Treasure Hunt

“MOM! MOM! MOM!”

Every day.

“Yes, Puck?”

“COME HERE!”

“What is it? Can you just tell me?”

“YOU HAVE TO SEE IT FOR YOURSELF!!”

This time I joined both boys in Oxbear’s office where they were eagerly watching a brown-ish raccoon gingerly skate his way out of the tree in the backyard in broad daylight. I guess that one actually was worth a few “MOM!”s.

It was probably about 5:30 in the evening out in Chesterfield and Heidi’s final basketball game of the season was coming to an end. The score was 10-2, the Catholic team. And Puck was getting nervous. As the Presbyterians hustled down the court, he stretched out flat on his back on the bleachers and waited the final results.

“Mom?” he said, putting one arm over his face, somewhat ashamed, “Sometimes I wish I was for the other team…”

After awhile I heard him start to buzz like a bee. Because when you can’t fix the score, do anything else at all to distract yourself from the reality of the situation.

“THEY’RE GOING TO LOSE!” he announced, worried.

Fortunately as the final buzzer sounded, Heidi did not seem upset as she congratulated the other team. And Puck seemed equally able to move on from the loss by remembering the handfuls of loot he had gathered from the bleachers, including a pair of “science goggles”, a Shopkins shopping basket, and two bean bags. The Shopkins and purple bean bag went to Heidi, because I’m pretty sure no 3rd grade boy would be caught dead being found in possession of a Shopkins anything. And he was awarded a fist bump from Hans for his good finds. If treasure hunting was a sport, Puck would take medals.

Back home – Puck’s loot in tow – I cut up a plate of pork steak for him with a side of fresh strawberries. The kid can never get enough food. Now that he’s cracked 70 pounds, he’s aiming ever upward. I think his next goal is to surpass me.

When he dug into his meal with fingers instead of the fork, I reminded him – for probably the thousandth time in his life –

“Son, please use your fork. You’re only part-Viking.”