Slow down, Max...

So Max ended this Father's day quite nicely, with a little bump on the head, as he slipped on the kitchen floor and glanced his eye on the corner of our kitchen table (granite):

Luckily, an emergency room is literally across the street. I threw an unhappy Max over my shoulder, and took him into the waiting room, looking quite a mess.

The nurses and doctors loved him, especially when I goaded him into replying their questions about the cut with "you shoulda seen the other kid." But the doctor who cleaned up his eye, named Josh, wasn't responding to any of Max's jokes, and when Josh left Max turned to me and asked, quizzically, "why isn't Josh fun?" Good question, Max. Because everyone, really, should be.