The Cycles

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

5:52AM.
Another day.
Another mess on aisle three.
Puck blasted Medieval music from the old boom box.
“Could I have burnt toast, please, Mama?!”
As soon as she sat up, Collette felt the retroactive 42,438 mold count in the air.
And the kitten was sleeping in the fruit bowl.

Ug…

Puck sorted his tiny cloth flags at the breakfast table after swigging another yogurt…
“Is this doctor land?” he asked, holding up Switzerland’s white cross on red field. “Why’d you get my toast so burnt, Mama?”

Days at home were like revolving doors.
It still didn’t stop.

Puck started spitting sunflower seeds in the living room.
“Puck!”
“But that’s what the Cardinals do, Mama.”

For most of the day, Crackers slept in the yellow ceramic fruit bowl, which Puck carried around like a young prince – his spoil of war. He could hardly separate himself from his carry-able trophy. He even kept her in the bathroom while he showered, which, surprisingly, didn’t seem to bother her so much.

Two days at home went fast.
They always did.
With an endless list of things to finish every day, hours clocked like minutes often.

Collette ended the night with the All Star Game National League’s shut out performance.