Three

Puck held up a single dirty sock in my face at the Big House this morning. It was Irish’s sock, and it was orange. I could guess what was coming next:

“Mom! Mom! Can I get some orange socks like Lila’s? They were only like two dollars!”

“But they’re girls’ socks.”

“I know; I just want to put them in my orange collection.”

A few minutes later, he had temporarily forgotten about the orange collection as he walked out to the front porch to pet Suda:

“You know what Dad told me, Mom? Once when he was mowing the yard in, like, Alabama or something … or Mexico … he mowed over the head of a snake!”

Francis walked into the kitchen from getting the oil changed in Rose’s Fiat. I knew it was coming:

“Collette?”

“Yes, Francis.”

“Could you make me some toast? Here, catch.”

Loaf of bread. Caught it right before it hit my face. Puck is still baffled why Francis can’t seem to make his own toast:

“DON’T YOU KNOW HOW TO MAKE TOAST, FRANCIS? YOU JUST PUT TOAST IN THE TOASTER AND PUT BUTTER ON IT!” he shouted from the other room.

“But it tastes so much better when your mama makes it.”

While the toast toasted – Mom helmed the job this time – Francis rolled Puck into a giant blanket burrito on the loveseat in the living room. They watched “Arthur” together until Francis fell asleep on the couch.

A brief round of errands in the afternoon for the four girls and Puck brought us to Bed Bath & Beyond for hair products and then right before the rain, Penny’s for a sage green tie for Dad. Pouring rain and thunder on the way out, just what we like to hear. And with just enough time to sog the ground before the game.

Before a last Wednesday night at Old Church on the year, we wrapped up small things at the Big House. Learned that Rose couldn’t make it over to have her hair dyed because she was taking up kickboxing with Annamaria and Thunderbird. Kickboxing.