Yesterday, I dropped the Sons at a friend's house for a sleepover. On the way, we passed through Loveville.
Loveville is just a town. Nothing special, except at Valentine's Day, when everyone drives there to have their mail sent from the Loveville post office.
But yesterday, Son #4 saw the "now entering Loveville" sign, and cracked up.
"Look, Mom, we're in Loveville. Rainbows are going to appear over the road, and all the people will look like this (jazz hands and full, twinkly smile) and bunnies will hop out to wash your car."
The magic of Son #4 is that not only does he crack me up with stuff like this, I also find myself looking for rainbows and dancing pedestrians and bunnies with little rags and bottles of Windex. His cheerful, silly vision is just contagious.
And, somehow, when the road is just a road and there are no dancers and no rabbits, I don't feel disappointed, either. More like, "Oh, well, I didn't see it, but it's gotta be out there, somewhere."
Son #4 makes up for most of the crap of life.
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