I had some blood drawn this weekend. Back in October or November, I had some drawn, and they want to measure my fasting blood sugar now to compare it to that earlier reading.
So Saturday morning, I awoke and went to the center. Naturally, there was a long wait, as everyone else decided not to miss work and get it completed on a weekend. I was there nearly two hours, but I had some knitting to occupy me, so beyond some periodic grumblings from my stomach, I was content.
I was amused by a four-year-old boy there with his mother. He was being silly with the toys, so in an attempt to calm him down, his mother tried to engage him by looking through a Highlights magazine. He was game, counting things for her and asking questions. This was happening in the background of my knitting, and I was catching snippets. Suddenly he piped up, “This page is for coloring. Where are the crayons?”
When none were to be found, he hopefully exclaimed, “Maybe I have crayons in my pocket!” He earnestly dug his hand down, only to emerge empty. Despondently he said, “No crayons.” Then he brightened up: “Maybe I have crayons in my other pocket!” Again, the ritual of shoving a hand down, only to emerge empty yet again. “No crayons. I wish I had crayons,” as he threw himself down in a chair.
I tried to hide my amusement at his antics. After all, perhaps it was commonplace for him to shove crayons in his pockets, but I like to imagine that he thought willing them to be there was enough to make it so.
Later on, he walked around with a large book balanced on his head, declaring, “I have a hat that looks like a book!”
I wanted to pull out my hat and reply, “I have a book that looks like a hat,” but I didn’t want to scare him off.