A little boy in front of me with a boy scout cut and a Gortex jacket like his dad, bites into a Starbucks cinnamon bun (Starbucks making dry chewy pastry trendy again). He pulls it with his teeth to try and break off a mouthful and it comes unraveled and stretched out like a rubber dog’s toy and he puppily grimaces and pulls with tremendous effort until he wins.
I chuckle along with his parents. I am auntie to only nieces (and a gaggle of glory they are!) and I was not gifted with a son. So when I get the privilege of sharing space with a little boy it’s such a rare and fascinating experience. Seeing this little guy makes me miss Ozzy, about the same age. He was born when I lived in Richmond with his family. The first words he ever spoke to me were “Cia” “Nora” and “poo” just for fun. And this week I get to nanny little six month old Henry. I can hardly wait!
This little Starbucks boy has crawled into the arms of his Dad, squishing the body of his favorite plush monster in half and poking out his eyes. He’s the spitting image of his father. His older brother is quiet and pensive, staring out the window at the rain. I didn’t notice him at first. I suspect he may be used to that. His mom looks like an English girl. Conservative bob. Same MEC wear. Reasonable rubber boots. Nice little figure now pressed with the panini grill of breastfeeding and birth. She has a little knitting bag with her. It has been half an hour and she hasn’t touched it. I wonder if she ever does or if she mostly carries around her good intentions? Like my book, I always end up writing instead of reading. Oh wait – she has funky punky black and silver fingernails! I love it when people surprise me and they always do when I look closely at who they actually are and not who I assume them to be. Oh Isn’t that the way! Look closely enough at someone and how can you help but love them?
Older brother begrudgingly saunters over to the little charmer and he offers his face for mauling. Sure enough, the little guy goes for the lips and nose and pulls them into a raspberry. They giggle and squirm. Now mom looks out at the rain with a whimsical smile on her face. I bet she loves Kate Nash.
The dad is harder to read, perhaps because I am careful not to make eye contact with another woman’s husband out of habit and respect. He has soft hair, soft beard, soft voice, and those big brown eyes with long lashes ladies go tender for. But that said he’s very masculine: tall thick sporty guy who drinks his coffee black and in his own damn mug. He’s got a little silver pinky ring…?! What is that about? I don’t know.
There’s another tender smart inside joke moment between Mom and Dad. They’re having a good morning. I sit here in the corner and send out a prayer, “please make it, little family. Please make it.”
