Bloop. Bloop. Bloooooop. Blooooop. BLOOP.
The sounds started hesitantly at first, then grew in volume and duration. Martha realized what was going on a fraction of a second too late.
"Clark, don't-" The room was transformed into a wetter place, interrupting her. "Blow in your milk," she finished, though by now the lesson was definitely to be saved for later.
"Raining milk," he announced, with a tone of decided satisfaction.
*Well, what can you expect when you give a superstrong toddler a glass of milk and a straw, and then turn your back?* Martha decided, as she picked up two washcloths.
"Okay, Clark, help me clean up the kitchen, and then you can take the straw and some water outside." He nodded happily and scrubbed at the floor and table, occasionally even wiping up some milk as he did so. He started humming to himself, and Martha wished that she knew more about music as she listened--it was pleasant to hear, but it was strange at the same time, as though there were somehow more notes than usual, and just when she thought she picked up a pattern, it changed. She wondered what he made of their music, if it sounded strange but pleasant to him. Except, of course, when Jonathan sang to him. That was just strange. As she got onto a chair to wipe the milk off the ceiling, she couldn't help smiling to herself as she remembered Clark listening with wide eyes, and then, in a gesture of obvious sympathy, patting Jonathan's cheek the way they patted his when something wasn't quite right.
***
"Ready to go, sweetheart?" Clark nodded tentatively, and Martha held him tighter. They'd realized that in case of an accident, Clark was hardly likely to get hurt, anyway, so they'd taken out the seat. Jonathan opened the door and Martha, still holding Clark, got in, watching him carefully. His grip on her tightened and his eyes were watchful, but he wasn't panicking again. Martha brushed her lips against his hair, and when Jonathan got in, he chucked Clark under the chin, "You want to drive, tiger?"
Clark grinned, and Martha felt him relax.
After the library, they walked in the direction of the ice cream store, but Clark planted immobile feet in front of Nell Potter's flower shop, staring in the window. "Pretty," he declared, and made for the door.
Jonathan and Martha followed, Jonathan muttering something about how there were plenty of flowers in the garden at home, and why was Clark so entranced by these, anyway. Just as he was drawing a breath for the next mutters, he and Martha saw the attraction.
Lana was sitting at her table, squeezing foam into various shapes. She glanced up to see Clark looking at her with wide eyes and open mouth. "Pretty," he repeated.
"I'm Lana," she said, and at being spoken to, Clark suddenly turned pink and stared intently at his shoes.
"Hi, Lana," Martha crouched next to the table. "This is Clark."
"Aunt Nell said you dopted a baby, just like she dopted me." Lana's face puckered as she finished the sentence, and Clark moved from his frozen position to sit next to her.
"Don't cry," he said, so quietly they could barely hear him. "Too pretty."
Lana tentatively smiled at that, and Clark, seeing her smile, began to grin. His hands moved to the buttons of his little flannel shirt, and Jonathan, recognizing the signs of Clark about to display his proudest accomplishment, grabbed his son's hand. Bending over, he reminded Clark, "We don't take our clothes off in the flower shop."
"Well, not often," Nell Potter said, as she came from behind the counter with a decided smirk.
"Oh, hello, Nell," Martha responded, not letting the remark or smirk fluster her. "We're just taking Clark for ice cream, could we take Lana, too?" Clark nodded an enthusiastic agreement, forgetting even his aborted stripping mission.
"Oh, I'm sorry, but she's already had sweets today, haven't you, Lana?"
"Ice cream is nice," the little girl said, wistfully, and Nell answered, "Maybe tomorrow we'll go get some," in a softer tone.
Even knowing that he was about to get ice cream didn't seem to make Clark's departure from the shop any less reluctant, and as the Kents left, he was still looking back, with one final, "Pretty."
The sounds started hesitantly at first, then grew in volume and duration. Martha realized what was going on a fraction of a second too late.
"Clark, don't-" The room was transformed into a wetter place, interrupting her. "Blow in your milk," she finished, though by now the lesson was definitely to be saved for later.
"Raining milk," he announced, with a tone of decided satisfaction.
*Well, what can you expect when you give a superstrong toddler a glass of milk and a straw, and then turn your back?* Martha decided, as she picked up two washcloths.
"Okay, Clark, help me clean up the kitchen, and then you can take the straw and some water outside." He nodded happily and scrubbed at the floor and table, occasionally even wiping up some milk as he did so. He started humming to himself, and Martha wished that she knew more about music as she listened--it was pleasant to hear, but it was strange at the same time, as though there were somehow more notes than usual, and just when she thought she picked up a pattern, it changed. She wondered what he made of their music, if it sounded strange but pleasant to him. Except, of course, when Jonathan sang to him. That was just strange. As she got onto a chair to wipe the milk off the ceiling, she couldn't help smiling to herself as she remembered Clark listening with wide eyes, and then, in a gesture of obvious sympathy, patting Jonathan's cheek the way they patted his when something wasn't quite right.
***
"Ready to go, sweetheart?" Clark nodded tentatively, and Martha held him tighter. They'd realized that in case of an accident, Clark was hardly likely to get hurt, anyway, so they'd taken out the seat. Jonathan opened the door and Martha, still holding Clark, got in, watching him carefully. His grip on her tightened and his eyes were watchful, but he wasn't panicking again. Martha brushed her lips against his hair, and when Jonathan got in, he chucked Clark under the chin, "You want to drive, tiger?"
Clark grinned, and Martha felt him relax.
After the library, they walked in the direction of the ice cream store, but Clark planted immobile feet in front of Nell Potter's flower shop, staring in the window. "Pretty," he declared, and made for the door.
Jonathan and Martha followed, Jonathan muttering something about how there were plenty of flowers in the garden at home, and why was Clark so entranced by these, anyway. Just as he was drawing a breath for the next mutters, he and Martha saw the attraction.
Lana was sitting at her table, squeezing foam into various shapes. She glanced up to see Clark looking at her with wide eyes and open mouth. "Pretty," he repeated.
"I'm Lana," she said, and at being spoken to, Clark suddenly turned pink and stared intently at his shoes.
"Hi, Lana," Martha crouched next to the table. "This is Clark."
"Aunt Nell said you dopted a baby, just like she dopted me." Lana's face puckered as she finished the sentence, and Clark moved from his frozen position to sit next to her.
"Don't cry," he said, so quietly they could barely hear him. "Too pretty."
Lana tentatively smiled at that, and Clark, seeing her smile, began to grin. His hands moved to the buttons of his little flannel shirt, and Jonathan, recognizing the signs of Clark about to display his proudest accomplishment, grabbed his son's hand. Bending over, he reminded Clark, "We don't take our clothes off in the flower shop."
"Well, not often," Nell Potter said, as she came from behind the counter with a decided smirk.
"Oh, hello, Nell," Martha responded, not letting the remark or smirk fluster her. "We're just taking Clark for ice cream, could we take Lana, too?" Clark nodded an enthusiastic agreement, forgetting even his aborted stripping mission.
"Oh, I'm sorry, but she's already had sweets today, haven't you, Lana?"
"Ice cream is nice," the little girl said, wistfully, and Nell answered, "Maybe tomorrow we'll go get some," in a softer tone.
Even knowing that he was about to get ice cream didn't seem to make Clark's departure from the shop any less reluctant, and as the Kents left, he was still looking back, with one final, "Pretty."