Yesterday I took Max to a get some routine lab work done.
We walked into a full waiting room, Max, Jack and I. After I struggled to fit the double stroller through the doorway, the door squeaked and creaked and hung suspended for a second before it slammed shut.
The man with the dirty shirt in the corner called out in desperation, Aargh! That door! It’s gonna kill me.
I suspect he had been waiting for a long time.
Max and Jack eagerly hopped out of their stroller and ran over to the door to investigate.
In and out. In and out. The door continued its dire plea for oil, or maybe a new hinge, I don’t speak creak fluently.
Max and Jack tore up the place with giggles.
Another guy opened the door! Oh, that’s a loud door! Funny door! Another boom!
The two men next to me confided that my boys reminded them of themselves. Grown men whose brotherhood of bunk beds kept their lives intricately linked as adults. A woman told me how wonderful it was to see two such cute faces so early in the morning. The man with the dirty shirt couldn’t help but smile at Max and Jack’s delight in the squeaky door and told me, God bless, when it was finally his turn to walk through it.
My darling boys, this is who you are:
Every room you enter you fill with sunshine.
Because you are sunshine.
Two bright stars I am happy to get dizzy orbiting around.
Love this. Sweet, sunshiny boys