Yesterday we signed the final paperwork to sell our house. The house that we poured blood, sweat and tears into for three and a half years, where we had a baby (not literally), and where we went through some very good and some very tough times. And we decided to go to dinner to celebrate. Which, in retrospect, was a bad idea since it seemed that neither Lunchbox nor Turbo had gotten much in the way of rest during the day. Dinner was a bit rough. We were THOSE people — the ones who let their baby scream (in this case so that I could actually get a bit into my mouth… it is actually amazing that I don’t lose weight considering how my children conspire to keep me otherwise occupied during most meals…). Anyway, dinner was delightful, and when we finally got in the car, Lunchbox was in full meltdown mode. He screamed for a few minutes, and then out of nowhere, Turbo started singing to him. His song was quiet, and Lunchbox quieted down to listen. He sang all the way home and though the Major and I were cracking up, Lunchbox sat happily listening to his brother singing him a happy song that went like this:
Lunchbox, Lunchbox… Everyone is your friend.
Lunchbox, Lunchbox… Everyone is your friend.
There was even sort of a tune that doesn’t really convey in this format, and it settled the tiny guy down completely to listen to his big brother paying him such special attention and singing a song that he’d invented just for him.
It was one of the sweetest things I can remember.
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