The Singing Police Inspector
Puck rocked his addition flashcards and clocks that morning, then quickly found his next project: collecting all the wallets he had accumulated throughout the years. “I have five wallets. Can you believe that, Mom? Isn’t that awkward, or what?” Or dance parties with Puck’s evolved signature move: “Lava Feet”, some fancy dance steps that only the most energetic and enthusiastic of dancers could perform with such Puck-zest.
A gray bowl sky, tinted winter blue on the horizons. Local news was hinting at freezing rain over the weekend, some snow. This meant a cancellation for Mom’s and Dad’s trip to Iowa to attend the wedding of an old friend. Trucks salted the streets during lunch.
Puck had been taking awhile in the bathroom during Quiet Hour: tradition. When he walked out half an hour later, dripping hand soap into combings from the hair brush, what started out as, “Look at it, Mom! It’s just like a spider web!” soon became, “I’m going to make a shirt from your hair.” And, “You’ll be begging to try it on.” He planned to store one specimen in the freezer. I have learned to pick battles. This is not one of them.
Crashing into a pile of every pillow in the house stacked on a chair in the living room (except for my pillow; I drew a line). This was how Puck listened to stories of mountain sheep in the early evening before Tyson’s chicken nuggets and “Despicable Me 2” movie night. I looked up from the book. He had lost the shirt. After a, “Why, Puck?”, he lost the pants. Stuffed in a pile of pillows in nothing but his undies, he jumped up and ran for the linen closet. Another, “Why, Puck?” revealed the need for a washcloth to “cover my bellybutton, Mom.” I guess he’s even more sensory than I thought.
Movie Night with Puck included El Oso, fresh off a stressful week of work, laughing up the ridiculousness of a film that included quotes such as, “He died in the most macho way possible: riding a shark with 250 pounds of dynamite strapped to his chest into the mouth of an active volcano! It was glorious!”
It was the much-awaited return of Bollywood good cop/bad cop “Singham”. Joe and Jaya missed the fun: Chinese New Year celebrations elsewhere. But the rest of us kids: three sisters, husband/brother-in-law, and the kid from Puerto Rico, sat down to two and a half more hours of action Bollywood, chips, Mateo’s salsa, and cosmic brownies. (Carrie-Bri almost choked on the candy coated chocolate sprinkles.) I think we probably agreed that three weeks straight of Bollywood was enough to satisfy for some time. Besides, the Olympics kicked off next Friday (Carrie refused to watch them), so we’d have something different to work with.