry about the rest.
I think we like our quiet, Puck and I. Maybe I like it more than Puck. He would talk to a stoplight if he thought it would listen. And I’m fine with that. I may not be the mom who joins friends for martinis and sushi on Thursdays or Danish and studies in II Peter every other Saturday. But we make our way, the Silverspoon way, each in our own third of the pie. And it works.
I checked in with The Bear after lunch…
“What goes?” I IM’d.
He replied, as only The Bear would reply…
“The rabbit, the river, a child at play. What goes my wife, what goes. The days, the sun, the things I should say. What goes my son what goes. My dreams, my age, my innocent play. What goes my father what goes. My children, my work, my worries… ha ha, that was terrible.”
Shortly later, Puck emerged from his Quiet Hour with a yellow demolition hat on his head, a milk mustache, and then something about…
“Mom! I stepped on Crackers’ tail by accident! It was a mistake!”
Target. One of my strangely unexpected greatest weaknesses, as Puck would say. E.L.F. make-up, a bunch of almost-ripe bananas, and Christmas-themed goldfish crackers for Paige Popp’s young son visiting tomorrow. On the walk out, Puck made a running jump for one of the big red cement balls lining the entrance, and stood king-of-the-world like, surveying the elements. He seemed pretty proud of himself.
Not surprisingly, Carrie’s and Joe’s first flight lessons were a success. Despite the naturally expected “air sickness”, which never became an actual issue apparently, both kids performed their own take-offs and were also both awarded the compliment of “best coordination ever seen in a student”.
Puck walked into his room, singing…
“I’m hear, Mr. Shane. Please let me explain. I’m here, Mr. Shane… What does that mean, Mom?”
This was from The Bear’s playlist on the ride out this morning. Puck was really getting into it. He had also gotten creative with the box that arrived in the mail Wednesday afternoon. Sure, he was happy about the Santa ornament from his great uncle and great aunt, their traditional gift to the young people in the family. But he was even more interested in the packing materials, particularly a flat piece of green foam, which, after washing all the windows in the house with it this morning, he tore up into a “chemical puzzle”, then packed it inside a turkey oven bag, and taped it up into a soft sort of ball, which we played with before dinner. Yes, yes. The life of a boy.
He ate one Swedish pancake, and then continued with the ball game.