That Boy

Monday’s mail: Spanish textbook. Linnea-Irish and I were playing it cheap for the spring semester and sharing books. Nothing like two sisters thirteen years apart taking the same college class. Who was I kidding? I was auditing that sucker. But it was about time to learn the language of my second son’s culture. As much as Collette-ly possible.

“Ow. My head hurts.”

Puck sat at the table, pressing a hand to the side of his head. He was halfway through copying his book report.

“Know why it hurts?” he asked me, clearly without expecting me to guess. “Because Snicky accidentally slammed his tooth into my head.”

Hmmm.

Funny how dangerous standing in line can be for second grade school boys.

Puck stared – displeased – at his dinner plate.

“What is that?”

“A tostada. It’s sweet. You’ll like it.”

I could hear the internal sighs. Beans. The bane of my boys. Even so, down the hatch it went with no resulting complaints.

I just hoped he wouldn’t notice the pork chops going into the oven. Or the mini pita pizzas following in the next shift. The cod, potatoes, and sweet potatoes drew little interest. With El Oso now on a mostly meat/poultry diet (sans mini pita pizzas), Puck was growing jealous already on day one.

“I want to eat only meat too!”

He quickly distracted himself from protein cravings, however, when he remembered his assignment for the evening. Self-assigned.

“All the kids really like my smelly markers. I have a lot more to bring tomorrow to pass out.”

Apparently there had been requests throughout the day, like some Scented Marker Stock Exchange. Boys and girls alike.

El Oso drove up with a paper sack of milk and yogurt right as Puck was getting ready for bed. He hobbled out of his room supported by a giant light-up candy cane, cane-style and cracked his voice like an old timer.

“Beethoven was a wee old man!”

Who knows what he really learns at school.

Puck’s Monthly What-do-You-Want-to-be-When-You-Grow-Up Status:
“I don’t know … I’LL BE A WHATEVER PERSON!”