Who's the Mom Here?
The remains of Sunday night’s bonfire were still present that morning. A few charcoal-like scuffs on Puck’s bike-bruised legs.
“So … how many marshmallows did you eat over there, exactly?” I finally remembered to ask him after breakfast.
“A few,” came the casual reply. “I burned my marshmallows. The girls couldn’t take it.”
Those same girls were ready for more bike circles up and down the street. Ovals, really. So were Anna and Eddie, until they forgot that they were leaving for Six Flags.
It was warm again. Storms in the forecast for the week – oh, yes – and Puck needed some more school supplies. He hopped out on the sizzling Target parking lot sometime around three o’clock.
“Mom? Can we PLEASE check out the Lego packs to see how much they are?”
“You don’t have enough money saved, bud. I already know they cost too much for you.”
“But, Mom! Maybe I do have enough! A dollar for my weekly pay! And a quarter Dad pulled from my ear! And the CREDIT CARD!”
We skipped the Legos. But there were hand sanitizers to browse and boxes of Kleenex to pick up – why one kid needs two whole boxes of Kleenex for eight months at school, I don’t know – and a shiny orange three-ring binder to make up for it. Amongst other school supplies I probably should have bought two days ago during tax-free weekend, but I hate crowds just too much. This is all new to me.
Later, at the store that shall not be named, Puck caught me gloating over the chocolates. He manned the cart that afternoon and apparently felt the motherly need to reprimand me as I reached over for two bars of Symphony.
“Mom! Chocolate?! No more chocolate! You’ve got to stop eating chocolate! It’s so bad for you!”
I almost told him to mind his own beeswax, but decided I should probably set a better example. I put the chocolate in the cart and reminded him just who was who in this scenario.
By the time El Oso returned for a pile of chicken and green beans with a side of brown mustard, it was almost eight o’clock. Time to catch up on the cyber world.
News from down south? Considering that Rose is allergic to the ocean, I don’t know why she bothered getting this close anyway, but apparently she and Joe had been stung by “night jellyfish.” According to Joe – and no surprise – it was, “rad.”