The Weekly Catch-Up
6:45 alarm. Not necessary, really, but it sort of feels wrong to sleep in on a Sunday. Feed the cat, email from Carrie about the Blue Angels flying back into town, pack up, two cake pops at Starbuck’s. Bad idea. Happy birthday cake pops. Worse idea. Whatever. Yolo. Not really. Anyway, we were reunited with Puck at first, running through the tiny makeshift sanctuary in a Nike sweatshirt (I brought the collared plaid to trade out):
“Dad! Dad! Nana says I can have her old laptop! It’s dead though. I just want to use it for experiments. PLEASE, DAD! PLEASE!”
And this was before his Scripture memory watermelon Jolly Rancher during Sunday School.
Carrie was resting on the couch when we showed up at the Big House: potential recurrence of chronic strep. At least there’s always enough entertainment to distract from discomfort, including Francis rolling Puck up in a blanket burrito. Puck willingly allowed it until Francis suggested cinching him around the middle with his belt, and there was a grand struggle:
“Aw, come on, Puck. It’s making you become a super burrito.”
“NO NO NO!”
Irish was dressing for the afternoon: setting up and serving dinner at the old youth talent show fundraiser. Dad was not a fan of the skinny jeans. Ah, the old wardrobe arguments. The girls teased Dad:
“If Dad had a clothing line, it would mostly be Amish apparel.”
“Yeah, his slogan would be: Clothes that will make your teenage daughter cry.”
I guess this somehow reminded Carrie of Francis’ shenanigans over the weekend. It doesn’t matter how old we get, the older ones still have to inform on the younger. It’s the Life Cycle:
“Dad, Francis found a porcelain toilet somewhere in the middle of nowhere that he said was ‘abandoned,’ and he took a sledge hammer to it.”
Considering that Dad once blew up a sewer – we like to remind him about this one often – it shouldn’t surprise anyone.
With Irish at Old Church, Francis at some mandatory work event, and Joe and Jaya still driving back from Nebraska and the farm, the rest of us met Grandma at her apartment to present her lighthouse rain slicker from Florida, and wedding chit chat:
“Well, Grandma, the blue top looks nice. Collette’s wearing yellow, Mom’s wearing rose, and…”
“I’m wearing bright black!” Puck announced from behind the iPad on the couch.
Then Grandma’s treat: dinner at Deaver’s sports bar: March Madness. Carrie and I split a nine-inch hamburger pizza and mutually noted that we were not that in to basketball.