The Way to Celebrate
Puck walked out of Sunday School working on another lollipop. “I got two donuts too! CHOCOLATE DONUTS!” The kid fully believes that throwing in the word “chocolate” anywhere, somehow makes everything “okay with Mom.”
Rose brought the fat meowing gray beast over to the Big House that afternoon with a “Happy birthday, Francis! Look what I brought to celebrate!” Francis reached out a welcoming finger. Stinkerbelle snarled at him in greeting. She continued to growl from the loveseat, bottled up in Rose’s arms while Francis played her theme song on the iPad: “Mars, the Bringer of War.” Stinkerbelle just hissed.
A reprieve followed of radio dramas, Wall-E in the basement for the boys, in-house nail salon for Rose (who ended up napping afterwards), and iPad games that segwayed to Rose hunting out the bag of pirate booty in the kitchen. When Francis went for a handful, Carrie countered with a condition:
“You have to jump up and down like Sponge Bob saying, ‘Par-too par-too par-too par-too!’”
Francis isn’t one to stand on ceremony when food is involved, even at the expense of his soul. Or dignity. “Par-too par-too par-too par-too!”
“No! Say it like Sponge Bob!” Carrie insisted, while Rose refused to hand over the bag.
Puck stood up for his buddy. “But, Onion. It is his birthday.”
“Not today it’s not!”
Mom and Dad walked in from another dance class; Dad isn’t a fan of these Sunday afternoon distractions, but I guess if it prepares at least one-third of the family for the wedding reception, it might be worth it. Then Joe and Jaya; Jaya addressed wedding invitations. Rose napped with “Stinky” on the couch. Mom and Dad napped. I’m pretty sure Francis napped, somewhere. Then Grandma Combs walked through the door; the cats swarmed for treats.
Francis’ requested usual birthday dinner of pork steaks and “buttered noodles,” with some green peas thrown in on the side – which Carrie made sure he ate – was followed by ridiculous memories and stories of Francis’ colorful past: lighting fires under the Boone bridge, setting campfires in a two-story fort, running from a fire truck, known by the police in three counties, train stopping, etc.
And there were gifts: magnetic putty, microwave bacon cooker, bacon soap, cash, Ray-Bans, and the centerpiece: ostrich napping pillow. “He looks like something out of Sponge Bob,” Dad noted. Fitting.
Ice cream cake, of course, with “Happy Birthday, Fran” penciled across the top in dark blue frosting.