The Art of Being a Boy

“Mom? Do you know where my glue gun is?”

As I rolled out of bed to this early morning question, Puck was hardly referring to arts and crafts. Since last week, he has been collecting empty glue sticks from class, filling them with pencil top erasers, and “shooting” them through the air to pose as literal glue guns.

“Sorry, pal. I don’t.”

I figured he’d just resume his “dumpster diving” during class for more. I wasn’t wrong.

Meanwhile, during breakfast, I had to remind him once again to finish his water thermos during the day at school, which he occasionally forgets to do.

“But I got a marker in my water and it turned the water pink, Mom. I hope I don’t get another red marker in my water.”

“Well, how did it get in there?”

“I put it in there. I didn’t know the cap would fall off.”

School office. The Junior Kindergartner with a mop of light red hair was in trouble again. I supervised him during the staff meeting. His light blue eyes stared back at me. I could feel the questions coming.

“So. … How long have you worked here?”

“So. … Why did you come to work here?”

“So. … Why do you like to work here?”

The next hour of conversation included mostly karate and dirt bikes.

When Puck marched out of the gym, I hardly had time to throw up a hand before the rubbery ammunition of his glue gun came flying towards me. Bonked me right on the top of my head, ricocheted across the carpet.

“Nice shot!” a bearded dad congratulated him. Then to me, laughing, “Hang in there, mom.”

With the cool weather – April can be so unpredictable … what am I saying? Any month in St. Louis can be unpredictable – Puck spent an hour playing ball in the street with Anna and Eddie before beef burritos and a much-needed shower.

With his new eight o’clock bedtime, windows open to cool evening air, and a combination of Minecraft/Watership Down with Oxbear, I’d say he went to bed a happy kid, once again.