The Consequence of Ideas
Ice forest. Not a very good one, but so-so. Or, as my limited Spanish allows: “Asi asi.” I’ll get there.
Anyway, a no Sunday School morning of church (half of which Bær missed due to a minor work emergency), led to a couple of hours lolling around before Dad’s side of the family arrived. Mom had everything arranged before we even arrived, including a coffee station, punch, iced tea, and preparations for a bonfire in the backyard that the boys, including the older ones like Jude and Fernando (and his crazy Guatemalan laugh), joined later in the evening.
There’s always some good times when these 35 and a half people gather together (we were short Uncle Clarence, Aunt Galena, and the boys again), most of the crazy stories and jokes led by Uncle Balthasar, often at the expense of the Peabody Opera House.
Puck had been responsible for the toy room in the basement all evening. One boy. Five girls. Only because his two little buddies upstairs were still too young to participate. The occasional check-in rendered a disaster of toys strewn all over the floor.
When Brit did a random inspection halfway through the party, he explained, “Yeah, there’s a huge argument going on down there about Santa Claus right now.”
Bær slapped a hand to his head, “I warned Puck about this.”
“Well,” said Bristol. “He told them, ‘You can believe in Santa if you want to.’ That’s so much better.”
And word on the street was that Puck was ring-leading the girls into sneaking styrofoam cups of sugar from the coffee station which they apparently stirred into “sugar water”. Bristol investigated that one.
As the party wound down for about half of the crowd, Puck was left to supervise the twins. I’m not sure how much supervising was actually happening, however.
Pound, pound, pound, pound, pound. Puck flew up the stairs and burst through the door.
“What is it Puck?”
“The girls are laughing at me because I have a girlfriend! And they’re yelling songs in my face!”
Nothing surprises their mother. Nerissa advised him to ignore them both.
A few minutes later. Pound, pound, pound, pound, pound. “The girls are using me as a punching bag!”
Nerissa just shook her head. “They’re violent. Don’t let them bully you.”
A few minutes peace. POUND, POUND, POUND, POUND, POUND! This time, Puck streaked through the living room, terrified.
“THEY’RE TRYING TO HUG ME!”
Nerissa pinched Puck’s rosy little cheeks before heading out.
“And you wonder where your daughters get it from,” Bristol laughed.
“Hey,” Bær summarized, “that’s what he gets for telling them Santa Claus isn’t real.”